Polar Shift (NUMA Files 6)

"I've been talking to people. My God, what a mess! There are two captains and they fight all the time. Not enough lifeboats. The ship's engines are barely keeping us up to speed. The stupid submarine division ordered the ship to sail with an old torpedo boat escort that looks as if it was left over from the last war. The damned fools have got the ship's navigation lights on."

Kovacs saw an uncharacteristic alarm in the marble features.

"How long have I slept?"

"It's nighttime. We're on the open sea." Karl shoved a dark blue life jacket at Kovacs and slipped into a similar jacket.

"Now what do we do?"

"Stay here. I want to check the lifeboat situation." He tossed Kovacs a pack of cigarettes. "Be my guest."

"I don't smoke."

Karl paused in the open doorway. "Maybe it's time you did." Then he was gone.

Kovacs spilled a cigarette from the pack and lit up. He had quit smoking years ago, when he got married. He coughed as the smoke filled his lungs, and he felt dizzy from the strong tobacco, but he recalled with delicious pleasure the innocent debauchery of his college days.

He finished the cigarette, thought of lighting up another but decided against it. He had not had a bath in days, and his body itched in a dozen places. He washed his face in the sink and was drying his hands on a threadbare towel when there was a knock at the door.

"Professor Kovacs?" a muffled voice said.

"Yes."

The door opened, and the professor gasped. Standing in the doorway was the ugliest woman he had ever seen. She was more than six feet tall, with broad shoulders straining the seams of a black Persian lamb coat. Her wide mouth was painted in bright red lipstick, and, with such heavily rouged lips, she looked like a circus clown.

"Pardon my appearance," she said in an unmistakably male voice. "This is not an easy ship to get aboard. I had to resort to this silly disguise, and a few bribes."

"Who are you?"

"Not important. What is important is your name. You are Dr. Lazlo Kovacs, the great German-Hungarian electrical genius."

Kovacs grew wary. "I am Lazlo Kovacs. I consider myself to be Hungarian."

"Splendid! You are the author of the paper on electromagnetism that electrified the scientific world."

Kovacs's antenna quivered. The paper published in an obscure scientific journal had brought him to the attention of the Germans, who kidnapped him and his family. He said nothing.

"Never mind," the man said genially, the clown smile even broader. "I can see that I have the right man." He reached under his fur coat and pulled out a pistol. "I'm sorry to be rude, Dr. Kovacs, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you."

"Kill me? Why? I don't even know you."

"But I know you. Or, rather, my superiors in the NKGB know you. As soon as our glorious Red Army forces crossed the border we sent a special squad to find you, but you had already left the lab."

"You're Russian?"

"Yes, of course. We would love to have you come and work for us. Had we been able to intercept you before you boarded the ship, you would be enjoying Soviet hospitality. But now I can't get you off the ship, and we can't let you and your work fall into German hands again. No, no. It just wouldn't do." The smile vanished.

Kovacs was too stunned to be afraid, even when the pistol came up and the muzzle pointed at his heart.

Marinesko could hardly believe his good luck. He had been standing on the S-13's conning tower, oblivious to the freezing wind and spray that stung his face, when the snow cleared and he saw the enormous silhouette of an ocean liner. The liner appeared to be accompanied by a smaller boat.

The submarine was riding on the surface in heavy seas. Its crew had been at battle stations since sighting the lights from boats moving against the coast. The captain had ordered the submarine's buoyancy reduced so that it would ride lower in the water and thus evade radar.

Reasoning that the ships would never expect an attack from shore, he ordered his crew to bring the sub around the back of the convoy and run a course parallel to the liner and its escort. Two hours later, Marinesko turned the S-13 toward his target. As it closed in on the port side of the liner, he gave the order to fire.

In quick succession, three torpedoes left their bow tubes and streaked toward the unprotected hull of the liner.

The door opened, and Karl stepped into the cabin. He had been outside, listening to the murmur of male voices. He was puzzled when he saw the woman standing with her back to him. He glanced at Kovacs, still holding the towel, and he read the fear in the professor's face.