Zero Hour (NUMA Files 11)

Gregorovich nodded. It was the answer he wanted to hear. It also happened to be true.

“This far south,” the Russian said, “it would seem we’re almost there.”

“Not quite,” Kurt replied. He stood and checked his watch. It was time for a new heading. “Tell your helmsman to change course. Our new heading should be 245 degrees.”

“So we don’t journey to Antarctica after all?”

“Not yet anyway,” Kurt said, keeping the truth to himself. “I’m going to my quarters so I can sleep this off. Assuming Kirov doesn’t kill me during the night, I’ll have more course changes for you in the morning.”

Gregorovich nodded, and Kurt stepped out into the hall. One of the commandos waited there.

“You must be the bellhop,” Kurt muttered. “Take me to my cabin.”

He was escorted aft until he reached a pair of the Russian commandos standing outside the cabin in which the NUMA crew had been placed. He stepped past them and went inside, only to find an argument in full bloom.

Captain Winslow and his XO were on one side, Joe and Hayley on the other.

“… he’s got us this far,” Hayley insisted.

“He’s playing a game with our lives,” the XO replied.

“We’d be dead if he told them what they wanted to hear,” Joe added.

Apparently, more than one mutiny was brewing on the ship.

“Told who what they wanted to hear?” Kurt asked.

The group turned in unison.

“The Russians,” Captain Winslow said. “While you were out drinking with their leader, they came and took our injured crewmen to the sick bay. Only now they tell us no one will be receiving medical treatment until we give them more information.”

Kurt didn’t like the sound of that. But there was no turning back.

“I don’t know if this is the right course of action,” Winslow added.

“It’s the only course left,” Kurt said.

“We have to give them something,” Winslow said. “At least a hint.”

“No. If they guess right, we’re all dead,” Kurt explained. “They’ll tie weights to our feet and drop us over the side to save the cost of a bullet.”

“My crewmen are in shock,” Winslow said. “They’re dying. For God sakes, Kurt, be reasonable.”

“There’s no room for reason,” Kurt snapped. “Can’t you see that?!”

The others stared back at him, taken off guard at an uncommon burst of fury.

“We’re caught in between a madman and a lunatic,” he explained. “Gregorovich is insane. This isn’t a job for him. It’s some kind of vendetta. Maybe even a suicide mission. His failure to kill Thero years ago is eating him alive. If he has to, he’ll murder every one of us just to get another shot at it. And Thero is worse. He was a schizophrenic, a sociopath, years ago. Can you imagine what time and pain have done to him since? He’s called his lair Tartarus, the Prison of the Gods. What do you think that says about him? He considers himself a god. A persecuted one at that. You think he’s going to let up on his threat?”

They gazed at Kurt oddly. No doubt he looked half deranged himself at this point.

“It can’t be that bad,” the XO said.

“It can be and it is,” Kurt said. “If anyone’s making plans to survive this, I suggest you stop wasting your time because most likely we won’t. The only thing we can hope for is to prevent Thero from acting. And to do that, we need the Russians as much as they need us.”

Joe stood with Kurt, the loyal friend that he was. Hayley seemed to understand the truth and had resigned herself to it. Even the XO seemed to soften his postur

e. But Winslow shook his head.