Ghost Ship (NUMA Files 12)

The woman behind Acosta’s desk was typing furiously. “Damn you, Rene,” she said, and then pulled a satellite phone from her pocket and punched in a number.

Kurt didn’t hear the greeting very clearly but listened as a quick conversation took place.

“We have a problem,” she said. “They’re not here . . . None of them. Not the American, not the others. They’re not on board.”

A pause followed.

“Yes, I’m sure of it,” the woman replied. “I’m reading it on Rene’s computer right now. I thought he was lying, but it looks like he’s already shipped the woman to Korea, and promised the other three to Than Rang as well. The auction must be a ruse. Either Rene is short of money or he’s lining up buyers for the future.”

Another pause, more protracted this time.

“No, I don’t think that will work . . . Well, I could put a gun to his head, but that won’t bring them back. We’ll have to lift them from Than Rang ourselves. And that won’t be easy.”

Kurt strained to listen, but, try as he might, he could only make out the woman’s side of the conversation.

“There’s no other way,” she said. “Without her, no one will believe we can cross the air gap, breach the American Wall, and bring the system down.”

Kurt had no idea what she was talking about, but he hung on every word.

“I have to go,” she said finally, tapping a few keys and closing the program. “Otherwise, Rene might try to join me in the shower.” She paused, and then added, “You’re right, by the way. I’m too good for him.”

She hung up, turned the computer off, and stepped out from behind the desk.

Kurt moved as well, making his way to the edge of the main cabin. In the low light he saw the woman put an ear up against the front door. He noticed a small pistol in her hand. “You’re forgetting something,” he whispered.

She whirled around, but he had the Beretta out and ready. She saw it clearly and froze.

“That laptop was closed when you came in.”

“Toss the gun over there,” Kurt said.

He pointed toward a thick rug near the bathroom door. With a shrug she flipped the gun gently in the general direction. It landed with no more than a soft bump.

Kurt motioned toward one of the chairs across from Acosta’s desk. “Have a seat.”

She hesitated for just a second and then moved toward the chair, sliding onto it with effortless grace. Kurt noticed a decided lack of nervousness in her posture. She looked comfortable. She leaned back and crossed her legs as if awaiting a cocktail at sundown.

Keeping the Beretta aimed at her, Kurt moved behind the desk and tapped the computer keyboard. The screen lit up. Back to the password.

“You’ve already broken into this once,” he said. “Care to tell me how?”

“Who are you?” she asked. There was no fear in her voice, only a subtle curiosity. Like someone who’d discovered a new plaything.

“Password,” Kurt said, ignoring her.

“Are you a thief? A mole of some kind?”

“Password.”

“Calista,” she told him, “with a C. As if you could spell it any other way.”

He typed the name, alternating glances between her and the keyboard.

The lock screen dissolved and a spreadsheet appeared. The white background was so bright it caused his pupils to constrict, making it difficult to see beyond the screen. He tapped the key to lower the screen’s brilliance until it was as dim as he could make it.

The woman hadn’t moved, though she was now leaning forward, studying him.

“You’re not part of the crew,” she said calmly. “And you’re a little too scruffy to be one of the guests.”