“Why don't you ask him yourself?”
Kaela grabbed her notebook and sprang to her feet. “I think I will.” She strode toward the Russian and intercepted him. Austin watched with interest as she used her body language to send a tantalizing message. She was wading in with a full feminine court press, standing first on one leg, then the other, hip out, touching Ivan lightly on the chest, flashing him her incredible smile.
Ivan stood there with his arms crossed like a granite statue, resisting the full assault. When she was done, he spoke a few words. Kaela's shoulders suddenly squared, she leaned forward and stuck her jaw into his face, then she wheeled and strode purposefully back to Austin.
“What a stubborn little man,” she fumed. “He said that the sub base is the property of the Russian government and is off-limits to the public. He suggests that I make arrangements with you to leave here as quickly as possible or suffer the consequences.” She grinned. “Well, we can still run the story. I've got film.”
She marched over to the helicopter wreckage with a determined step and talked with Lombardo and Dundee, who had been poking around in the wreckage. Their conversation was animated, and grew more so when he showed her the jumble of metal and plastic that was what was left of the video camera. Kaela slowly walked back to Austin.
“It looks as if we'll have to bum a ride with you,” she said, without enthusiasm.
Austin saw Joe Zavala making his way toward them from the direction of the beach, where he'd been checking visually and on the radio to see if the NR-1 crew had made it to the fishing boat. He excused himself and took Zavala aside.
Zavala said, “They all made it to Kemal's boat."
“Good news, but we've got a problem. Kaela and her guys need a ride, and I don't want them anywhere near the NR-1 crew.”
Zavala cast an admiring glance toward the TV reporter. 'Then you'll be happy to know the Argo was keeping an eye on us and monitoring radio transmissions. I just talked to Captain Atwood. They've sent a boat in to transfer the navy to the survey ship. Kemal's boat is free and clear."
Austin let out a nasty chuckle. “Would you send a message to the Argo and ask them to pick us up, too? Then call Captain Kemal, tell him that we will be transferring to the Argo and ask if he wouldn't mind taking on a few passengers in our place.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Zavala said with a snappy salute.
While Joe was calling the fishing boat, Austin went over.to tell Kaela and her friends that first-class transportation had been arranged.
NUMA 3 - Fire Ice
-18-
THE TRIP FROM Novorossiyskto Istanbul was an aviation nightmare. Unspecified mechanical problems delayed the flight on the ground. The Trouts sat in the hot and crowded cabin for an hour before being switched to another plane. The passengers who sampled the mystery meat served for the in-flight meal paid a price for their daring when the plane encountered turbulence. Adding to everyone's misery, only one toilet was operable.
Paul and Gamay thought their suffering had ended after the white-knuckle flight, but the taxi driver who picked them up at the airport drove as if he had a death wish. When Paul asked him to slow down, he punched the gas pedal.
“I think something got lost in the translation,” Gamay said over the squeal of tires.
“Must be my New England accent,” Paul said.
“Don't worry about it,” Gamay said, with a determined set to her jaw. “After what we've been through on this trip, nothing, not even death, will stand between me and a hot shower, a Bombay Sapphire gin martini and a long nap.”
The cab narrowly missed the doorman, who stepped back like a matador playing a bull, and screeched to a jarring stop in front of the Marmara Istanbul Hotel on Taksim Square. They exited the cab as if they were in a twin ejection seat, paid off the smiling cabby and made their way across the spacious lobby to the check-in desk.
The desk clerk was a dapper man whose slicked-down hair and razor-trimmed mustache made him resemble Hercule Poirot. He saw the Trouts approach and flashed a high-wattage smile. “Welcome back, Drs. Trout. I hope you had a pleasant journey exploring Ephesus.” When they'd left the hotel for Novorossiysk, the Trouts had announced with great fanfare that they were going to visit the ancient ruins on the coast of Asia Minor.
“Thank you, yes, the Temple of Artemis was fascinating,” Gamay gushed with the proper amount of awe. The clerk smiled and handed Paul an envelope along with the room key. “This message came for you earlier today.”
Paul opened the envelope, unfolded the paper inside and handed it to Gamay. She read the single sentence neatly printed on hotel stationary: “Call me soonest. A.”
A telephone number followed the brief message.
"Duty calls,” Paul said.
Gamay rolled her eyes. “Sometimes duty calls at the worst damn time!” She snatched the key from his hand and headed for the elevator.
Back in their room, Paul suggested that Gamay take the first shower while he called Austin. She snapped up the offer without hesitation and left a trail of clothes leading to the bathroom. Concluding that a palliative was in order, Paul called room service and asked to have a shaker of extra-dry martinis sent up. The tray arrived about the same time the shower stopped running. Paul poured a glass and knocked on the bathroom door. It opened in a cloud of steam, and a hand reached out for the martini. He poured himself a drink, propping his long legs up on a footstool, took a grateful sip and pronounced the cocktail tolerable for Istanbul. Fortified for the task ahead, he dialed the number on Austin's note.
“We're back in Istanbul,” Trout said, when Kurt's voice came on the line. “Got your note.”
“Good. How was your trip?”
“lnformative and full of surprises.” Trout gave Austin a summary.
“From your description of Razov's yacht, it sounds like a FastShip. Probably powered by gas turbines that can kick it up to speeds twice that of comparable boats. Smart. Razov can move his center of operations anywhere on the globe within days. I'm glad no one was hurt, but it's too bad about the professor's cottage. As soon as we hang up, I'll start the ball rolling on an official NUMA invitation to Orlov and his son.”
“They'll be thrilled. How did your excursion go?”
“Like you and Gamay, we got a warm reception, but I wouldn't advise it for a Cook's Tour. I'll fill you in when we meet.”
“Can't wait to hear the details.”
“You'll get your chance sooner than you think. I'm on the Argo, and I could use the immediate services of a deep-ocean geologist and a marine biologist who will work cheap.”
“Unfortunately, I know where you can find a couple of poor wastrels who fit that description exactly.”
“I knew I could count on you. I've made arrangements for transportation. How soon will you be ready to travel?”
“We arrived at the hotel a few minutes ago, so we won't even have to pack.” Paul glanced at the bathroom door and smiled. Gamay was singing an off-key version of “Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair.” “Do we have time to finish our martinis?”
“Oh hell, Paul, have two. You'll be sharing space with a VIP from the States. You've got a couple of hours before he flies in.”
“Wonderful! We get to ride with a six-chinned Senator Claghorn with a comb-over.”
Austin chuckled. “Incredible, Paul. You must be psychic. How'd you know it was the good senator?”
“Lucky guess. I'll break the news to Gamay. We'll see you tonight.”
Paul jotted down the travel time and place. As he hung up, Gamay came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her slim body, another turban-style on her head and a half-empty martini glass in her hand. The shower and drink had mellowed her mood. When he told her they would have to hit the road again, Gamay even greeted the news with a smile, saying that she missed Kurt and Joe.
Paul took his turn in the shower, and Gamay sent down to room service for lamb shish kebab and pilaf. The food arrived as they were starting on their second martin
i. After dinner, they changed their clothes, and with full stomachs, clean bodies and refreshed spirits, they took another cab to the airport. The cab driver had no kamikaze yearnings and except for the usual heavy traffic, the trip was uneventful.
As Austin instructed, they asked to be dropped off away from the main airport terminal at a section used by small private airlines. They made their way to a hangar whose floodlights gleamed off the turquoise paint of a midsized helicopter. The letters NUMA were painted in black on the side. The rotor turned slowly as the engines warmed up. The pilot stood on the tarmac talking to someone. Even though the man's back was turned, the Trouts immediately recognized the narrow shoulders and hips and thinning hair of NUMA's deputy director. Rudi Gunn turned, greeted them with a wide grin and jerked his thumb toward the open door of the aircraft.
“Need a lift?”
Gamay turned to Paul. “So this is the six-chinned senator with the major comb-over that you were telling me about?”
Trout did a classic double-take. “For God's sakes, Rudi, why didn't you tell us you were the bigwig VIP?”
“Didn't want to spoil your fun. Admiral Sandecker thought I should be in the neighborhood in case the situation got complicated. I've been in Athens representing NUMA at a conference on nautical archaeology. It was only a short hop here via executive jet. The helicopter flew in from a project in the eastern Aegean. Sandecker figured it was time for me to jump in with both feet after Kurt called him with news of the 'package' he had to deliver.”
“Package?” Paul said.
“I'll tell you everything I know on the way. Shall we?”
They climbed into the chopper and took their seats in the spacious cabin. The engines revved up, and minutes later the Sikorsky S-76C lifted rapidly into the sky. The sprawling lights of Istanbul straddling the Bosporus on two continents spread below them like a sequined tapestry. Powered by its twin Arriel engines, the helicopter headed north at a cruising speed of one hundred seventy-five miles per hour.
The pilot's voice came over their earphones in a lazy, slightly western Chuck Yeager drawl.
“Hi, folks. My name is Mike. Make yourselves comfortable. Should be plenty of room to stretch. They designed this chopper for oil-rig support, so it's pretty much a flying bus. We can take twelve passengers. You're lucky to be going on this leg. We expect to be pretty crowded on the return trip. There's a thermos of hot coffee up near the bulkhead. Help yourselves. Please let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, sit back and enjoy the flight.”
Gunn poured the coffee and passed the steaming cups around. “Good to see you both. Sorry your sabbaticals were cut short. Officially speaking, you're still on leave, I'm sitting in an auditorium at the Greek National Archaeological Museum, and this meeting is not taking place.”
“What's been going on, Rudi?” Paul said. “We've only heard bits and pieces.”
“I'm not sure what the total picture looks like, but here's what we do know. Several days ago, Admiral Sandecker was invited to a White House meeting with the president and his advisors. The White House was worried about the deteriorating political situation in Russia. Some of the president's men scolded Sandecker for allowing Kurt to violate Russian sovereign territory at the abandoned Soviet submarine base. They were worried that it would give Russian opposition forces ammunition to use against the government, which is already fighting for its life. The admiral apologized, said it was an accident and offered to talk directly to the Russians. His offer was rejected. Then he asked what the White House was doing about the NR-1. Strangely, the president and his people had forgotten to tell Sandecker the sub was missing.”
Paul grinned and said, “Assuming the admiral wouldn't know was pretty dumb on their part.”
Gamay shook her head. “It's unbelievable that the NR-1 could vanish with no trace, as if it had been swallowed by a sea monster.”
“You're not far off the mark. The NR-1 was hijacked and transported on the deck of a submarine.”
“That's more far-fetched than the sea monster theory,” Gamay said.
“We were trying to figure things out, when Kurt called and said a source had told him that a mining tycoon named Mikhail Razov is behind the political unrest in Russia. According to the White House, there's a tie between the NR-1's disappearance and the mess in Moscow. In addition, Razov's company, Ataman Enterprises, has leased the sub base from the Russian government.”
Gamay said, “That's why Kurt asked us to look into Razov's operation at Novorossiysk.”
“You think the NR-J was taken to this old sub base?”
Paul said. “We thought that was a possibility. But we were more worried about something else Kurt's source said, that Razov was connected to a plot against the United States.”
“What sort of plot?” Paul asked.
“We don't know. Sandecker considered the tip serious. When Kurt said he was assembling the Special Assignments Team and planned to go back to the base, the admiral gave his unofficial blessing. Kurt must have mentioned that his mission was, uh, unofficial.”
“He put it quite colorfully,” Gamay said, laughingly.
“I won't even ask,” said Rudi, imagining Austin's report. “The White House specifically warned Admiral Sandecker to stay clear of the NR-1 investigation. I'm sure it won't surprise you to know he managed to get around that warning by a technicality. He agreed not to search for the sub, but said nothing about the sub base.”
Unknown
“I'm shocked, shocked,” Gamay said with mock horror, echoing Casablanca.
“Me, too,” said Paul. “Who would have thought such a thing?”
"Your sarcasm is dutifully noted and ignored. But you get the point. We had to keep the admiral insulated to give him room to maneuver.
“Risky,” Paul said. “The whole thing could blow up in NUMA's face.”
“Sandecker was well aware of that possibility, but the gods who watch over the Black Sea were in a benevolent mood.”
“You look like the cat who swallowed the canary,” Gamay said, noting Gunn's enigmatic smile. “Apparently, Kurt has some good news.”
“Very good. He and Joe found the NR-1's crew - the package I mentioned. They were being held captive at the Russian base. They're on the Argo now.”
“That's great, but I don't understand,” Paul said, furrowing his brow. “The Russians were holding them prisoner?”
“It's more complicated than that, from what I gather. The captain and pilot are still missing, along with the sub itself. Kurt wanted us all to be at the crew's debriefing.”
“Finding these guys is quite a coup for NUMA and the admiral,” Paul observed.
“Unfortunately, we can't claim credit for the rescue. I'm not sure how it will be announced, since no one has ever told the public of the hijacking. The top brass has been keeping the sub's hijacking a secret.”
“Hard to keep a secret in Washington,” Paul said. “The story is bound to get out.”
“I agree. We've notified the navy that we found the sub's crew, but we've deliberately been short on details. We won't be able to get away with that strategy forever. Which is why this brainstorming session with the crew is so important. We've got to get to the bottom of this. Why don't we help ourselves to more coffee while you fill me in on your encounter with Ataman?”
Gamay volunteered to refill their coffee mugs. “I'll let Paul do the play-by-play and I'll add the color,” she said.
Gunn listened to their story without interrupting. From experience, they knew that Gunn would absorb every detail; his analytical skills were legendary. He had been the first in his class at the U.S. Naval Academy, had formerly held the rank of commander and before he became second-in-command to Sandecker, had overseen logistics and oceanographic projects for NUMA.
Gunn peppered them with questions after they finished their tale. He was particularly interested in Boris, the “mad monk,” and in Yuri's comment about the absence of the big drilling ships. Ataman's violent reaction was si
mple to explain. Razov had something to hide and didn't like people snooping around. But Boris and the missing drilling ships didn't fit into any equation he could formulate. He sat back in his seat, adjusted the horn-rimmed glasses on his hawkish nose and tented his fingers, much as Sherlock Holmes would have looked, absorbed by a puzzle. All he needed to complete the picture was a pipe and a deerstalker's cap.
The pilot's voice broke Gunn's concentration. “We're coming up on the Argo, folks. If you look off to the right, you'll see the ship.”
The Argo had switched on every light in greeting and looked look like a giant floating Christmas tree against the inky darkness of the sea. The helicopter hovered over the ship and slowly descended onto the large, blinking X that marked the landing pad. The touchdown was nearly perfect, marked by a slight thump of the wheels on the deck. The rotors spun to a stop, and the copilot came back to open the door. The passengers thanked the crew for a smooth flight and descended the boarding steps, eyes blinking against the brilliant floodlights that turned the night into day.
Austin's broad shoulders and pale hair were easy to spot among the crowd that had gathered to greet the arrivals. He strode over, shook hands with Gunn and put his arms around the Trouts.
“Hope you had time for your martinis,” Austin said.
Gamay smiled and pecked his cheek. “We squeezed in two drinks apiece, thank you.”
“Sorry to drag you out here so soon after your Novorossiysk trip.” He guided them to the mess hall and brought them three tinkling glasses of fresh-squeezed lemonade. “Joe's baby-sitting the crew in the conference room. We're meeting with them in fifteen minutes to hear their story. The crew is anxious to get home, and I've asked them to give us an hour while the chopper fuels up.”
Gunn puckered his lips in amusement as Austin filled them in on the crew's rescue. “I don't mean to demean the dangers you described, Kurt, but it sounds like a Pink Panther movie, with all those people running around.”
“I was thinking more of the Keystone Kops,” Austin said. “Someday I'll look back and chuckle over the whole crazy episode.” He brushed his head lightly with his fingers. “But if my hair could have gotten any whiter, it would have.”