Fire Ice nf-3

by Clive Cussler

  "When the threat to your country becomes apparent, you'll feel different. We need each other."

  "That's another problem. You still haven't told me what this threat is."

  "Only because I don't know."

  "Yet you're still convinced it's real."

  "Oh yes, Mr. Austin. Knowing the players in this drama, I'd say it's very real."

  Austin still didn't know how much to believe Ivan, but there was no mistaking the Russian's seriousness. "Maybe one of the Cossacks could tell us something."

  Petrov's lips tightened in a smile. "We both should have thought about that earlier. Their leader was the big man with the red beard. Dead men tell no tales, unfortunately."

  "Sorry, but it couldn't be helped under the circumstances. I'm curious. How long were you and your boys hiding in the woods?"

  "Since dawn. We landed a few miles up the coast and made our way overland at night. I saw the fishing boat arrive and suspected you were on it. We didn't know you had landed and were quite surprised to see you pop up out of nowhere. Congratulations on a successful infiltration."

  Austin ignored the compliment. "Then you saw that the submarine crew was in trouble?"

  "We observed the men being rounded up and marched to the field. To answer your unspoken question, yes, we would have intervened. My men were readying for the attack. Then you and your friend arrived and our intervention hardly seemed necessary. From the damage you inflicted, I thought a platoon of U.S. Marines had landed. It's doubtful how much the Cossacks could have told us. They are nothing more than bandit scum whose sole function was to guard this complex." Petrov walked over to the altar and touched the photograph above it. "The last of the tsars," he said.

  "That's quite a headpiece," Austin said, pointing to the jeweled crown in the picture.

  "Whoever wears the crown of Ivan the Terrible will rule Russia," Petrov said. Seeing Austin's perplexed expression, he smiled. "An old Russian proverb. Don't look for hidden auguries in the words; they mean what they say. Whoever is strong enough to keep all that weight on his head, and brutish and terrible enough to possess the crown, will find those same qualities of use in ruling this land."

  "Where's the crown now?"

  "It disappeared with a great deal of the tsar's other treasure that went missing after the revolution. When the White government came into Yekaterinburg, where the tsar was probably murdered, they found a list of items belonging to the imperial family. Some items were recovered, but it is generally conceded that the list represented only a portion of the items the family had with them in exile. The most valuable items, the crown included, have never been found."

  "Was there a list of the missing treasure?"

  "The Soviets made such a list, but it has never turned up. It's assumed that the KGB had the list before the overthrow of communism. I've made inquiries that lead me to believe the list is still in existence, but its whereabouts is a mystery."

  "How did you know about the crown without the list?"

  "I've seen this and other photos of it. It's made in two parts, representing the east and west empires. The double-headed eagle was the crest of the Romanovs. The orb the eagle surmounts is a symbol of earthly power."

  "It must be worth a fortune."

  "The crown's value can't be measured in dollars or rubles. This crown and the other treasure came from the sweat and toil of the Russian serfs, who saw the tsar as god-like. The tsar was the richest man in the world. He had revenue from the crown lands, a million square miles, including gold and silver mines, and owned incredible riches. Our sovereigns had an almost barbaric taste for the glitter of gold and gems. Tsar is Russian for 'Caesar.' Emirs and shahs laid gifts of incredible value at his feet."

  "The family in the photo doesn't look as if it's enjoying all that wealth."

  "They knew the crown was more of a curse than a blessing. It was reserved for the frail head of the young boy, Alexander, although it's doubtful he would have lived long enough to take his father's place. He had hemophilia, un- controllable bleeding, you know? A real problem among European royalty – all those intermarriages. Anyway, other relatives would have stepped in to claim the throne."

  "Any idea who built this shrine?"

  "I thought it might be Razov at first. I could see him sitting here, imagining that he will someday become the ruler of Russia. But the decadent trappings of the apartment in the main complex puzzle me. Razov is almost ascetic in his convictions. The monk, on the other hand, is said to be debauched. It's odd how much he resembles Rasputin in his depraved lifestyle. My guess is that Boris spent more time here than Razov. Razov would like to bring back the past. In his madness, Boris lives it."

  "That's quite a role reversal."

  "Perhaps, but one thing is certain: They both must be stopped," Petrov said, his eyes boring into Austin's. "And you must help me."

  Austin was still skeptical. "I'll think about it, Ivan. Right now I need some fresh air."

  Petrov gripped Austin by the arm. "Maybe your own countryman can persuade you. You remember the words of the great American patriot-philosopher Thomas Paine. He said he was not defending a few acres of ground, but a cause."

  Austin knew the dossier Petrov had on him would have mentioned the volumes of philosophy that lined his bookshelves.

  "What is your cause, Ivan?"

  "Perhaps it's the same as yours."

  "Don't take this the wrong way, but I can't see you waving the flag for motherhood, apple pie and the American way."

  "I did my share of waving the hammer and sickle as a Young Pioneer marching in the May Day parades. There are deeper issues here. Don't let our past get in the way. Judge me by the present, so that both our countries will have a future."

  Austin saw a slight softening in Petrov's rock-hard eyes. Maybe the man was human after all. "Guess we're stuck with each other, whether we like it or not."

  "Then you'll work with me?"

  "I can't speak for NUMA, but I'll do what I can," Austin said, extending his hand. "C'mon, partner, I've got something else that will interest you." He led the way down through the labyrinth to the submarine pen. Petrov recognized the sub immediately.

  "It's an India class," he said. "It was designed to carry submersibles for use by special-operations forces."

  "Any idea how it got here?"

  "There's a booming market in the world for Soviet armaments."

  "This isn't exactly a box of AK-47s."

  "My country has always done things on a grand scale. For the right price, you could probably buy a battleship. As you know, the Soviet Union launched dozens of huge subs during the Cold War. Many have been mothballed or other- wise decommissioned. But given the sad state of our armed forces, anything is possible. This could be an important lead. I can't imagine anyone making a purchase this big without somebody knowing about it. I'll run a discreet check. Tell me about these men from your NR-1 submarine. What did they have to say?"

  "I talked to one of them. The sub was hijacked by someone posing as a scientist, transported on the back of that submarine and made to work salvaging cargo from an old freighter. The fact that they're still holding the captain and pilot indicates that they have more work planned for the NR-l." Austin rapped the stone floor with his heel. "Maybe you can look into the ownership of this place."

  "I already have. The property is still owned by the Russian government. About two years ago, it was leased to a private corporation. They said they wanted to establish a fish-processing plant here."

  "From what I've seen, the leaseholder was more interested in what was under the ground than on top of it. Any leads on the corporation?"

  "Yes. We got a break there. It was a straw for Ataman."

  Austin nodded. "Why does that not surprise me? I should get back above. Joe will wonder what happened to us."

  They followed the network of corridors and stairs that took them back to the surface. It was a relief to break out into the sunshine and fresh air. To Austin's surprise, the
soccer field was clear of carnage.

  Petrov sensed the question on Austin's lips. "Before we went below, I ordered my men to drag the dead into the woods and bury them."

  "That was considerate of you."

  "There was nothing considerate about it. I wanted nothing left that could be seen from the air." They walked across the field toward the downed helicopter. "I've taken care of the dead," he said, glancing toward the helicopter. "I will leave it up to you to deal with the living."

  IT WAS A wonder that the chopper had been able to land as softly as it had. The Cossacks had shot high, and the upper cockpit and engine housing were riddled with bullet holes. Kaela sat on the ground nearby with her legs crossed, writing in a shorthand notebook. Austin put on his most winning smile. Kaela felt his shadow and looked up.

  "Small world," he said, with his best show of tooth enamel.

  Kaela skewered Austin with a hard stare. Undaunted, Austin plunked onto the ground beside her. "Nice of you to go to all this trouble just so we'd have the opportunity to reschedule our dinner date."

  "You're the one who didn't show up back there in Istanbul."

  "True. Which is why I'm glad I have the chance to apologize and see if can make it up to you over cocktails."

  She raised an eyebrow. "Apologize for standing me up or for stealing Captain Kemal?"

  Kaela was no pushover for the Austin charm offensive. This was going to be more complicated than he thought.

  "Okay. Let's deal with this in tiny steps. First, I apologize for missing the dinner date. I was unexpectedly tied up and couldn't make it. As for Captain Kemal, you'll have to admit you made a mistake by not holding him with some sort of retainer while you went off to Paris."

  "Please spare me the lecture. I never thought you would steal him after you warned me to stay away from this place because it was too dangerous and an infringement of Russian territory."

  "You'll have to admit I was right about the danger," he said, glancing at the wreckage of the helicopter.

  Kaela took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I'll grant you the obvious. But I'll bet nobody gave you or your NUMA friend an invitation to drop by for tea."

  "That's correct, but it doesn't make it right."

  "You sound like my mother," she said with mock disgust. "Your apology for missing dinner is accepted. Luckily, my producers bankrolled enough money to lease a helicopter, so I wouldn't have hired Captain Kemal anyhow. You still owe me, though."

  Austin noticed the twinkle in the amber eyes and realized she had been setting him up, using his guilt as leverage.

  "You're playing me like a fish, aren't you?"

  Kaela threw her head back and laughed. "I'm certainly trying to. You deserve to be jerked around after trying to put me off with that phony shark smile and the 'small world' routine. Real smooth character! Next thing you'd be asking me what my astrological sign was. Well, it's Capricorn, in case you're interested."

  "I didn't mean to make it sound like a singles bar. My sign is Pisces, by the way."

  "Pisces? That's fitting for a NUMA guy." She put her notebook aside. "I'd advise you to stay out of singles bars. With that corny line, you'd go home alone every night."

  Austin decided he really liked this woman. She was tough and feminine at the same time, had a sharp sense of humor and plenty of intelligence. And the qualities he admired were gift wrapped in a lovely package.

  "Okay, now that I've snapped up the hook, I'll let you reel me in. But only to a point! What does your devious little soul want from me?"

  "The truth, for starters. Why are you here, for instance? And who are the tough guys in the black suits? And why are the people around here so damned unfriendly?"

  "Is this for a story?"

  "Maybe. But I want to know mostly because I want to know. Curiosity is the best tool of a good reporter."

  Austin was no fan of mendacity, but he didn't want to involve Kaela and her gang in something that could bite them. They had been lucky twice so far. Their third encounter with the bad guys could be a strikeout.

  "You're not the only one who's curious. After my first run-in with those guys on horses, I wanted to know more. I also felt I had to do something for Kemal's cousin Mehmet."

  "Is there a submarine base here?"

  "Yes. Quite extensive, as a matter of fact."

  "I knew it. I want to get inside."

  "Okay by me, but you may have problems with that gentleman over there." Ivan was making his way across the field from the woods, where he had been inspecting his men's work.

  "Who is he?"

  "His name is Ivan. He's the boss man."

  "Military?"

  "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.

  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.