"You're talking computer weird again."
"Sorry. A sniffer is simply a device that can tap into the network, pump up the signal and send it to the waiting arms of Max."
"Impressive. You say the files would be encrypted. What's to say the code won't stop you again?"
"Nothing. But it's not a dedicated encryption like the one on the mystery ship. We can come in sideways from different angles. And besides, Max is determined."
"Nothing like a determined woman, even a cybernetic one. Where can I pick up these electronic noses?"
"There's a NUMA courier on the way over with a package. Instructions included."
The instructions had been simple. Click the sniffer on, check to make sure it's picking up a signal, then use the magnet attached to the back of the transmitter to attach it. Yaeger had given him a second sniffer for backup.
Now Austin reached into the vent and placed the sniffer out of sight. Then he worked his way over to a lifeboat and felt his way down to where the davit joined the deck. He got down on his hands and knees and found a small hollow space in the steel support. He slipped the second sniffer inside and started to rise, when he heard a soft click on the deck behind him. Something hard pressed against the small of his back.
32
YOU'RE GETTING CARELESS in your old age, Kurt Austin. The next time it could be fatal."
The hard pressure was removed from his back. Austin turned and saw the livid white scar on Petrov's face in the silvery moonlight.
"I aged at least ten years when you stuck that gun in my ribs, Ivan. A simple hello would have been sufficient to grab my attention."
"It keeps me in practice," Petrov said "I don't want to lose my edge."
"Believe me, your edge is as sharp as ever. Who let you in my country?"
"Unlike your unsanctioned adventure in Russia, my visit here comes with the blessing of your State Department. I'm in the U.S. on an agricultural trade mission for Siberian Pest Control and asked the local Russian consulate to include me on the guest list for this reception."
"How did you find me?"
"I saw you leave the grand salon and followed you into the restricted area of the ship. Your face threw me off, I must admit, but it was impossible to hide those wide shoulders and that confident walk. I've been wondering, where did you get that incredible wig?"
"I bought it at a KGB yard sale."
"I wouldn't be surprised at that the way things are going. May I ask why you were crawling about in the dark on your hands and knees?"
"I lost a contact lens?"
"Really? I don't remember your dossier saying anything about contacts."
Austin chuckled and told the Russian about the electronic sniffers. Ivan was duly impressed and asked only that he be kept informed as information developed. "I suggest that we rejoin the festivities," he said. "Most of the guards are watching the guests, but a few are making the rounds."
Austin knew they were already pressing their luck. They moved toward the lights and music, taking advantage of every shadow or pocket of darkness. They saw only one guard and ducked behind a bollard until he passed. Moments later, they were strolling along the deck.
Petrov, who looked debonair in his tuxedo, lit up an American cigarette. "What are your plans now?"
"You didn't see Razov's pet monk, did you?"
"I suspect that Razov prefers to have Boris stay out of sight on public occasions. He mayor may not be on the ship. We're not likely to see him."
"In that case, maybe I'll spend a few minutes talking to our host."
"Razov? Do you think it's wise to play your hand here on his territory?"
"Maybe I can get him rattled enough to make a mistake."
"I've heard it's not safe to play with rattlesnakes, but do what you wish. I think I'll wander around and enjoy the food and drink as long as I'm here."
"You came alone?"
Petrov plucked a shot of vodka from the tray of a passing waiter. He slugged it down and smiled. "I won't be far away if you need me."
The party was going full-blast. Guests wandered about the deck with food and drinks. The Cossack band had switched from Russian folk tunes and was belting out a rock number. Petrov mingled with the crowd and disappeared like a leaf being swept away in a stream. Austin saw a knot of people, with Razov holding court at its center. He moved closer, wondering how he was going to get past the body- guards flanking Razov. The pair of long-legged canines took the matter out of his hands. Razov's dogs jerked away from him and galloped toward Austin in a dead heat. As before, they jumped up, put their paws on his chest and licked his face. He managed to dislodge them with strategically placed hip blocks.
He grabbed the leashes and held them short to keep the rambunctious hounds under control. A moment later, the dogs' trainer came running up, this time with panic in his eyes. Austin was about to pass the leashes over when he saw Razov and his two bodyguards coming up behind the trainer.
"I see you've met Sasha and Gorky," Razov said, with a genial smile. He took the leashes from Austin and said some1hing in Russian. The dogs obeyed instantly and sat by his side. Their haunches quivered as they fought their instincts.
"I shared some prime rib and sausage with them a while ago," Austin said. "Hope you don't mind."
"I'm surprised they ate it," Razov said. "They dine on fare much better than most people's. My name is Razov." He extended his hand and glanced at the name on the press pass hanging around Austin's neck. "I'm the host of this little celebration."
"Yes, I know. I heard you speak. Very impressive." He squeezed the hand until the bones crunched and he saw Razov wince with pain. "My name is Kurt Austin."
Razov's face showed no emotion. "The famous Mr. Austin. You look nothing like I expected."
"Neither do you. You're much smaller than I thought you'd be."
"This is only a temporary diversion. I'm still with NUMA. We've been doing some treasure hunting in the Black Sea."
"I hope it was worth your while."
"Someone beat me to a treasure aboard a ship called the Odessa Star."
"That's too bad, but treasure-hunting is very competitive."
"What I can't figure out is why someone who already possesses huge wealth would go through so much trouble to recover a few shiny baubles."
"We Russians have always been fascinated by baubles, as you call them. We believe that beyond their intrinsic value, they impart a power to the possessor."
"Treasure didn't do the tsar and his family much good."
"The royal family was betrayed by traitors in its midst."
"I assume you intend to return the treasure to the Russian people."
"You know nothing about my people," Razov said. "They don't care for jewels. What they need is the firm hand of a leader who can restore their national pride and fend off those countries who are circling like vultures."
"That's assuming your secret Operation Troika is a success."
"There's nothing secret about Troika," he said, with undisguised scorn. "It's shorthand for my plan to open trade centers in Boston, Charleston and Miami. Look around, Mr. Austin. There is nothing sinister about my business."
"What about the massacre aboard the NUMA ship? Would you consider that sinister?"
"I read about it in the press. A tragedy, certainly, but I had nothing to do with that unfortunate incident."
"I don't blame you for not taking credit for it. It was a botched attack. You screwed up, Razov. Your mad dog got the wrong ship. I wasn't on the Sea Hunter, and your men murdered the Sea Hunter's crew for nothing. Of course, you know all that by now."
Austin saw a flash of anger in Razov's eyes. "Really, Mr. Austin, you disappoint me. You sneak aboard my ship in that ridiculous disguise, drink my vodka and eat my food, then repay my hospitality by calling me a killer."
"I had another reason to come aboard. I wanted to look into the face of the murdering scum I plan to destroy."
The mask of the affable politician melted
away, to be replaced by the street thug. "You destroy me? You're a mere flea."
"Maybe, but there are many more fleas where I come from. And we all bite."
"It will take more than NUMA and your government to stop me," Razov said. "When I'm through bringing Russia back to its former glory, the U.S. will be like a puking, mewling child, a world beggar, its resources depleted, its leadership weak and confused – " Razov saw that he had gone too far and stopped suddenly. "You're no longer welcome aboard my yacht, Mr. Austin. My security men will escort you to the launch."
"I can find my way. 'Til we meet the next time, Mr. Razov." He started to walk away.
Razov's lips parted in a feral grin. "There isn't going to be a next time."
Razov made a subtle gesture, and his guards started to follow. Austin let out a low whistle. The wolfhounds perked up their ears and, with tails wagging, broke away from Razov, trailing their useless leashes. Austin grinned and looked Razov straight in the eye. The Russian stared at Austin with a look of pure hate. Austin turned and walked quickly toward the stern of the boat, merging with the crowd with the dogs at his heel. He realized that he had to lose the hounds. They were too conspicuous and would call attention to him.
He stopped and patted the dogs on their heads, then handed their leashes to a startled young woman wearing a maroon blazer. He whipped his wig and sunglasses off and tucked them in the woman's pocket.
"Would you return these to Mr. Razov, please? With my compliments."
Walking quickly, he made his way past the salon entrance and slipped through the crowd, almost bowling Kaela over.
"What's the big hurry?" she said.
"Get off the yacht as soon as you can," he said.
"Where are you going?"
"Don't know. See you at the Ritz Bar in about an hour." Austin pecked Kaela's cheek and headed toward the stairs that would take him to the launch deck. He hoped to catch a ride on a launch, but abandoned that course. Two guards flanked the stairway, their eyes scanning the crowd. Austin had assumed, wrongly, that Razov wouldn't risk an incident with all the people around. But Razov had spilled more than he'd intended and was willing to take the risk. Pushing his way back through the crowd, Austin was trying to gain a few minutes while he figured out an alternative escape route, when someone grabbed his arm.
Austin whirled and tensed his body into a combat stance. Petrov released his grip. The Russian was smiling, but his eyes were deadly serious.
"I think you'd better not go that way," he said. Austin followed Petrov's gaze. A guard was working his way through the crowd. He looked straight at Austin and spoke to a microphone in the lapel of his suit. Austin let Petrov guide him into one door of the salon, around the dance floor, then through the other door and out onto the deck. They headed toward a stairway, but this too had a tall guard stationed at it. The man had a hand cupped next to his ear, listening to his radio.
Wearing a broad smile, Petrov went up to him and said something in Russian. The guard responded with a suspicious glare and reached for the gun inside his jacket. Petrov drove his fist into the man's midsection. The guard doubled over, gasping for breath, and when he came up for air, Austin was waiting with a right cross. The big man tumbled like a big tree felled by a lumberjack.
Stepping over the fallen guard, they raced down the stairs to the deck below. Austin saw a door like the one used on the other side of the ship for the guest shuttles. Petrov worked the latch and pushed the door open. Austin wondered if they were going to have to swim for it when a shaft of light fell on a powerboat. The motor was idling, and the man at the wheel grinned and waved when he saw Petrov.
"I took the liberty of arranging alternative transportation," Petrov said.
"I thought you came alone."
"Never trust a former KGB man."
Austin scolded himself. Unlike Petrov, he had underestimated the determination of his foe. He had been so eager to confront Razov that he had neglected his own escape plans. He vowed to praise Ivan later for his meticulous attention to detail. He stepped from the ship onto the deck of the powerboat, Petrov followed and Petrov's man ratcheted up the throttle several notches. The boat surged forward, almost pitching Austin and Petrov into the water, as the snarling outboard motor pushed it up on plane.
Austin looked back at the brightly lit ship and chuckled as he imagined the reaction of Razov and his thugs to their escape. His triumph lasted only a second, however. Silent gunfire raked the boat, coming not from the ship but from the harbor itself. Though there was no sound, the muzzle flashes were clearly visible in the darkness, and the hail of bullets stitched their way across the body of the helmsman. He let out a soggy yell before he crumpled over the wheel, and the boat careened off at a wild angle.
Petrov pulled the man away from the wheel and Austin grabbed the helm. Spotlight beams converged on the powerboat. Razov was no fool. He'd stationed a picket line of his gunmen in boats around the yacht.
Another volley raked the boat. There was only one way past the guard boats, and that was through them, Austin concluded. He steered toward a gap between spotlights, and the boat shot between the picket line. Razov's guards held their fire for fear of hitting each other in the cross fire, but once Austin was in the open harbor, they let fly with everything they had.
The water around the fleeing boat exploded with miniature geysers. A few shots found the windshield and shattered the glass. Petrov clutched his head and fell to the deck. Austin ducked low and wrung every ounce of speed he could out of the motor. The boat was fast, but the pursuers were slightly faster. Spotlights were gaining on both sides.
Austin glanced toward shore. They'd never make it… and then another possible refuge offered itself. Dead ahead, her masts and sails illuminated by deck lights, was Old Ironsides.
A volley of slugs from a flanking pursuer slammed into the side of the boat at the waterline and blasted a row of holes in the fiberglass. Austin tried to keep the boat on plane, but the holes were too big and the boat quickly swamped. The outboard motor pushed on until it died with a smoky gasp. The boat went under like a diving submarine. Austin found himself floating in Boston Harbor. Petrov went under. Austin dove after him, grabbed the Russian by the neck and pulled him to the surface, where he was greeted by a bright light shining in his eyes, and he could hear the sound of voices shouting.
STRONG HANDS REACHED down, grabbed Austin by the arms and the scruff of his jacket and pulled him, dripping, from the chill water. He wiped his eyes and saw that he was in a double-ended boat about thirty feet long. A dozen men wearing white navy uniforms and black neckerchiefs pulled at long oars with practiced strokes. Petrov was stretched out at Austin's feet, blood streaming from a wound on his head. He gave Austin a weak wave.
"All you all right, sir?" said a young man who sat next to Austin in the stem, his hand on the tiller. Over his white sailor's uniform he wore a long black coat with brass buttons down the front, a black neckerchief and a shiny black-brimmed hat.
"A little waterlogged. Thanks for hauling us out of the harbor."
The steersman extended his free hand. "Josh Slade. I'm the officer of the deck on board the U.S.S. Constitution. We saw you from up there," he said, pointing to Old Ironsides, which sat in the water a few hundred feet away, her three tall masts brightly illuminated by floodlights.
"My name is Kurt Austin. I'm with the National Underwater and Marine Agency."
"What's NUMA doing in these parts?" Slade gave him a funny look as he asked the question. Austin brought his hand up to his face and felt his fake nose.
It was hanging half off from the effects of the dunk in the harbor. Austin ripped the nose off and tossed it over the side.
"Long story," Austin said, with a shake of his head. "How's my friend?"
"Looks like the bleeding has stopped. We'll give him first aid when we get back on board."
Music from Razov's yacht drifted across the water. Austin hoped Kaela and Lombardo were all right. He saw no sign of the c
hase boats and their gun-happy crews, but instinct and experience told him they hadn't gone far.
"Did anyone see the powerboats that were following us?"
"Just a glimpse. They were right on your tail, but when you got into trouble, they disappeared. We couldn't figure out why they didn't stop to help. Don't know where they went. We were busy launching the captain's gig and didn't pay much attention."
"Lucky you were here. It would have been a long swim back to land."
"I'll say. Normally we wouldn't be out here this late. The Constitution does one turnaround cruise a year, on the Fourth of July. We were taking the ship out on a midnight cruise. Got the master gun team, so we can fire a twenty-one-gun salute. The governor and the mayor got the okay from the Navy Department for us to do a nighttime sail-by. What happened? We saw you zipping it along, but then your boat seemed to vanish from under you."
Austin saw no point in beating around the bush. "We were leaving the party yacht. Those boats you saw shot us out of the water and killed our helmsman."
He stared at Austin as if he suspected his sanity. "We didn't hear any gunfire."
“They had silencers on their guns."
"Come to think of it, we saw flashes of light that could have come from guns. We thought they were camera strobe lights. Who were those guys? Whoops," he said, not waiting for an answer. "Going to have to excuse me for a minute."
Slade steered them around behind the Constitution under the white eagle and ship's name emblazoned on the stem. He maneuvered the boat under the davits that projected overhead like extended wooden arms. The rowers lifted the oars out of their locks and stood them in a vertical position, then attached the lines hanging down from the davits and winched themselves up to deck level.
With help from the deck crew, Petrov was extricated from the boat. The Russian had revived and was able to walk with the help of a sailor on either side. Someone made a mattress of life jackets so he wouldn't have to lie on the hard wooden deck. Another crewman gave Austin a coat to replace his dripping jacket.
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