Fire Ice

They had arrived in Istanbul a few days earlier to launch a search for Noah's ark. The ark was an overworked cliche that even the supermarket tabloids had consigned to the back section with Elvis sightings and the Loch Ness monster, so Kaela had kept a sharp eye out for other leads in case the ark story didn't pan out. Their first day, while Kaela was looking for a fishing boat to take them into the Black Sea, she'd struck up a conversation with a colorful old Russian seaman she met on the docks. He had served on a Soviet missile sub and told her about an abandoned submarine base, even drew her a map showing the base's location in a remote comer of the Black Sea, after hinting that a gift of money might refresh his failing memory.

When Kaela approached her colleagues and excitedly poured out the story of the abandoned Soviet submarine base, they lost no time pla

Captain Kemal, the boat's owner, was paid by the day, and said he knew of the sub base and would be happy to go there before they hooked up with the NUMA vessel. However, the fishing boat had engine trouble as they neared the base and the captain wanted to turn back to port – he'd had a similar problem before and it would take only a few hours to fix it once he had the part – but Kaela had persuaded him to drop her and her crew off and come back for them the next day. Mehmet, who was the captain's cousin, had volunteered to run them ashore in his Zodiac.

Now, the Zodiac was approaching a wide beach that rose gradually to a ridge of sand dunes. The waves grew higher and closer together, and Mehmet reduced their speed to half. The old Russian sailor had said that the base was underground, near an abandoned scientific station, and they would have to search for telltale air vents. Kaela wiped the water from her sunglasses and squinted toward the grassy hills, but saw no sign of human presence. The countryside was bleak and desolate, and she began to wonder if they had bitten off more than they could chew. The bean counters at U.M. frowned at unproductive expenditures.

"See anything?" Lombardo shouted over the buzz of the outboard.

"No billboards, if that's what you mean."

"Maybe this isn't the right place."

"Captain Kemal says this is it, and I have the map from the Russian."

"How much did you pay that scam artist for the map?"

"One hundred dollars."

Lombardo looked as if he had sucked on a lemon. "Wonder how many times he's sold the same map."

Kaela pointed toward land. "That high spot over there looks promising."

Thut!

Kaela jerked her head back at the weird sound. Then she saw the ragged hole that had opened in the rubberized fabric a foot to the right of her head. She thought one of the many patches on the inflatable's skin had popped off from the beating the Zodiac was taking, and she turned to tell Mehmet – but the Turk had risen from his kneeling position, an odd expression on his face, his hand clutched to his chest. Then he crumpled as if the air had gone out of him and pitched overboard. With no hand to steady the tiller, the boat went broadside and was caught by an incoming wave. The breaker lifted the boat at a sharp angle, then it was caught by another wave and flipped over, spilling the passengers into the sea.

The sky whirled over Kaela's head, then cold water shocked her body. She went under a few feet, and when she came up, sputtering, to the surface, the lights had gone out. She was under the overturned raft. She ducked her head and came up in the open. Lombardo's bald head bobbed up, then Dundee surfaced.

"Are you okay?" she yelled, swimming closer.

Lombardo spit out the remnants of his cigar. "What the hell happened?"

"I think Mehmet was shot."

"Shot? Are you sure?"

"He grabbed his chest and went over the side." With Lombardo following, she swam over to the front of the boat. "This is where the first bullet hit a second before the second one got Mehmet."

"Jeez!" Lombardo said, sticking his finger in the hole.

"Poor bastard." Dundee breaststroked over to join the other two and they all drifted together, holding on to the raft. They agreed to stay with the raft where Kemal would find them, rather than risk going ashore. The Zodiac was low in the water, but some compartments still held air. Several times they tried to flip the boat over, but the weight of the outboard and the slipperiness of the rounded sides made it impossible. They were tiring fast and the waves were pushing them ever closer to the beach.

"That's it," Lombardo said, after an unsuccessful effort that left them all breathless. "Looks like we're going in after all."

"What if the guys who shot at us are still there?" Dundee said.

"You got a better suggestion?"

"The gunshots look as if they came from directly ahead," Kaela said. "Let's hide under the raft and move it off at an angle."

"We don't have a hell of a lot of choice," Lombardo said. He ducked underneath.

When the other two joined him, he was smiling. "Look at this," he said, grabbing onto the waterproof bags that were suspended from the seats, where they had been tied. "The cameras are okay."

Kaela let out a whooping laugh that had a damp echo in the enclosed space. "What are we supposed to do if somebody points a gun at us, Mickey, take their picture?"

"You'll have to admit it would make a good story. What'ya think, Dundee?"

"I think you two Yanks are bloody crazy! But so am I, or I wouldn't be here with you. Tell me, luv," he said to Kaela, "didn't your Russkie friend say this place was abandoned?"

"He said the Russians had left a long time ago."

"Maybe it's like one of those islands in the Pacific where the Japanese soldiers hid in the jungle, not knowing the war was over," Lombardo suggested. "Maybe the guys here haven't heard the Cold War ended." He was clearly excited at the prospect.

"Sounds pretty far-fetched," Kaela said.

"Yeah, I agree, but do you have a better idea of who took the potshots at us?"

"No, I don't," Kaela said. "But if we don't start kicking, we're going to find out real soon. I'll check things out." She disappeared for a few moments. When she returned, she said, “The beach looks deserted. I suggest we start moving this thing off to the right. Otherwise we'll drift straight in."

They grabbed onto the boat, and began to kick. The Zodiac moved, but the rollers pushed them toward shore. The muffled roar of waves breaking on the beach grew louder. No more gunshots came their way and they began to hope that the shooters were gone. That optimism would have eroded quickly if they had been able to see beyond the grass crowning the dunes. A line of razor-sharp sabers was raised high in the sun like the blades of a giant threshing machine, ready to cut them to ribbons as soon as they crawled ashore.

4

HIGH ABOVE THE overturned Zodiac, a turquoise aircraft that resembled a winged canoe wheeled in a lazy circle. The broad-shouldered man at the controls rolled the ultralight airplane into a tight banking turn and peered down through tinted goggles, squinting against the reflected glare with eyes the color of coral underwater. His wind-burnished face was creased in a look of puzzlement.