Fire Ice

They shook hands on the deal. Austin said he would be there with the sun. He left before Kemal wanted to seal the agreement with another cup of raki. His head was spi

"How's the television star?" he asked.

"You've obviously heard about what a natural I am before the cameras," Atwood replied. "Okay, I admit it," he said, with a sheepish grin. "I had a good time filming with those crazy characters. My guess is that they'll edit out my pretty mug in favor of the lovely Miss Dorn."

"Would you blame them?"

"Hell no! Not in a hundred years. I'm surprised you didn't make a move on the lady. Losing your touch?"

"My heart belongs only to NUMA," Austin said, placing his hand on his chest. "Which brings up why I'm here. I'm going to need some help, no questions asked."

The captain cocked his head. He had known Austin a long time and never knew the man to leave business of any sort unfinished.

"We'll do what we can, as long as it doesn't involve putting the Argo or its crew in jeopardy."

"It won't. All I need is the loan of some gear." Austin summarized his wish list and asked that the equipment be delivered to the Turgut. None of it would be a problem, the captain said. While Atwood ordered up the requested gear, Austin went to his cabin and plugged in his laptop computer. He called up a commercial satellite-imaging company off the Internet and requested photos of a location on the Russian coast of the Black Sea. He examined the photos closely, but wasn't surprised when nothing unusual popped out at him. The Soviets would not be advertising their secret base.

He punched out a number on his Globalstar phone. It was still early back in the States, but he knew from his days of working with the CIA that Sam Leahy would be in his office.

"How's the weather at Langley?" Austin said, when Leahy's brass-lunged voice came on the phone.

There was a pause. "You've got the wrong number, pal. If you're looking for a goddamn weather report, call the National Underwater and Marine Agency. Hell, I hear the smart alecks at NUMA know everything there is to know."

"Almost everything, Sam. That's why I'm calling for your help."

"I knew you'd come crawling back to the Company. Great hearing from you. How have you been, you old sea dog?"

"I'm fine. They still have you tied to a desk?"

"Not for long. Retirement is in six months. Then it's ru

"Sounds tempting. Put me down for a charter at the very least. Right now I could use some information. What do you know about Soviet sub bases?"

"Broad subject. Anything in particular you'd like to know?"

"Yes. How were they physically constructed?"

"To begin with, they were big. They had to be large enough to accommodate the babies like the Typhoon, with a length of five hundred fifty-seven feet. The beam alone was seventy-five feet. Those monsters were armed with twenty nukes a piece. The Soviets wanted them protected from a nuclear attack, so they built the pens deep. They learned from the German U-boat pen construction that held up pretty well under Allied bombing. Basically, they'd blast a tu

"Do you have any data on the where and how of these bases?"

"I can get it." Austin heard an unspoken conditional in the answer. "It would really be a help if you could dig out what you can."

"No problem. Lots of that stuff has been declassified anyhow. But I'll hold you to that promise to do a charter."

Austin was relieved. He'd expected Leahy to say he would have to run the request through his higher-ups. "You provide the bait and I'll bring the beer."

Austin gave Leahy his e-mail address, thanked him again and hung up. He worked out some logistical problems on his computer, then he went out to check on the preparations for his trip with Captain Kemal. The equipment he'd asked for was stacked in boxes on the deck and ready to go. A truck was on its way to run the equipment to the Turgut. Austin had done all he could until he heard from the Special Assignments Team. He didn't have to wait long. As he was taking an equipment inventory, his phone buzzed. It was Joe Zavala calling.

"We're at the airport," Zavala said.

"What took you so long?"

Zavala sighed loudly. "That's gratitude for you. You yanked me out of the arms of the most beautiful woman on the planet."

"Every woman you've ever been involved with was the most beautiful woman on the planet."

"What can I say? I am a fortunate man."

"One day you'll thank me for rescuing you from the bonds of matrimony."

"Matrimony! A sobering thought. Don't even joke about it."

"We can talk about your love life later. How soon will you be at the Argo?"

"Gamay is nailing down a cab and Paul is humping the luggage out to the curb. We'll be there sooner than you can spell Constantinople."

Within the hour, Zavala and the Trouts arrived at the hotel. After a brief reunion, Zavala said, "Not that it matters, but we were wondering if you could give us a hint why we raced halfway across the world at warp speed."

"I missed your smiling faces?"

"Right," Zavala said. "That's why you asked me to bring along your shooting iron and my own metal delivery system."

"I'll admit I had an ulterior motive, but I'm not lying when I say it's good to see you."

Austin glanced around at the other members of the Special Assignments Team and gri

12

ROCKY POINT, MAINE

THE IMAGE ON the oversized computer monitor looked like the profile of a very tall tortoise. Leroy Jenkins clicked the computer mouse until the shell flattened as if it had been run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Jenkins made some computations from the numbers on the screen, then exploded with the blue-lightning curses he usually reserved for a tangled lobster pot line. He turned away from the computer and swiveled his chair so he was facing a big picture window. From its position high on the hill, the tall white clapboard house offered an unequaled view of the harbor and the sea beyond.

The harbor swarmed with activity. Front-end loaders scooped scattered debris into a waiting line of dump trucks. Forklifts normally used to hoist boats onto multistory racks for winter storage were plucking battered wrecks from the parking lot and lining them up where their owners could claim them. Cranes had been brought in to pick remnants of the motel off the breakwaters.

Jenkins's boat was tied up at the town pier with the others lucky enough to have been out of the way when the big wave struck. Jenkins rubbed his eyes and turned back to the computer to enter some new numbers. After a few minutes, he shook his head in frustration. He had gone through the modeling process dozens of times, feeding in different combinations of data, and his findings still didn't make sense. Jenkins was grateful when the doorbell rang. He went out into the hallway and yelled down the stairs, "Come in."

The door opened and Charlie Howes stepped inside. "Not bothering you, am I?" the police chief said.