Devil's Gate

“Gifts from a misspent youth,” he whispered back. “Now, please stay here.” “What if someone starts to choke you again?” she asked “And I’m not there to save you?” Kurt guessed he wasn’t going to live that moment down. He snuck inside the house with Katarina right behind him. Right away he could tell something was wrong. The place was a shambles.

Katarina winced suddenly, made a slight noise, and dropped down to her hands and knees.

Kurt dropped down next to her. Aside from the two of them, nothing in the house was moving. “What’s wrong?” “Glass,” she said, pulling a sliver out of her foot.

“Give me two minutes,” Kurt said.

This time, she nodded and held her position.

Kurt moved quickly, exploring the rest of the villa, and then returned with a grim look on his face.

Back in the living room, he switched the lights on. The place looked as if it had been hit by a tornado; couches overturned, cabinets open, and items strewn about. A glass table lamp had been shattered, and shards of glass littered the floor.

“We need to call the police,” Kurt said. He looked for the phone, spotted a pair of flip-flops by the door, and handed them to Katarina.

“Put these on.”

As she slipped her feet into the sandals, Kurt located the phone and picked up the receiver.

No dial tone. He found the wall jack and realized the phone had been ripped out of it. The jack looked damaged. They’d have to find another one to plug it into. He headed for the kitchen.

“What happened here?” Katarina asked.

“The French habit of talking too much got the best of them,” Kurt said. He’d found another phone jack near the sink. He plugged the cord in, got a tone, and began dialing.

As he waited for someone to pick up, he noticed an open drawer. Silverware and other utensils had spilled onto the floor, including a vicious-looking carving knife. It looked like the French had fought back.

With his attention diverted, Kurt didn’t notice Katarina begi

“Don’t,” Kurt said.

Too late. The switch flicked, and the room lit up.

Katarina gasped and turned away. Kurt put the phone down and grabbed her, as she looked as if she might faint.

She glanced back in the room and then buried her face in his chest. “They’re dead,” she said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you to see that.” The entire French team had been murdered. Four bodies lay in the room, thrown disrespectfully against the wall like discarded junk. Bullet holes riddled one of the men, another looked as if he’d been strangled, based on the marks around his neck. The others were harder to see, and Kurt hadn’t gone that close. But even from the doorway Kurt recognized the man he’d plucked from the depths with too much weight on his belt.

In Kurt’s arms Katarina trembled, a hand over her mouth, her eyes closed tight. Kurt turned her away and led her to the living room. He righted the couch and sat her down.

“I have to call the police,” he said.

She nodded, unable to speak.

As Kurt moved back to the open kitchen he kept an eye on Katarina. It was true men had already died that night, but they’d been men intent on killing or harming both him and her. And they’d gone off a cliff hidden in a car, all but unseen. This was different.

These men were fellow scientists. Katarina had apparently shared drinks with them on at least one occasion.

“How could the police not know already?” she asked.

“It probably happened quickly,” Kurt said, hoping for the dead men’s sake it had. “The assailants probably had suppressors on their weapons and took these men by surprise.” “But why?” she asked. “Why would anyone—” “They had the core sample,” Kurt said. “From what I understand it could be extremely valuable, that’s why we’re here while the Spanish and Portuguese figure out who owns it and in what percentages. These guys were bold enough to take that sample illegally but stupid enough to talk about it.” “Too much wine,” she said. “Men like to brag when they’ve had too much wine.” The police finally answered and promised to send both investigators and the coroner. While he waited, Kurt searched in vain for the core sample. He found a long rectangular box filled with foam in a room with other equipment. It lay open and turned over. He guessed the sample had been inside.

An hour of discussion with the police followed, and then Kurt and Katarina were allowed to leave.

“What will you do now?” Katarina asked.

“I have to get in touch with my ship,” Kurt said, raising his eyes toward the harbor and finding himself surprised at what he saw.

“I have a radio set on my boat,” she said. “You could use that.” “I don’t think we’ll need it.” She looked up.

“That’s my ship right there,” he said. “The one all lit up like a Christmas tree.” As Kurt wondered what the Argo was doing in port with every available light blazing he began looking around, hoping he and Katarina could bum a ride from one of the cops. All of a sudden a tiny van came zooming up.

Kurt recognized the driver’s round, smiling face. “I thought the police would never let you go,” he said. “Ready?” Kurt figured a two-hour wait was more than enough to earn a hundred dollars. He fished the other half of the C-note out of his pocket and handed it over.

“Ready,” he said.

31

WHILE KATARINA WAITED on the Argo’s bridge, Kurt Austin sat in the conference room with Captain Haynes and Joe Zavala. He spent ten minutes relaying the events he and Katarina had endured that night, concluding with the grisly discovery at the French team’s beach house.

In response, Captain Haynes told him of the attack on the Grouper, Paul’s near drowning, and his current condition. He and Joe then took turns explaining what they knew of Gamay’s theory that the Kinjara Maru had been hit with some type of directed-energy weapon.

“Are we talking about something like the SDI program?” Kurt asked, referring to the Strategic Defense Initiative. “Something that could shoot down missiles?”

“Could be,” the captain said. “The thing is, we don’t really know. But it’s possible.”

“And why hit some random freighter in the middle of the Atlantic?” Kurt asked.

Before anyone could answer, the intercom light flashed, and the communications officer spoke.

“Incoming call for you, Captain. It’s Director Pitt.”

“Put him on speaker,” the captain said.

The speaker crackled for a second and then the sound of Dirk Pitt’s voice came over it. “I know it’s late there, gentlemen, but I understand everyone is still up.”

“We’ve been discussing the events,” Haynes said.

“I just posed a question that’s been on my mind since this started,” Kurt said. “Why target a bulk carrier in the middle of the Atlantic? That goes for simple piracy or this electromagnetic weapon we’re now talking about.”

“I think I have the answer to that,” Dirk said. “Hiram Yaeger is doing a study to figure out the power requirements and capabilities of such a weapon right now, but when I asked him what someone would need to create such a weapon his short answer was ‘More.’”

“More?” Kurt said. “More what?”

“More everything,” Dirk replied. “More energy, more materials, more money. More than it might be easy to get one’s hands on. In this case, the Kinjara Maru was likely targeted for a shipment of titanium-doped YBCO. It’s a highly advanced, hellaciously expensive compound used to make incredibly powerful superconducting magnets.”

“And those magnets can be used in making energy weapons,” Kurt guessed. “Just like the one Gamay thinks hit the ship.”