Devil's Gate

Silence descended on them as everyone considered the implications.

“Those Typhoons were converted to cargo carriers,” Dirk noted. “Able to haul fifteen thousand tons where their missile bays used to be.”

“And if thirty tons of YBCO is worth sinking a ship over,” Kurt said, “how likely is it that an outfit interested in ‘more’ is going to pass up a free haul like this?”

The silence returned. Even over the speaker all that could be heard was a quiet background of white noise.

“If they have a Typhoon,” Pitt said, “all they would have to do is carve sections out of the wall and drop them in the missile bay like it’s the back of a dump truck. But let’s be clear. We don’t know that they have one.”

Kurt nodded, accepting that, and Joe glanced over at him, raising his eyebrows.

“Even if we did know what they had,” Joe said, “what exactly are we going to do about it?”

Kurt considered Joe’s words. A Typhoon armed with torpedoes and crewed by mercenaries was far beyond the Argo’s capability to deal with.

“Joe’s right,” the captain said. “We can’t risk the ship. Until the naval forces come into range, we have no choice but to give these people wide berth, whatever they’re up to.”

Kurt knew they were right, but it felt like giving up to him, like quitting. There had to be a way to stop them. He glanced through the window in the conference room’s door, focusing on Katarina. She sat quietly on the bridge, a NUMA windbreaker over her shoulders, sipping a cup of coffee and talking to a crewman as she waited. A thought came to him.

“What if we don’t try to stop them?” he said. “What if we get out there, hide in among the wrecks, and lie in wait for them. Then if they do show up, we find a good moment and attach a transmitter to their hull. That way, we can track them to wherever their base is and let the big boys deal with the rest.”

The captain and Joe seemed to like the plan. Pitt remained silent.

“Director?” the captain said.

“Sounds like a huge risk,” Dirk said. “Easier to get some ASW patrols from shore-based aircraft.”

“All that’ll do is scare them off,” Kurt said. “This way, we find out who they are and where they’re from.”

“And how do you plan on getting out there without tipping your hand?” Pitt asked. “They’ll expect something the moment you leave port.”

Kurt smiled and glanced at Joe. “We’ll take the Barracuda,” he said.

32

Santa Maria Island, Vila do Porto, June 24

AFTER CONCLUDING THEIR PLANNING SESSION in the conference room, Kurt, Joe, and the captain broke away to handle different tasks. Joe went to the Argo’s machine shop to get working on a transmitter that would be powerful enough to hang onto the back of a submarine making 25 knots and also small enough to go u

The captain ordered the Argo darkened to a normal state and then made contact with the Vila do Porto police. He requested two cars be sent out and parked at the dockside with their lights flashing. He assumed that would help keep any trouble away and also distract anyone who was watching while the Barracuda was quietly slipped into the water.

Meanwhile, Kurt walked Katarina to the end of the dock, waiting for a car to arrive.

“Your chaperone,” he said, avoiding the word handler.

“I’m not a spy,” she insisted, “but it seems all my life I’ve had someone watching me.” “How do you deal with it?” Kurt asked.

“I’m used to it,” she said. “But you can’t imagine how hard it was to go on a date in Torino.” He had to laugh. “And this guy?”

“Sergei,” she said. “Major Sergei Komarov.” Sounded like a good strong KGB/FSB enforcer. For the first time in his life Kurt felt glad about that.

“Stay close to Sergei,” he said. “Keep your doors locked. I’m pretty sure these people have bigger fish to fry right now, but you never know. They know you’ve seen them, even if it was from a distance and in low light.” “I will,” she said.

“Want to tell me why you were diving on that Constellation?” She smiled, shook her head. “The major might not like that.” “Well, maybe tomorrow or the next day,” he said.

The sad look returned to her eyes. “If I’m right, we’ll be leaving in the morning. I might not see you again.” “Don’t count on that,” Kurt said. “I’ve always wanted to see Russia as a tourist. Maybe even come in the winter and get one of those giant fur hats.” “Come see me,” she said, “I promise you won’t need a hat to keep you warm.” The car arrived.

Sergei got out and stood by the door. Katarina gave Kurt a long kiss and then climbed in.

Thirty minutes later it was all a memory as Kurt and Joe raced through the ink-black Atlantic waters in the Barracuda, making their way to the tower of magnetic rock. They reached it in just under two hours, approaching the area with caution.

“I’m not hearing anything on the sonar array,” Joe said.

“If they were on-site already, it would probably sound like a working gravel pit,” Kurt said. “At least if they’re pla

“Let’s set down beside the wreck of that old Liberty ship,” Joe said. “From there we’ll be almost invisible.” Kurt looked down at the diagram of where the wrecks lay. With an expert hand he glided the Barracuda to a spot of sand right beside the great ship. Putting down, he had the odd feeling of being a guppy in a fish tank, settling in beside the ubiquitous sunken ship with a great hole in the side.

“Cut the lights,” he said.

Joe hit a few switches, and the Barracuda went instantly and absolutely dark.

Kurt held up his hand to test the old adage about not being able to see your hand in front of your face. Down here, at least, with daylight yet to break, it was true.

“How much air do we have?” he asked.

“Just under ten hours,” Joe said.

“Well,” Kurt said, trying to get comfortable, “nothing to do now but wait.”

FOUR HOURS LATER Kurt felt a tap on the shoulder from Joe. They’d decided to sleep in two-hour shifts. Kurt hoped Joe’s tap meant their guests had arrived.

“Something happening?” he asked, straightening and banging his head on the canopy and then his knee on the panel in front of him.

“Yeah,” Joe said. “The sun’s coming up.”

Kurt looked up. A smidgen of light could be seen filtering in from above. And while it was still dark enough down below that the only light he could see came from the glowing phosphors on his dive watch, he noticed the time was almost seven a.m. It had to be plenty bright up top.

He tried to stretch again, but it was no use. “Next time you design a sub, try including a little headroom.” “Absolutely,” Joe said.

“This is worse than an economy flight to Australia.” “At least they serve food on those,” Joe said, “even if it’s just peanuts.” “Yeah,” Kurt said, thinking they could have pla