Devil's Gate

Kurt spat a mix of blood and saliva onto the deck. “What are you up to, Andras?” he said. “What is this all about?”

“I’m flattered that you recognize me at last,” Andras said. “Of course a little insulted that it took so long. I thought I would have made a bigger impression all those years ago. Then again,” he said, “I didn’t recognize you either. But you didn’t have silver hair when I knew you. I’d like to think I caused some of that.”

Kurt felt his body tense, his instincts urging him to thrash and fight. The despair of the scientists, the purple bruise on Katarina’s face, the arrogance that oozed from Andras’s mouth like sewer water: all of it tested his control.

If he could have busted his chains, he would have lunged for Andras and fought him to the death right there and then, but cuffed and disadvantaged he could do little by antagonizing the man except act as a punching bag.

Andras walked around him in a wide circle, pontificating. Kurt had forgotten how much the man loved to talk.

“Once I heard of this NUMA,” Andras said, “I should have guessed you were involved. It just sounds so Kurt Austin to me. All upstanding and forthright. I’ll bet you say the Pledge of Allegiance to your flag every morning, and you probably all have patches and jackets and matching key chains.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said through his teeth. “Maybe I’ll bring you some of our swag when this is over and you’re serving a hundred years in solitary.”

“Solitary?” Andras said. “How cruel. At least when I commit you to the sea, I won’t be sending you down alone.” He leaned closer. “And just to be clear, when this is over, you will be fish food and I will be a king.”

Andras smiled, and Kurt found something odd in the words and the way Andras had whispered them to him alone.

As a chill of fear crept over him, Kurt wondered what malice Andras would visit upon them now. He prayed it wouldn’t include Katarina. Despite those prayers, Andras hopped back onto the motor yacht and walked right toward her. He crouched down, put a hand on her bruised face, and then stood.

“Put Mr. Austin back in his little submarine,” he ordered.

Three men came over to Kurt, two white, one black. They heaved him off his feet and literally threw him into the Barracuda.

“Mathias,” Andras ordered, speaking to the African man, “chain him to the lift bar.”

Kurt stared at the bar. It resembled a towel rack, mounted on the Barracuda’s hull just outside the cockpit. It was a hard point on the hull, the strongest spot on the entire submersible. Welded directly to the frame and made of carbon steel, the lift bar was designed to hold the entire submarine’s weight when she was pulled from the water by the Argo’s crane.

It was not a spot Kurt wanted to be handcuffed to.

Mathias took a key from around his neck and undid Kurt’s handcuffs. Immediately, Kurt swung an elbow, catching one of the white men in the mouth. Almost instantly the other white man slammed Kurt in the back of the head, crashing his skull against the frame of the cockpit.

Kurt felt a moment of dizziness. When his head cleared, he felt his arms draped over the outside of the Barracuda’s hull, even though his body was mostly in the cockpit. His cuffs had been undone and recuffed around the lift bar.

“And the other one,” Andras said.

Joe was thrown in next to Kurt and given the same treatment. And while they sat there helpless, Andras grabbed a shotgun.

“Slugs,” he demanded.

A box was handed to him, and he began filling the weapon with the solid projectiles. When it was fully loaded, he pumped it and walked around to the rear of the submarine. He fired two quick blasts into the impeller and then a third into the starboard wing.

The Barracuda’s hollow wing began to take on water. Andras raised the weapon and blew a hole in the port wing.

Kurt could not remember feeling so desperate. He knew they were about to go under, a horrible death awaiting them, and his mind grasped for a way to cheat it.

“You think drowning us ends this?” he shouted. “We know about you. Our whole organization knows.”

Joe said nothing. Kurt could hear him breathing fast and deep, trying to pump his lungs full of air. Kurt knew he should be doing the same, but he couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t going out quietly.

As the water filled the Barracuda’s wings, Kurt frantically tried to shout something that might make Andras call a halt to the proceedings. If he could just convince him they were valuable enough to spare, even if it was just for a while, it would give them a chance.

“We know about your submarine,” he shouted.

Andras raised an eyebrow. “Do you, now?” he said. “That’s more than I thought you knew. But, at any rate, it’s not mine.”

Feeling the slightest bit of traction, Kurt pressed. “We know what you’re up to. We know about the energy weapon.”

This seemed to hit closer to the mark. Something in Andras seemed to stir, and his eyes began to light up. He stepped closer.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s the spirit. I knew you wouldn’t give up.”

It seemed as if he’d realized Kurt’s desperate gambit and was taking great delight in being part of it.

“Come on, what else?” he shouted

Kurt didn’t respond right away, and Andras grabbed Mathias and yanked the key and its rope from around the man’s neck.

“Come on, now,” he shouted sarcastically, “You’re Kurt Austin of NUMA! Surely you can do better than that. Give me some more. Give me something that will make you matter.”

Katarina stood and rushed forward as best she could. What she had in mind, Kurt didn’t know — and most likely she didn’t either — but she didn’t get far. One of the armed men grabbed her and yanked her back, flinging her to the deck, and Kurt’s blood burned even hotter.

“Time’s ru

The Barracuda’s wings were awash now; any second the cockpit would start filling. There were precious few seconds left.

“We know about the superconductor,” Kurt said, hating himself for being led along. “We know who sold it to you,” he lied. “We know it was loaded on the Kinjara Maru in Freetown.”

Andras looked down as if thinking. He glanced briefly at Mathias and then turned back to Kurt, smiling maniacally.

“Good enough,” he said, moving forward with the knife in his hand. “Good enough for half anyway.”

He leaned toward the Barracuda, raised his arm, and plunged the knife into the thin skin of her outer hull. The knife punched though and lodged tight, just out of Kurt’s reach.

“Unfortunately, half won’t save you both.”

The water poured into the cockpit and swirled up around Kurt’s knees. They were going down.

He glanced at Joe. “Whatever happens,” he said, “follow my lead.”

Joe nodded as Kurt filled his lungs, breathing deep and fast, as the Barracuda began to roll and pitch nose down.

The water churned, the nose of the sub disappeared, and the rest followed, dragging him and Joe under. The last sound Kurt heard clearly was Katarina screaming his name.

36

ON BOARD THE MOTOR YACHT, Katarina fell forward as the Barracuda went under. She stared at the swirling waters where the small sub had been moments before.

“No,” she cried in a cracking whisper. “No.”

She lowered her eyes and lay facedown on the deck, shoulders shaking as she sobbed.

Andras stared at her. “Now, that’s a pitiful sight.”

He walked toward her and crouched down. He put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face until she was looking in his eyes.