As the chopper receded to the size of a mosquito, Austin and Zavala dabbed antiseptic from their first-aid kit onto hands rubbed raw by the cable. From their elevated perch, they had a good view of the ship, and from what they could see the vessel was completely deserted.
They climbed down to the deck and Austin suggested that they move forward on each side of the boat, keeping their weapons at the ready. Austin took the starboard deck and Zavala the port. They advanced cautiously, guns in hand. The only sound was the snap of pennants and flags in the warm breeze. They came out onto the foredeck at the same time.
Zavala's face wore an expression of astonishment. "Nothing, Kurt. It's like the Mary Celeste," he said, referring to the famous old sailing ship that had been found adrift with no one on board. "Did you find anything?"
Austin gestured for Zavala to follow and led the way back along the starboard deck. He knelt next to a dark streak on the metal deck between the railing and a doorway into the ship. Austin gingerly touched the sticky stain and sniffed the coppery odor on his finger.
"I hope that isn't what I think it is," Zavala said.
"If you said blood, you'd be right. Someone dragged a body, maybe more than one from the looks of it, across the deck and threw the corpse overboard. There's more blood on the rail."
With a heavy heart, Austin took the lead and stepped through the door out of the hot sun into the cool interior of the ship. Moving methodically, he and Zavala checked out the mess hall, library and the main lab, then climbed to the upper lab and the bridge. The farther into the ship they got, the more apparent it became that the Sea Hunter had been transformed into a charnel house. Everywhere they looked they saw spatters or puddles of blood. Austin's jaw grew rock hard. He had known many of the crew and scientists on board.
By the time they got to the wheelhouse, their nerves were as taut as piano strings. The floor was littered with charts and paper and broken glass from the windows. Austin picked up the radio microphone that had been ripped from its connection. The mike would have been of little use, since the communications console was riddled with bullet holes.
"Now we know why they didn't answer their calls," he said.
Zavala murmured softly in Spanish. "It looks like the Manson gang was here."
"We'd better check the ship's quarters," Austin said. They made their way down two levels in the tomblike silence and worked their way through the accommodations for the crew, officers and the scientists, finding more evidence of violence but no one alive, finally stopping outside a door marked STORES.
Austin pushed the door open, slipped his hand around the jamb and flicked on the lights. Cardboard cartons stacked several levels high were arranged in a rectangle on wooden palettes with a narrow aisle running around the outside. In one corner of the room was a service elevator used to haul supplies up to the galley.
Austin heard a soft muffled sound, and his finger tightened on the trigger. He signaled to Zavala to take one side of the room while he took the other. Zavala nodded and started off, moving as silently as a ghost. Austin edged along the other wall, then peered around a stack of canned-tomato cartons. The noise was repeated, louder now, sounding more animal than human. Zavala peered around the far corner, then they both stepped into the clear. Austin put his finger to his lips and pointed toward a narrow cleft between stacked boxes. A low moan issued from the alcove.
Austin waved Zavala off. Holding his gun in front of him with both hands, he stepped forward, and swung the Bowen around, pointing it between the boxes. He let out a robust curse, thinking how close he had come to shooting the young woman who cowered in the tight space.
She was a pitiful sight. Her dark curly hair hung over her face, her red-rimmed eyes brimmed with tears, her nose was wet and runny. She had crammed herself into a space less than two feet wide, her legs tight together, her arms around her knees. Her clenched fists were white-knuckled. When she saw Austin, a toneless ululating sound escaped her lips.
“Nunununu."
Austin realized the woman was repeating the word "no" again and again. He holstered his gun and squatted down so their faces were level.
"It's okay," he said. "We're from NUMA. Do you understand?"
She stared at Austin and mouthed the word NUMA.
"That's right. I'm Kurt Austin." Joe had come up behind him. "This is Joe Zavala. We're from the Argo. We tried to call your ship on the radio. Can you tell us what happened?"
She replied with a vigorous shake of her head.
"Maybe we should go on deck where there's fresh air," Zavala suggested.
She shook her head again. This wasn't going to be easy. The woman was wedged tightly in her space and they would hurt her, and maybe themselves, if they tried to pull her out by force. She was in a state of shock.
Austin extended his hand palm up. She stared at it for a minute, then reached out and brushed his fingers as if she wanted to make sure he was real. The physical contact seemed to bring her back into the world.
"I was on this ship two years ago. I know Captain Brewer very well," Austin said.
She studied his face for a moment, and the flame of recognition flickered in her eyes. "I saw you at NUMA headquarters once."
“That's possible. What department did you work in?"
She shook her head. "I'm not with NUMA. My name is Ian Montague. I teach at the University of Texas. I'm a guest scientist."
"Do you want to come out, Ian? It can't be too comfortable in there."
She made a face. "I'm beginning to feel like a sardine."
The flash of humor was a good sign. Austin helped Ian from the alcove and turned her over to Zavala, who asked if she was hurt.
"No, thank you. I can walk on my own." She took a few steps and had to reach out for Joe's arm for support.
They climbed up to the aft deck. Even the fresh air and sun couldn't dispel the black cloud that hung over the ship. Ian sat on a coil of line, blinking her eyes in the sunlight. Zavala offered her a flask of tequila he carried in his pack for what he said were medicinal purposes. The liquor brought color back to her cheeks, and signs of life returned to the impassive eyes. Austin waited patiently for her to speak.
She stared out at the water in silence. Finally, she said, “They came out of the sea."
"Who did?"
"The killers. They came at dawn. Most people were in bed."
"What kind of boat did they come on?"
"I don't know. They were just... here. I never saw a boat." Once the plug was pulled, the story poured out. "I was sleeping, and they came into my room and pulled me out. They were dressed in strange uniforms, baggy pants and boots. They killed my roommate, shot her without warning. I could hear gunfire allover the ship."
"Did they tell you who they were?"
“They didn't say a word. They just went about their business as if they were killing cattle in a slaughterhouse. Only one of them talked."
"Tell me about him."
She reached out with trembling hands and took another swig of tequila. "He was tall, very tall, and skinny, almost emaciated. He was pale, as if he never saw the sun, and had a long beard and hair all matted as if he never combed it." She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "He smelled, too, as if he hadn't taken a bath in months."
"How was he dressed?"
"All in black, like some kind of priest. But the worst thing were those eyes." She shuddered. “They were too big for his face, round and staring. I don't think he blinked, They were like fish eyes. Dead with no emotion in them."
"You said he spoke to you."
"I must have passed out. When I awoke, I was lying on my bunk. He was bending over me. His breath was so foul, it was all I could do not to vomit. The ship was quiet. There was only that voice, soft like the hissing of a snake. Almost hypnotic. He said he had killed everyone on the ship except me. They were leaving me alive to deliver a message." Her body convulsed into choking sobs, but her anger helped her pull herself together and she continued. "He wanted NUMA to know that this was revenge for killing his Guardians and violating the 'sacred precincts.' He said he wanted Kurt Austin."
"You're sure he called me by name?"
"I wouldn't make a mistake about something like that. I said that you weren't here. They knew you were on the Argo. I told him this wasn't the Argo. He had one of his men check. When he learned he was on the wrong ship, he flew into a rage. He said to tell NUMA and the U.S. that this was a small taste of the destruction that was yet to come."
"Is there anything else?"
"That's all I remember." She stared dumbly.
Austin thanked her and went over to where his pack was lying on the deck. He pulled out his Globalstar phone. Within seconds, he was talking to Gunn. "Are you still in the air?"
"Just barely. We're running on fumes, but we'll make it. Are you and Joe okay?"
"We're fine."
Gunn sensed from Austin's tone that there was more be- hind the terse reply. "What's the situation on the Hunter?"
"I'd rather not say over the phone, but it's about as bad as it can get."
Gunn said, "Help is on its way. I talked to Sandecker, and he called his friends in the navy. They're grateful for getting the NR-1's crew back. When he said you needed some assistance, they broke a cruiser off from NATO exercises in the area."
"I wouldn't mind an aircraft carrier at this point, but a cruiser will be fine."
"The ship will be there within two hours. Anything else you need?"
Austin's eyes hardened and a razor-sharp edge came into his voice. "Yeah. I'd like about five minutes with a certain bug-eyed freak."
-25- THE NAVY PUT an armed party aboard the Sea Hunter, but nothing could be done until an investigation team arrived. Austin needed no forensic expert to tell him the murderous sequence of events that had transpired aboard the unsuspecting ship. The attackers had arrived by sea, silently stolen onto the vessel, then made their way through the ship and systematically slaughtered everyone on her except for the one witness they purposely left alive. A maniac who talked of revenge had led the attack.
The message left with the sole survivor made it clear that the raid was payback: Austin called NUMA headquarters and asked that a warning be issued to all the agency’s vessels, especially those in the Mediterranean area. He felt responsible despite Zavala's argument that no one could have anticipated the savage attack on the Sea Hunter: He could barely keep his anger under control. Zavala recognized the cold, distant expression on Austin's face, and he knew the contest between Austin and the killers had become intensely personal. If he hadn't seen what Boris and his minions bad done on the NUMA ship, he might have felt sorry for them.
The trip back to Istanbul on the navy cruiser was uneventful. Austin and Zavala arrived at their Istanbul hotel in the wee hours of the morning. An overnight FedEx packet from the States awaited Austin at the front desk. He took it up to his room and smiled as he read the note inside the envelope; "Herewith is enclosed information on the Odessa Star. Will forward more as unearthed. Haven't you forgotten you owe me something? P." Austin called the hotel concierge and said a large tip would be forthcoming if he could dig up a recipe for imam bayidi and forward it to Perlmutter. Then he scanned the material on the Odessa Star.
The Lloyd's record was enlightening, but Austin didn't know what to make of the story of the little mermaid and filed it in the back of his mind. Perlmutter's description of the strange conversation with Dodson caught his attention. Curious. Why would the English lord hang up on Perlmutter? For an old derelict, the Odessa Star elicited strong reactions. At the mere mention of the vessel, Dodson had rolled down a curtain of silence.
Austin picked up the phone and called Zavala's room. "Cool your jets, my friend. I'm almost packed," Zavala said.
"I'm happy to hear that. How would you like to take a slight detour through England? I need you to talk to somelone. I'd do it myself, but Rudi and I have to get back to Washington to fill Sandecker in." Austin was also aware of his own impatience and sometimes intimidating physical presence and reasoned that the soft-spoken Zavala might fare better with a reluctant source.
"No problem. I may look up a lady friend in Chelsea - "
"She'll be devastated when she learns you won't have time for socializing. This won't wait," he said, his voice serious. "I'm bringing you something I'd like you to read." Austin went next door to Zavala's room. While Zavala dove into the material from Perlmutter, Austin called the concierge again and asked him to find a seat for Joe on the next flight to London. The concierge said he had finished faxing the recipe to Perlmutter and would do his best. Austin knew there were at least two ways of getting things done in Istanbul, the official route and the unofficial way, which relied on a network of family and friends and the leverage of IOUs for old favors. The concierge was apparently well connected because he found the last seat on a plane leaving within two hours.
