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  “Why would you conclude that?”

  “Please don't be coy with me. He's Russian. They were Russian. His operations are centered in the Black Sea.”

  “Sorry, I can't tell you everything. It's for your own protection. But there is a connection.”

  “Is Razov Tesponsible for the death of Captain Kemal's cousin, Mehmet?”

  Austin paused. There was no refusing the determined gaze of those amber eyes. “Indirectly, yes.”

  “I knew it. It's time that dirtbag is called to accounts.”

  “I have every intention of making Razov pay for his deeds,” Austin said.

  “Then I want a piece of the action.”

  “You'll get your story. I promise.”

  “I'm not talking about a story. Look, Kurt,” she said with frustration, “I'm not some California Valley Girl whose biggest thrill was getting kicked out of the mall for smoking. I grew up in a tough hood and if I hadn't had an even tougher mother, I might be doing ten to twenty at Soledad now. I want to do something to help.”

  “You've already helped by getting me on board.”

  “That's not enough. It's evident to me that you want to nail this creep to the wall. Okay, I want my hand on the hammer.”

  Austin vowed never to get caught in the crosshairs of Kaela's gunsight.

  “It's a deal, but tonight we're on Razov's turf. You keep a low profile. I don't want to expose you and Mickey to any danger. I'll work the ship on my own. Agreed?”

  Kaela nodded. “You'll have time while we're doing the interviews.” She grabbed his arm and guided him toward the salon door. “But first I'm calling in the IOU on that drink you've promised me since the day we met.”

  They joined the throng moving into the immense salon. For a moment, Austin forgot that he was on a boat. They seemed to have been transported a hundred years back in time. The salon looked like a throne room designed by a Las Vegas casino architect. It was a curious meld of Western civilization and Eastern barbarism. Their feet sank into a plush carpet of imperial purple that was big enough to cover several houses. Crystal chandeliers hung from vaulted ceilings that were covered with figures of cupids and nymphs. On each side of the room was a row of square-built columns whose sides were carved and covered with gold leaf.

  The crowd was a cross section of Boston's powerful and influential. Fat, red-nosed pols whose bellies strained at the buttons of their rented tuxedos jostled each other for room at the huge center table, which groaned under the weight of Russian delicacies of every description. At the other exreme, painfully thin women sat at rococo tables and picked at their food as if it were poisoned. Waspish businessmen gathered in knots to discuss how best to help the wealthy Razov spend his money. Legions of attorneys, financiers, Beacon Hill lobbyists and staff people flitted from table to table like bees in search of nectar. At the far end was a dais, but instead of a gold throne it held a band that played a lively Russian folk tune. The musicians were dressed like Cossacks, Austin noted with discomfort.

  While Austin and Kaela looked for a place to light, there was a roll of drums from the band. The public-relations man in the crested blazer took the stage, effusively thanked everyone for coming and said that their host would like to say a few words. Moments later, a middle-aged man wearing a plain blue suit climbed the stage and took the microphone. At his heel were two Russian wolfhounds-lean, regal-looking dogs with snow-white fur.

  Austin edged closer for a good look at Razov. The Russian didn't look like an arch villain. Except for his hatchet-faced profile and deathly pale skin, he was quite ordinary. Austin reminded himself that history is full of men of unremarkable appearance who have rained unbounded misery on their fellow human beings. Hitler could have passed as the starving artist he once was. Roosevelt had called Stalin “Uncle Joe,” as if he were a kindly old relative instead of a mass murderer. Razov began to talk.

  Speaking English with only a trace of an accent, he said, “I wish to thank you all for coming to this party honoring your wonderful city.” Gesturing toward the wolfhounds, he said, “Sasha and Gorky are very happy to have you here too.” The dogs were the ice breakers he wanted them to be. After the crowd had responded with laughter and applause, the hounds were taken away by a handler. Razov waved good-bye to the dogs and grinned at the audience. He spoke in a deep baritone and with an authoritative manner. He had the gift of appearing to look people directly in the eye. Within minutes, he had everyone in the room hanging on his every word. Even the pols had stopped their gluttony to listen.

  “It gives me great pleasure to be here in America's cradle of independence. Only a few miles from here is Bunker Hill, and a little farther, Lexington, where the shot was fired that was 'heard 'round the world.' Your great institutions of learning and medical centers are legendary. You have done much to inspire my country, and in return I wish to announce the opening of a Russian trade center that will foster the smooth flow of commerce between our two great countries.”

  While Razov was going over the details of his investment, Austin whispered into Kaela's ear. “Time for me to poke around. I'll meet you back at the launch.”

  Kaela squeezed his hand. “I'll be waiting,” she said. Austin edged his way toward a side door and stepped out into the coolness of the night. With most people in the salon listening to Razov speak, the decks were virtually deserted. He bumped into only one person, a waiter who pressed a plate loaded down with sausages and boneless prime rib into his hand. Austin was going to throw the plate over the side as soon as the waiter was out of sight, but decided he'd look less conspicuous if he wandered around the boat with the plate in his hands.

  He sauntered toward the front of the yacht until he came to a roped-off section. A sign in English hung from the rope: PRIVATE. The deck beyond the sign was in darkness. Razov had kept his strong-arm boys out of sight so as not to scare the guests. But as Austin was checking the off-limits area, a stocky man with the unmistakable bulge of weapon under his suit walked by. He saw Austin and said, “Is preevat,” in a thick Russian accent.

  Austin gave him a drunken smile and offered his plate. “Sausage?”

  The guard replied with a sour look and kept on his rounds. Austin waited until he was out of sight and prepared to duck under the rope. He turned at the sound of a light patter on the deck and saw two white ghosts sprinting in his direction. Razov's wolfhounds. Trailing their leashes, they jumped up on his chest and almost knocked him down, then stuck their long curved snouts into the plate he was carrying. He put the food down on the deck. The dogs noisily gobbled down the sausages and prime rib, licked the plate clean, then looked up at Austin as if be were holding out on them.

  Someone was running toward them. It was the dogs' trainer. He said something in Russian that might have been an apology, grabbed the leashes and led the dogs away. Austin waited until he was once more alone, then ducked under the ropes into the restricted area. He made his way forward, as silent as a ghost. With his black outfit he easily melted into the shadows.

  After a few minutes, he stopped at a vent that was taller dim he was by a foot. He reached into his pocket, brought out an object about the size and shape of a Palm Pilot and hit the On button. The small dial glowed pale green, and a set of numbers appeared. Yaeger's “sniffer” was ready to go to work.

  An excited Yaeger had called while Austin was getting ready to go to Boston. “I think I know how to plug into the yacht's system,” Yaeger said. “Wi-Fi.”

  Austin no longer blinked at the strange language Yaeger used. He assumed that computer geniuses like Yaeger were on another planet and sometimes they reverted to their native tongue. He'd asked for an explanation. Yaeger said that Wi-Fi was shorthand for the wireless computer networks that were coming into use at major complexes.

  “Say you're running a big hospital,” Yaeger explained. “You want your people to have access to vital information so that if they're away from their computers on the other side of the building, they don't have to go running back. Yo
u set up a wireless computer network that only covers the building or complex. The key staff carry laptop computers. They simply switch them on, tune in to the right frequency and they have instant access to the main system.”

  “That's very interesting, Hiram, but what's it got to do with our problem?”

  “Everything. The Ataman yacht has Wi-Fi.”

  Austin still wasn't sure where Yaeger was going, but Hiram's enthusiasm was contagious. “How do you know this?”

  “It's Max's idea, really. After we fell flat on our faces trying to decipher Ataman's code, she started to pullout everything she could find on the yacht. There wasn't a lot, because Ataman built the ship at its yard on the Black Sea. But the electronics were beyond anything the Russians had, so they bought American equipment and had it installed by a French team. Max got into the French company's file. They set up Wi-Fi for the yacht.”

  “I can see a hospital using something like that, but why a yacht?”

  “Think of it, Kurt. A boat that size is a community unto itself. Say you're the purser, and a question on the payroll comes up while you're away from your office at the other end of the boat. You flick on your laptop, and there you have it. Same thing goes for the chef. Maybe he's in his cabin and has to check inventory. Or you're the first mate and you're on break in the mess hall when you need information on who's manning a shift.”

  “How's this help with our main problem, the missing password?”

  “The password must be in that ship. If Max and I could plug directly into the network. we could take stuff out at our leisure and look closely at it."

  “What's stopping you?”

  “A couple of things. First of all, the information is bound to be encrypted against unauthorized use. Second, the wireless signal is a weak one that only covers the yacht itself. I need somebody to place a 'sniffer' on board.”

  “You're talking computer weird again.”

  “Sorry. A sniffer is simply a device that can tap into the network, pump up the signal and send it to the waiting arms of Max.”

  “Impressive. You say the files would be encrypted. What's to say the code won't stop you again?”

  “Nothing. But it's not a dedicated encryption like the one on the mystery ship. We can come in sideways from different angles. And besides, Max is determined.”

  “Nothing like a determined woman, even a cybernetic one. Where can I pick up these electronic noses?”

  “There's a NUMA courier on the way over with a package. Instructions included.”

  The instructions had been simple. Click the sniffer on, check to make sure it's picking up a signal, then use the magnet attached to the back of the transmitter to attach it. Yaeger had given him a second sniffer for backup.

  Now Austin reached into the vent and placed the sniffer out of sight. Then he worked his way over to a lifeboat and felt his way down to where the davit joined the deck. He got down on his hands and knees and found a small hollow space in the steel support. He slipped the second sniffer inside and started to rise, when he heard a soft click on the deck behind him. Something hard pressed against the small of his back.

  NUMA 3 - Fire Ice

  -32-

  YOU'RE GETTING CARELESS in your old age, Kurt Austin. The next time it could be fatal."

  The hard pressure was removed from his back. Austin turned and saw the livid white scar on Petrov's face in the silvery moonlight.

  “I aged at least ten years when you stuck that gun in my ribs, Ivan. A simple hello would have been sufficient to grab my attention.”

  “It keeps me in practice,” Petrov said “I don't want to lose my edge.”

  “Believe me, your edge is as sharp as ever. Who let you in my country?”

  “Unlike your unsanctioned adventure in Russia, my visit here comes with the blessing of your State Department. I'm in the U.S. on an agricultural trade mission for Siberian Pest Control and asked the local Russian consulate to include me on the guest list for this reception.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “I saw you leave the grand salon and followed you into the restricted area of the ship. Your face threw me off, I must admit, but it was impossible to hide those wide shoulders and that confident walk. I've been wondering, where did you get that incredible wig?”

  “I bought it at a KGB yard sale.”

  “I wouldn't be surprised at that the way things are going. May I ask why you were crawling about in the dark on your hands and knees?”

  “I lost a contact lens?”

  “Really? I don't remember your dossier saying anything about contacts.”

  Austin chuckled and told the Russian about the electronic sniffers. Ivan was duly impressed and asked only that he be kept informed as information developed. “I suggest that we rejoin the festivities,” he said. “Most of the guards are watching the guests, but a few are making the rounds.”

  Austin knew they were already pressing their luck. They moved toward the lights and music, taking advantage of every shadow or pocket of darkness. They saw only one guard and ducked behind a bollard until he passed. Moments later, they were strolling along the deck.

  Petrov, who looked debonair in his tuxedo, lit up an American cigarette. “What are your plans now?”

  “You didn't see Razov's pet monk, did you?”

  “I suspect that Razov prefers to have Boris stay out of sight on public occasions. He mayor may not be on the ship. We're not likely to see him.”

  “In that case, maybe I'll spend a few minutes talking to our host.”

  “Razov? Do you think it's wise to play your hand here on his territory?”

  “Maybe I can get him rattled enough to make a mistake.”

  “I've heard it's not safe to play with rattlesnakes, but do what you wish. I think I'll wander around and enjoy the food and drink as long as I'm here.”

  “You came alone?”

  Petrov plucked a shot of vodka from the tray of a passing waiter. He slugged it down and smiled. “I won't be far away if you need me.”

  The party was going full-blast. Guests wandered about the deck with food and drinks. The Cossack band had switched from Russian folk tunes and was belting out a rock number. Petrov mingled with the crowd and disappeared like a leaf being swept away in a stream. Austin saw a knot of people, with Razov holding court at its center. He moved closer, wondering how he was going to get past the body- guards flanking Razov. The pair of long-legged canines took the matter out of his hands. Razov's dogs jerked away from him and galloped toward Austin in a dead heat. As before, they jumped up, put their paws on his chest and licked his face. He managed to dislodge them with strategically placed hip blocks.

  He grabbed the leashes and held them short to keep the rambunctious hounds under control. A moment later, the dogs' trainer came running up, this time with panic in his eyes. Austin was about to pass the leashes over when he saw Razov and his two bodyguards coming up behind the trainer.

  “I see you've met Sasha and Gorky,” Razov said, with a genial smile. He took the leashes from Austin and said some1hing in Russian. The dogs obeyed instantly and sat by his side. Their haunches quivered as they fought their instincts.

  “I shared some prime rib and sausage with them a while ago,” Austin said. “Hope you don't mind.”

  “I'm surprised they ate it,” Razov said. “They dine on fare much better than most people's. My name is Razov.” He extended his hand and glanced at the name on the press pass hanging around Austin's neck. “I'm the host of this little celebration.”

  “Yes, I know. I heard you speak. Very impressive.” He squeezed the hand until the bones crunched and he saw Razov wince with pain. “My name is Kurt Austin.”

  Razov's face showed no emotion. “The famous Mr. Austin. You look nothing like I expected.”

  “Neither do you. You're much smaller than I thought you'd be.”

  “This is only a temporary diversion. I'm still with NUMA. We've been doing some treasure hunting in the Black Sea.”r />
  “I hope it was worth your while.”

  “Someone beat me to a treasure aboard a ship called the Odessa Star.”

  “That's too bad, but treasure-hunting is very competitive.”

  “What I can't figure out is why someone who already possesses huge wealth would go through so much trouble to recover a few shiny baubles.”

  “We Russians have always been fascinated by baubles, as you call them. We believe that beyond their intrinsic value, they impart a power to the possessor.”

  “Treasure didn't do the tsar and his family much good.”

  “The royal family was betrayed by traitors in its midst.”

  “I assume you intend to return the treasure to the Russian people.”

  “You know nothing about my people,” Razov said. “They don't care for jewels. What they need is the firm hand of a leader who can restore their national pride and fend off those countries who are circling like vultures.”

  “That's assuming your secret Operation Troika is a success.”

  “There's nothing secret about Troika,” he said, with undisguised scorn. “It's shorthand for my plan to open trade centers in Boston, Charleston and Miami. Look around, Mr. Austin. There is nothing sinister about my business.”

  “What about the massacre aboard the NUMA ship? Would you consider that sinister?”

  “I read about it in the press. A tragedy, certainly, but I had nothing to do with that unfortunate incident.”

  “I don't blame you for not taking credit for it. It was a botched attack. You screwed up, Razov. Your mad dog got the wrong ship. I wasn't on the Sea Hunter, and your men murdered the Sea Hunter's crew for nothing. Of course, you know all that by now.”

  Austin saw a flash of anger in Razov's eyes. “Really, Mr. Austin, you disappoint me. You sneak aboard my ship in that ridiculous disguise, drink my vodka and eat my food, then repay my hospitality by calling me a killer.”

  “I had another reason to come aboard. I wanted to look into the face of the murdering scum I plan to destroy.”