Devil's Gate

19

ANDRAS, THE KNIFE, stood at a pay phone overlooking the harbor at Vila do Porto. He felt as if he’d gone back in time, using such a phone to make a call. He could hardly remember seeing one over the last few years. But despite its vacation destination status, the Azores were not quite up to speed in the technology department. Many of the island’s inhabitants were less than wealthy and often did not have landlines or mobile phones, so the pay phones still sprouted in many places.

For Andras, that meant the chance to make an untraceable call, one the U.S. government or Interpol could not tap into as its digital signal flew through space and bounced off a satellite somewhere. To listen to this conversation they would have to break into a heavy trunk line buried under Azorean soil and stretching across the floor of the Atlantic to North Africa, where it made landfall.

This was not impossible — in fact, the Americans had famously done just that to a Russian trunk line during the cold war — but unlikely, considering no one had a strategic reason to care what conversations were going on between the Azorean islanders and their families and friends on the mainland.

And that was a pleasing thought to Andras, because recent discoveries had raised the specter of danger for him.

He dialed and waited for what seemed like hours. Finally, he was connected to an operator in Sierra Leone and then to an office in Djemma’s palace. Eventually an aide put the President for Life on the line.

“Why are you calling me?” Djemma said. He sounded like he was in a tunnel somewhere — apparently there were drawbacks to using old landline technology.

“I have news,” he said. “Some good, some bad.”

“Begin, and be quick.”

“You were right. At least twenty scientific groups have shown up, with others on their way. This magnetic phenomenon seems to be drawing great interest.”

“Of course it is,” Djemma said. “Why else do you think I sent you there?”

“It’s not only scientific interest. There are some military personnel here as well.”

Djemma did not sound concerned. “That is to be expected. You will have no issues with them if you do as planned.”

“Maybe,” Andras said. “But here’s the real problem. The Americans who almost caught us on the Kinjara Maru are here. I’ve seen their ship in the harbor. Now it anchors over the magnetic tower. According to the Portuguese, they’ve been put in charge of the entire study. I’m sure there’s a military angle to it.”

Djemma laughed. “You continue to make your enemies bigger than they really are, perhaps to add glory to your name when you knock them down, but it smacks of paranoia.”

“What are you talking about?” Andras asked.

“You were not attacked by U.S. Navy SEALs or Special Forces, my friend. These men from NUMA are oceanographers and divers. They find wrecks and salvage ships and take pictures of sea life. Honestly, I’d have thought you could handle them. I wouldn’t let it get out that they bested you so easily, it may reduce your ability to charge such outrageous fees.”

Djemma laughed as he spoke, and Andras felt his blood beginning to boil.

“Are you worried about facing them again?” Djemma asked, needling him.

“Listen to me,” Andras said, growing furious. And then he paused as a sight he could hardly believe came walking right up the dock toward him. The same silver-haired American who’d interfered with him on the Kinjara Maru, walking with a dark-haired woman he recognized as the Russian scientist he’d been told about. As they drew closer, Andras recognized the man in a more concrete way.

“Well I’ll be,” he whispered to himself.

“What?” Djemma said. “What are you talking about?”

Shrinking back into the kiosk that held the pay phone and turning away, Andras ignored them as they passed on the far side of the street.

“Andras,” Djemma said. “What the hell is going on?”

Andras returned to his phone call, calculating a new play. “This NUMA is not as toothless as you might think,” he said. “My concern is that they will interfere again. One of their members in particular. It would be best if I take them out.”

“Don’t antagonize them,” Djemma warned. “You’ll only draw attention to us at the wrong time. We are very close to making our move.”

“Don’t worry,” Andras said. “It’ll go off without a hitch, I promise you.”

“I’m not paying you for revenge,” Djemma said.

Andras laughed. “Don’t worry,” he said. “This one’s on the house.”

Before Djemma could reply, Andras slammed the heavy plastic receiver back onto its metal cradle. The sound it made and the sensation left him grinning maniacally, so much more satisfying than pressing a red button on a cell phone.