Fire Ice

36

PETROV'S LEAD MAN, a giant whom Austin had nicknamed Tiny, stepped forward and drove the wooden butt of his AKM into the side of the guard's head. The guard's legs turned to rubber and he crashed to the deck. Figures were running toward them. Someone flicked on a flashlight that caught Austin in its beam. An AKM burped once. At a firing rate of six hundred rounds per minute, even a short burst was deadly, especially at close range.

The flashlight skittered across the deck, but in its quick flicker, Razov's men had sized up the strength and position of the assault group. White-hot muzzle bursts blossomed in the darkness. They dove for cover. In the stroboscopic effect created by the fusillade,.Petrov's men looked as if they were moving in slow motion.

Austin and Zavala hit the deck belly first and rolled over until they were behind the protection of a bollard. Bullets shredded the air over their heads and ricocheted off the big steel mushroom. Austin hauled out his Bowen and blasted at a moving shadow, unsure if he'd hit anyone. Zavala pecked away with his H and K. The muzzle bursts became more scattered, indicating that Razov's men were spreading out.

“They're trying to outflank us," Zavala shouted.

Tiny, who was on his belly a few feet away, was waving to get their attention.

"Go!" he bellowed. "We hold position."

Austin had his doubts. Tiny and his men could defend the narrow deck for a while, but like the Spartans holding the pass at Thermopylae, they too would eventually be outmaneuvered. Tiny jerked his thumb over his shoulder. The gesture needed no translation. Get moving. They let off a few more rounds, then inched backward on their elbows and knees until they were under a lifeboat davit.

With Razov's men still shooting at their last position, they got to their feet and dashed heads-down toward a salon door. It was unlocked. They stepped inside, weapons cocked. The crystal chandeliers were dark, and the only illumination came from a series of wall sconces. In their yellow glow, Austin could see the outlines of tables, chairs and settees. They crossed the dance floor to the opposite side.

Austin paused. Petrov's men might be in the vicinity, and it could be a lethal mistake to surprise them. He called Petrov on the radio and gave him their position.

"Sounds as if you stepped into a hornets' nest," Petrov said.

"Couldn't be helped. Don't know how long Tiny can hold them off.”

"You might be surprised," Petrov said without concern.

"Come through the door onto the deck. We'll be watching for you."

Austin clicked off, opened the door and stepped out. There was no sign of Petrov or his men. Then dark shapes detached themselves from the shadows where the commandos crouched. Petrov came toward them. "You were wise not to stick your heads outside. My men are a little edgy. I've sent a few around to the other side. We should hear from them in a – "

He was interrupted by the thud of exploding grenades. The gunfire became more sporadic. "Evidently, my men have thinned out the ranks of the opposition," he said. "I suggest you proceed to your objective. Do you need any help?"

"I'll call you if we do," Austin said, moving toward a ladder that went up the side of the bulkhead on the bridge superstructure.

"Good luck!" Petrov called out. Austin and Zavala were halfway up the bridge when the chilling reports started coming in from the Omega teams. He stopped to tell Zavala the bad news coming in through his earpiece.

"The bombs have dropped," he told Zavala. "All of them."

Zavala had taken the lead and was hanging on to a ladder to the next deck. He turned at Austin's words and let out a long string of curses in Spanish. "What now?"

In answer, Austin jerked his arm up to shoulder level and pointed his gun at Zavala, who froze in place. The Bowen barked. The slug passed within inches of Zavala's head and the breeze created by its passing ruffled his hair. A heavy object plunged from above and crashed to the deck with a thud. Zavala blinked the light spots out of his eyes and stared at the Cossack spread-eagled on the deck. A saber lay a few feet from the man's outstretched hand.

"Sorry, Joe," Austin said. "That guy was about to cut you down to size."

Zavala ran his fingers through his hair on the side the bullet had passed. "That's okay. I always wanted to part my hair on this side."

"There's nothing we can do about the bombs," Austin said somberly. "But we can deal with the murdering scum who launched them."

Austin took the lead, and they climbed higher until they were under the wings that extended out from either side of the wheelhouse. They split up, with each man taking a wing. Austin sprinted up the stairs. With his back to the bulkhead, he edged up to the open door and peered around the corner.

The spacious wheelhouse was lit by red night-lights that washed the interior in their crimson glow.

The wheelhouse seemed deserted, except for the solitary figure of a man who stood in front of a large computer monitor, his back to Austin, apparently staring at the screen. Austin whispered into his radio, instructing Zavala to keep watch while he investigated. Then he stepped inside.

Razov's wolfhounds must have smelled him. They rushed out of nowhere in a flurry of clicking claws and wagging tails and pounced on Austin. He pushed them down with his free hand, but the dogs had spoiled all hopes of a silent entry. Razov turned and frowned at the dogs' attention to Austin. He gave a sharp command that brought the dogs whimpering back to his side with their heads low and tails between their legs. His thin lips widened in an evil smile.

"I've been expecting you, Mr. Austin. My men told me that you and your friends were aboard. It's good to see you again. Pity that you had to depart so abruptly on your last visit."

"You might change your mind when we blow your operation out of the water."

"It's a little late for that," Razov said. He pointed toward die monitor. The screen was subdivided into three vertical segments. On each section, a blip was rapidly descending toward a wavy line at the bottom.

"I know you've launched the bombs."

“Then you know there's nothing you can do. When the missiles hit bottom, the thrusters will drive them into the seafloor, where they will explode, releasing the methane hydrate, collapsing the shelf and triggering tsunamis that will destroy three of your major coastal cities."

'"To say nothing of launching your mad scheme to trigger global warming."

Razov looked startled, then he smiled and shook his head. "I should have known you would figure out my ultimate goal. No matter. Yes, Siberia will become the breadbasket of the world, and your country will be so busy licking its wounds and trying to feed itself that you will no longer be able to mind Russia's business. Maybe we might sell you Siberian wheat, if you behave."

"Would lrini have agreed with your insane plot?"

The smile disappeared. "You're not fit to speak her name."

"Maybe not." Austin pointed the Bowen at Razov's heart. "But I can send you to join her."

Razov spat out a command. The curtain that divided the main section of the wheelhouse from the chart room parted, and two men came out, a bearded Cossack and Pulaski, who had hijacked the NR-1. Machine pistols at the ready, they moved around behind Austin. Then the curtain parted again. A tall man dressed in a long black robe emerged. He gazed at Austin with deep-set eyes and licked his lips, as if he were about to feast. He said something in Russian; his voice was deep and sonorous, as if it were issuing from a tomb.

A chill danced along Austin's spine, but he kept his gun leveled at Razov.

Razov seemed amused at Austin's reaction. "I'd like you to meet Boris, my associate and closest advisor." The monk grinned at the mention of his name and spoke in Russian. Razov translated. "Boris says he's sorry he didn't meet you when he boarded the NUMA ship."

"You don't know how sorry I am," Austin said. "He wouldn't be standing here now."

"Bravo! A fine attempt at bluff. Put the gun down, Mr. Austin. As we speak, your companions are being eradicated by my men."

Austin had no intention of relinquishing his gun. If he had to, he'd go down in a hail of machine gun fire and take Razov and Boris with him. He wondered where Zavala was. While he pondered his next move, he heard Yaeger's voice in his earpiece.

"Kurt, can you hear me? There's still a chance. I've been working on the code, the section I couldn't figure out. It's about the bombs. They won't explode until they're activated. Can you hear me?"

Still keeping the Bowen trained on Razov, Austin glanced at the monitor. The blips had come to rest on the ocean bottom. Razov saw where he was looking. "The deed It is done, Mr. Austin."

"Not quite," Austin said. "The bombs are harmless unless they're activated."

Razov's face betrayed his surprise, but he recovered quickly. His features contorted in a mask of rage. "True – Too bad you will have the privilege of witnessing the activation. Too bad you're about to die knowing that your feeble attempts to stop my grand scheme have failed."

Razov gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. In response, Boris stepped over to a keyboard next to the monitor, and his long fingers reached out for the keys. They never made it.

Austin swung his revolver away from Razov, aimed at the monk's hand and squeezed the trigger. The effect at close range was devastating. The hand exploded in a shower of bone and blood. Boris stared down in disbelief at the bloody stump. An ordinary mortal would have crumpled to the deck. Instead, Boris let out a feral cry of rage and glared at Austin with hate burning in his eyes. He reached under his tunic with his left hand and pulled out a dagger. Paying no heed to the blood flowing from his mangled hand, he went for Austin.

The other men cocked their machine pistols Boris shouted a warning. He wanted Austin to himself.

Austin couldn't believe the man was still standing. He raised the Bowen, intending to finish Boris off with a bullet between the mad, staring eyes, but without warning his arms were pinioned by his sides. Pulaski had grabbed him from behind.

Boris was so close Austin could smell the animal odor of the unwashed body and the foul breath. Boris smiled, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth, and raised his knife to strike. Forcefully, Austin ground his heel into Pulaski's instep.

Pulaski grunted with pain and his grip loosened, and Austin bent his knees and drove his elbow into the man's side. Pulaski let go completely, then Austin brought the long barrel of his revolver up so it was mere inches from the Russian's chest, and squeezed the trigger. The impact of the heavy bullet hurled Boris back and he slammed into the bulkhead and fell to the deck.

Then Pulaski brought the butt down on the side of Austin's head. Austin saw every star in the galaxy and he crashed to the deck and blacked out for a second, but the in. tense pain kept him at the edge of consciousness. Through blurred eyes, he saw Razov tapping out a command on the blood-splattered keyboard. He felt the recoil of the gun in his hand and blacked out.

Pulaski bent over and lowered his machine pistol to Austin's head to administer the coup de grace, but Zavala's Heckler and Koch stuttered from the side door. Pulaski went down, with the Cossack right behind him.

When Austin regained consciousness, Zavala was kneeling by his side. The wolfhounds had cowered in a corner when the shooting started. Now they came over and licked Austin's hand.

"Sorry I didn't get here sooner. I had to take care of a couple of Razov's goons."

Austin brushed the dogs gently aside. "Where's Razov?” he said, looking around.

"He slipped out the other side while I was trading gunfire with the Cossack guard."

With Zavala's help, Austin got to his feet. He glanced at the bodies of the dead Cossack, Pulaski and Boris, then went over to the computer. The screen was a pile of splintered glass. "The bombs had to be activated from here. Razov was typing out the command to trigger the explosions. I got the control computer with a lucky shot."

Zavala smiled. "I hope he's got a thirty-day warranty."

Austin got on the radio to Petrov. "Ivan, are you there?"

"Yes, we're here. Any problems?"

"A few, but we took care of them. How are you doing?"

"They made the mistake of trying to outflank us. We were waiting for them. It was what you Americans call a turkey shoot. I lost a few men, but it's now only a question of mopping up."

"Good work. Boris is dead. We stopped the bombs from being activated. Razov is on the run. Keep an eye out for him.”

"Yes – wait. There's a helicopter taking off."

Austin could hear the clatter of rotors above the sporadic gunfire. He stepped out onto the bridge wing in time to see a black helicopter soar over the ship. He raised his pistol, but the masts interfered with his aim. Within seconds, the helicopter had merged with the darkness.

Something nuzzled the back of Austin's knees. The wolfhounds wanted attention and food, not necessarily in that order. He holstered his gun and scratched their heads. With the two white hounds trailing behind them, he and Zavala made their way down to the main deck to rendezvous with Petrov and his men. Maybe he could find a plate of sausages for his new pals.