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.'
