fighting technique — when he saw that the diver was a young woman, and her eyes were filled with panic and fear.
He released her and held up a hand with his fingers spread.
The woman nodded but remained rigid. She motioned toward her feet.
Kurt looked down. Somehow she’d gotten her leg caught between a twisted part of the fuselage and some equipment. A jagged cut in the sheet metal marked her attempts to saw through the metal with her knife. It didn’t look like she’d gotten very far.
Kurt had a better idea. He sank down, wedged his back to the skin of the fuselage, and placed both feet on the attached equipment box. With all the strength in his back and legs, he pushed against the metal box. He expected it to snap and break loose, but instead it bent just enough.
The woman pulled her foot out and immediately began rubbing her ankle. When she looked up, Kurt put his index finger and thumb together, making a circle — the universal OK symbol.
She nodded.
Next he brought his two index fingers together parallel and then looked at her questioningly.
She shook her head. Apparently, she wasn’t diving with a buddy.
Just as he thought.
He pointed at her sharply and then made the thumbs-up signal.
She hesitated and then nodded reluctantly. Grabbing her light, she began to swim out of the aircraft. Kurt took a last look around and then followed.
After a decompression stop for her, they broke the surface together a few yards from her boat. She swam to it and climbed in first. Kurt followed.
Joe and one of the
The woman removed her mask, pulled back the head covering on her wet suit, and shook out her hair. She didn’t look happy to have boarders. Kurt didn’t care.
“You must be out of your mind to make a dive like that on your own.” “I’ve been diving alone for ten years,” she said.
“Yeah,” he said. “You spend a lot of time exploring sunken wrecks?” She grabbed a towel, dried her face, and then looked back at him defensively. “Who are you to be telling me what to do? And what are you doing on my boat anyway?” Joe puffed up his chest, about to launch into an explanation. Kurt beat him to it. “Our job is to make sure you scientists don’t drown or infringe on the rules we set up. You seem to be doing both, so we came to check you out,” he said. “This boat isn’t even registered as part of the study. You want to tell us the reason?” “I don’t have to register with you,” she said smugly. “I’m outside your official zone. Outside of your jurisdiction, as you Americans like to say.” Kurt glanced at Joe. “Not anymore,” he said, turning back to the woman. “We enlarged it.” “We even had a vote and everything,” Joe added.
She looked from Kurt to Joe and then back again. “Typical American arrogance,” she said. “Changing the rules to suit you whenever the need arises.” Kurt could almost understand that sentiment, except she was missing an important fact. He grabbed the pressure gauge on her tank and turned it over. As he suspected, she was well into her reserve air.
“Typical Russian stubbornness,” he replied. “Getting angry at the people who just saved your life.” He showed her the gauge.
“You had less than five minutes of air left.” Her eyes focused on the gauge, and Kurt let it drop. She reached out and took it in her hand, studying it for a long moment.
“You should be glad we’re so arrogant,” he said.
She let the gauge go gently and looked up. He could see her jaw clench, though he wasn’t sure if it was out of embarrassment or anger. “You’re right,” she said finally, taking a more subdued tone. “I am… appreciative. I was just…” She stopped and focused on Kurt, and whatever she was about to say she replaced it with a simple “Thank you.” “You’re welcome,” Kurt said.
He noticed a change in her demeanor, even a hint of a smile on her face. “You are the ones in charge here?” she asked.
“Unfortunately,” Kurt replied.
“I’m Katarina Luskaya,” she said. “I’m here on behalf of my country. I would like to talk to you about this discovery.” “You can register with the liaison officer in the—” “I was thinking more like talking tonight,” she said, focused on Kurt. “Perhaps over dinner?” Joe rolled his eyes. “Here we go. The Austin charm in full effect.” Kurt was too busy for this. “You’ve seen too many movies, Ms. Luskaya. There’s not much I can tell you anyway.” She stood up, unzipping the top half of her suit, exposing a bikini top that accentuated her curves and an athlete’s midrift.
“Perhaps there’s something I can tell you,” she said. “Since you are in charge, I have some information you might be interested in.” “You’re serious?”
“Very,” she said. “And, besides, we all have to eat. Why should we do it alone?” “So we’re all going?” Joe asked.
Kurt cut his eyes at Joe.
“Maybe not,” Joe said. “Lots of paperwork to do anyhow.” Kurt doubted the woman had any information of value, but he admired her blatant attempt to get him alone and no doubt see what information he might have.
It suddenly dawned on Kurt that if there was even the slightest chance that something important could be learned from Ms. Luskaya, well, then it really was his duty to find out.
“You’re staying in Santa Maria?” he guessed.
She nodded, and Kurt turned to Joe.
“I trust you guys can make it back to the
“Then signal for help,” Kurt said, smiling.
Joe nodded reluctantly and motioned toward the Zodiac. The
Kurt looked at the young woman. “Do you have a car in town?” She smiled. “Mmm-hmm,” she said. “And I know just the place to take you.”
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.
