Numa Files: Ghost Ship Part 10

With surprising grace-considering the bulky equipment and the layers he was wearing-Kurt moved to the bathroom and crouched behind the curved gla.s.s block of Acosta's walk-in shower.

Clutching the Beretta again, he prepared himself for a fight. If he was lucky enough to find Acosta entering, he'd get some answers from the man himself.

The cabin door opened briefly and then latched softly. To Kurt's surprise, no lights came on. Muted footfalls on the plush carpet traveled slowly from the main door to the desk where Kurt had been rifling through Acosta's things.

The squeak of a chair told him someone had taken a seat, but the room remained dark until it was partially illuminated by a soft blue glow, easily recognizable as the light from a computer screen.

Kurt heard typing and then finally a woman's voice. "Rene," the voice said scornfully, "did you really think my own security system would stop me."

It was a rhetorical question. There was no one there to answer, and Kurt's curiosity began to get the better of him.

He moved to a new spot where he could see.

The woman behind Acosta's desk was typing furiously. "d.a.m.n you, Rene," she said, and then pulled a satellite phone from her pocket and punched in a number.

Kurt didn't hear the greeting very clearly but listened as a quick conversation took place.

"We have a problem," she said. "They're not here . . . None of them. Not the American, not the others. They're not on board."

A pause followed.

"Yes, I'm sure of it," the woman replied. "I'm reading it on Rene's computer right now. I thought he was lying, but it looks like he's already s.h.i.+pped the woman to Korea, and promised the other three to Than Rang as well. The auction must be a ruse. Either Rene is short of money or he's lining up buyers for the future."

Another pause, more protracted this time.

"No, I don't think that will work . . . Well, I could put a gun to his head, but that won't bring them back. We'll have to lift them from Than Rang ourselves. And that won't be easy."

Kurt strained to listen, but, try as he might, he could only make out the woman's side of the conversation.

"There's no other way," she said. "Without her, no one will believe we can cross the air gap, breach the American Wall, and bring the system down."

Kurt had no idea what she was talking about, but he hung on every word.

"I have to go," she said finally, tapping a few keys and closing the program. "Otherwise, Rene might try to join me in the shower." She paused, and then added, "You're right, by the way. I'm too good for him."

She hung up, turned the computer off, and stepped out from behind the desk.

Kurt moved as well, making his way to the edge of the main cabin. In the low light he saw the woman put an ear up against the front door. He noticed a small pistol in her hand. "You're forgetting something," he whispered.

She whirled around, but he had the Beretta out and ready. She saw it clearly and froze.

"That laptop was closed when you came in."

"Toss the gun over there," Kurt said.

He pointed toward a thick rug near the bathroom door. With a shrug she flipped the gun gently in the general direction. It landed with no more than a soft b.u.mp.

Kurt motioned toward one of the chairs across from Acosta's desk. "Have a seat."

She hesitated for just a second and then moved toward the chair, sliding onto it with effortless grace. Kurt noticed a decided lack of nervousness in her posture. She looked comfortable. She leaned back and crossed her legs as if awaiting a c.o.c.ktail at sundown.

Keeping the Beretta aimed at her, Kurt moved behind the desk and tapped the computer keyboard. The screen lit up. Back to the pa.s.sword.

"You've already broken into this once," he said. "Care to tell me how?"

"Who are you?" she asked. There was no fear in her voice, only a subtle curiosity. Like someone who'd discovered a new plaything.

"Pa.s.sword," Kurt said, ignoring her.

"Are you a thief? A mole of some kind?"

"Pa.s.sword."

"Calista," she told him, "with a C. As if you could spell it any other way."

He typed the name, alternating glances between her and the keyboard.

The lock screen dissolved and a spreadsheet appeared. The white background was so bright it caused his pupils to constrict, making it difficult to see beyond the screen. He tapped the key to lower the screen's brilliance until it was as dim as he could make it.

The woman hadn't moved, though she was now leaning forward, studying him.

"You're not part of the crew," she said calmly. "And you're a little too scruffy to be one of the guests."

"My invite got lost in the mail," Kurt said. "Now, what were you looking for? And who were you talking to?"

Her eyebrows went up. "How badly do you want to know?"

"Badly enough to put a bullet in you if you don't tell me."

She laughed. "You're not going to shoot me. For one, it would make too much noise."

"I have a silencer."

"I'm no good to you dead," she said, standing up.

Kurt met her gaze. "Who said I was going to kill you? A knee shot would do the trick."

"And while I scream in pain," she said, slinking forward, "will I be able to talk clearly?"

Kurt didn't reply, and the woman climbed on the far edge of the desk, stretching out on all fours like a cat. She reached for the computer, walked her fingers onto the keyboard, and pressed F1 and F4 at the same time.

She looked up at him, licking her lips. "Do I get anything for cooperating?"

Kurt felt as if he'd landed in the Twilight Zone. If he didn't know better, he'd have guessed this woman was propositioning him. "A gold star," Kurt said.

He glanced at the screen. The spreadsheet had vanished and a darker screen opened up. It showed a pair of columns made up of boxes. Each box had a photograph of something inside, a sparkling new Learjet in one, a small cache of what appeared to be diamonds in the second box. A caption underneath it read "400 carats total, all stones VS or VVS." A third box indicated the racehorse he'd seen, Desert Rose. Numbers underneath each box indicated supplemental money contributions. Apparently, the business wasn't as cash-free as El Din suspected.

Kurt a.s.sumed these boxes contained bids for whatever it was Acosta was selling. Kurt followed the lines across the screen to the second column of images. Each of these seemed to be a work of art.

Kurt noticed a variety of artistic styles: cubist, cla.s.sical, and even some old masters.

"Roll the cursor over the paintings," the woman said. "You'll get a description and a better understanding."

With one eye on his strangely helpful friend and the other on the computer, Kurt did as she said.

The descriptions were odd. Kurt quickly understood why.

" 'Weapons expert, known to have worked with the Syrian government on chemical dispersants,'" Kurt read aloud.

The next "painting" was captioned "Guidance system engineer, familiar with Soviet and American designs."

The third had nothing but a group of odd words: "ZSumG," "Montresor," "Xeno9X9."

"Those are hacker names," she said. "Handles. That's what-or whom-he's selling."

Kurt thought about what she'd said on the phone. He scrolled down. There were a dozen more boxes labeled with works of art. He checked every box but found no sign of Sienna Westgate.

He looked up just in time to see the woman lunge for his gun.

She moved quickly, but Kurt had been expecting it sooner or later. He snapped his arm out of reach, grabbed her with his other hand, and threw her off the desk. She came up swinging a four-inch dagger. Kurt stepped out of range and knocked over a metallic sculpture that looked vaguely human. It crashed to the floor as the woman lunged forward again.

With his free hand, Kurt caught her by the wrist and twisted her arm until she let go of the knife. He swung her toward the wall and slammed her into it and held her there.

She struggled for a second. To make her stop squirming, he brought the silenced pistol up once again.

"I'm not interested in killing you, but I will shoot you if you put me in danger."

Her dark hair had fallen in front of her face. Her lip was gashed and bleeding. She stared at him, her eyes wide. There was something in that look, Kurt thought. It was recognition.

"I know you," she said breathlessly. "White knight . . . Fearless . . . I must say, I'm surprised to see you here. You're a bit early, I'm afraid."

Kurt kept the pressure on her. He wasn't falling for the distraction. "I don't know what you're talking about, lady. I've never seen you before in my life."

"I didn't say you had."

"Who were you speaking to on the phone?"

She didn't reply, but she ran her tongue across the bleeding lip, seeming to enjoy the taste of her own blood like some kind of vampire princess.

"I asked you a question."

"Kiss me," she whispered.

Kurt didn't reply.

"Either kiss me or shoot me," she said, "but I will scream if you don't do one or the other."

"You're not about to scream," Kurt said. "You want to be discovered here about as much as I do."

Kurt hadn't even finished his statement when she tilted her head back and shrieked at the top of her lungs.

"d.a.m.n!" Kurt shouted, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Between the screaming and the commotion, he figured it was time to shove off. He reached into her pocket, grabbed the satellite phone she'd used, and tucked it into a pocket in his coveralls.

Before he could do anything else, the door flew open and a group of Acosta's men came piling in. They tackled Kurt and knocked the gun from his hand. He managed to throw one of them off and then slammed the second guy onto the desk, but the third guy caught him in the chin with a knee.

Kurt was knocked backward for an instant, just long enough to allow the others back into the fight. Punches landed from all sides. Unable to break free, Kurt was quickly subdued.

The men lifted him to his feet and slammed him into the same wall he'd held the strange woman against.

She was behind them now with Kurt's pistol in hand. "Three against one," she said. "That's hardly fair."

Without hesitation, she began firing, drilling holes in the men who restrained Kurt. They dropped to the ground all around him. And she kept firing, making certain they were dead. With the three men lying still on the floor, she tossed the pistol to Kurt.

"Better run," she said quickly. "There's plenty more where they came from."

Kurt had no time to consider the madness. He'd landed in the middle of something strange. d.a.m.ned strange.

He looked out into the hall. Men with guns were running his way. He shut the door and ducked back into the room.

"You should have kissed me," she said, raising her eyebrows.

"Maybe next time."

He turned and blasted three holes in the window and then dove through it, shattering the weakened plate gla.s.s and landing on the deck outside.

He got up quickly and sprinted for the stern as an alarm began to blare overhead. Gunshots followed, coming from above and behind, and bullets ricocheted off the deck all around him.

Taking cover, Kurt pressed himself against the superstructure, changed out the spent magazine, fired a few shots, and then scrambled beneath the steel beams supporting the helipad. He gazed up, looking jealously at the s.h.i.+ny helicopter. Realizing it could be a problem for him later, he aimed for the c.o.c.kpit and reeled off a half dozen shots, shattering the side window, drilling a few holes in the instrument panel and a few more in the sheet metal where the fuel tank was located. He wasn't sure if he'd hit anything vital, but any pilot would have to think twice before taking the helicopter for a spin.

Ducking back into the shadows, Kurt checked the clip in his Beretta. Four sh.e.l.ls left. "Time to abandon s.h.i.+p," he muttered.

The sound of booted feet pounding the stairway from above only reinforced his decision.

He fired two shots toward the approaching crewmen and took off for the railing. At the same instant, one of Acosta's men came racing around the corner. They collided like two cars at an intersection.

Kurt hit the deck and rolled over, looking for the Beretta, turned back the other way and came face-to-face with a Colt .45 aimed at his chest. The man holding it had wispy blond hair, pale eyes, and a hollow face that looked almost skeletal in the dim light.

"Hands up," he said, inching toward Kurt until the weapon was no more than eight inches from his nose.

Kurt raised his arms slowly. The man relaxed a bit and used his free hand to depress a small radio attached to his collar. "This is Caleb," the man said. "I have the intruder. Do you want to interrogate him?"

A second of static preceded the reply. "No," a man Kurt a.s.sumed was Acosta said. "Just shoot him and bring me his body."

As the words came from Acosta's mouth, Kurt hit the thumb switch on his left wrist guard. The powerful magnet came on instantly. It drew the heavy metal gun to the side just as Caleb pulled the trigger. Fire exploded from the barrel, and the bullet hit six inches to the left, punching a hole in the teak deck instead of Kurt's skull.

Caleb stared in disbelief as the Colt stuck to the magnet on Kurt's left arm. He never saw Kurt's right hand balled into a fist and flying toward his jaw. The blow knocked him sideways and sent him sprawling onto the deck.