He got part of the answer as he was pulled into the hatchway. It came in the form of a black pistol pressed up against the side of his head.
He looked around. The other survivors were down on their knees. Stern-looking men wielding AK-47s stood around them.
Captain Winslow climbed in and received the same treatment.
Kurt received the rest of the answer a moment later as one of the gun-toting men got on the ship’s phone.
“Da,” he said, holding the phone to his ear and turning back toward the captives. “We have been most fortunate. The woman is among them.”
“Russians,” Kurt muttered.
The man hung up the phone as the sound of the ship’s propellers reengaging shuddered throughout the vessel. He came toward Kurt. He was tall, but a little on the thin side. Half of his face was covered with scabs. Despite that, Kurt recognized him.
“So we meet again,” Kirov said, slamming the barrel of his AK-47 across the back of Kurt’s legs.
Kurt dropped to his knees. For a moment, he was thankful that his legs were almost numb.
He resisted the urge to fight back or fire off a snarky comment. And since Kirov refrained from shooting him, it seemed Kurt had made a wise choice. Or so he thought until Kirov stepped toward the open hatch, through which a bitter air was beginning to flow as the ship picked up speed.
“You made me jump from a moving train,” Kirov said, peering down at the cold sea below. “It seems Karma wishes me to return the favor.”
Kirov nodded to his men. “Throw him out.”
Two men grabbed Kurt and tried to drag him to the door. Kurt pulled free of one and slugged the other, but a third man jumped into the melee.
With all eyes on Kurt, Joe spun and batted away the AK-47 aimed in his direction. From his knees, he threw an uppercut into the guard’s groin, and the man fell, dropping the weapon and releasing a grunt of agonizing pain.
Captain Winslow joined the fray, lunging at one of the guards and tackling him before he could fire.
This second commotion distracted Kirov. As it did, Kurt managed to kick free of the remaining guard. He lunged at Kirov, grasping him in a headlock before the others could regroup.
“Enough!”
Kurt’s voice boomed off the metal walls of the small compartment. Everyone looked his way. He was all but choking the life out of Kirov with one arm. He was also holding the flare gun to Kirov’s cheek with his other.
An uneasy stalemate settled over the room. Joe went for a rifle that was lying on the ground, but the guard closest to him raised his weapon.
“Tell your men to lower their guns,” Kurt growled, “or I’m gonna give you a chemical peel you won’t ever recover from.”
Kirov gulped hard, his Adam’s apple moving up and down against the crushing force of Kurt’s forearm.
“Lower your guns,” Kirov said, “but do not discard them.”
Half a win, Kurt thought. It was better than nothing.
He was pondering what to do next when the sound of the bulkhead door being unlatched caught his ear.
Kurt turned as the door swung wide and an oak tree of a man stepped through the hatch. Despite his size, he moved fluidly. He wore dark khaki pants and a black sweater. His cheekbones were high on his face and angular, almost like the mirrors on a sports car.
The Russian commandos immediately stood a little taller in his presence. Kurt guessed this was Kirov’s superior. He seemed it in every way. He was armed with two black pistols, though for now they sat in shoulder holsters, one on each side of his chest.
“What have we here?” he asked.
“A small disagreement,” Kurt said. “Your slug here wanted to toss me into the ocean. I didn’t feel like being part of any catch-and-release program.”
“So it would appear,” the man said.
“Who are you?” Kurt asked. “You weren’t on the train.”
“My name is Gregorovich,” the man said. “And you’re right, I avoided that pitiful episode.”
Gregorovich glanced around. “You seem to have made the best of your situation,” he said to Kurt. “However, you’re outnumbered and outgunned. The woman is the only one of you with any value. And Kirov is not much of a bargaining chip to me.”
He turned to one of the commandos. “Shoot them both.”
As the commando raised his rifle and took aim, Kurt prepared to fling Kirov forward as a human shield and fire the flare into Gregorovich’s face.
“Wait!” a voice cried.
Of all people, it was Hayley.
“He’s the only one who knows,” she exclaimed.
Once again, all activity stopped just short of a bloodbath.
“The only one who knows what?” Gregorovich asked.
“I know about the threat,” Hayley said. “First, my country will be punished, then Russia, then the United States. You guys are Russian. You must be after Thero just like we are. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you tried to pull me off the train. You must think I can help you find him, but you’re wrong. Kurt’s the only one who knows where Thero is.”
Kurt felt a glimmer of hope. It was quick thinking.
“You really expect me to believe that?” the muscle-bound Russian said. “You’re the scientist. They brought you along for a reason. The same reason we tried to kidnap you. Because you are the only one who understands what Thero is doing. Therefore, it stands to reason that you, not him, have discerned Thero’s whereabouts.”
“The computer determined Thero’s location,” Hayley said desperately. “It gave me a printout. I ran to Kurt to show him. It had numbers and lines on it, but I don’t know anything about azimuths and ranges and coordinates. For God sakes, I don’t even like being away from Sydney. I showed it to Kurt, he saw it. He read it. He told me we were going in the wrong direction. And then the wave hit, and it broke our ship and sank us in thirty seconds.”
The commandos exchanged glances.
“We were wondering what happened,” Gregorovich said. “We came across a lot of debris and some of your crewmen. I’m afraid they were all dead.”
“Thero’s weapon is operational,” Hayley said. “He found us because we sent out a pulse. Which means even if I build you a detector, you’re just signing your own death warrant by turning it on. He’ll destroy you like he did us.”
Gregorovich turned to Kurt. “She makes a good case, but it only changes things momentarily. You will give me what I want or I will kill your friends one by one.”
Kurt was pretty sure that would happen anyway. “No,” he said, “that isn’t how this is going to go.”
The Russian’s eyebrow went up. “It will go how I say it goes,” Gregorovich insisted.
“You don’t seem like a fool,” Kurt began, “so don’t treat me like one. If I give you what you want, then you don’t need us anymore. And we all end up dead. I’m not dumb enough to think I’m saving any lives by handing you our only bargaining chip.”
“Then I’ll torture it out of you,” Gregorovich insisted. “I will make you talk.”
Kurt stared the Russian killer in the eye. “Go ahead and try. Maybe I’ll talk. Maybe I’ll give you a location. Maybe I’ll give you a dozen different locations, and you’ll spend forever bouncing around Antarctica looking for your prize. Or maybe I’ll put you right in front of him so he can tee you up and crush this ship the way he crushed ours. You want to chance that? Then go ahead, try to force it out of me. You never know what you’ll get.”
Gregorovich seemed impressed with Kurt’s challenge. He actually began to chuckle. “An inspired response,” he said. “And, what’s more, I believe you. Not because I must, but because I would do exactly that in your position. However, I have my orders and I will fulfill them… to perfection.”