“Wait…” he said again.
The Gemini reached the top of the swell and paused. “Now!”
The crane operator pressed a switch, and the makeshift rocket ignited. It burst from the tube, showering the interior of the turret with sparks and smoke. It crossed the gap, spewing a tail of fire, and passing no more than twenty feet in front of the Rama’s bridge.
“Great shot!” Paul shouted, coughing because of the smoke. “That was perfect.”
Seconds later, Gamay’s voice sounded over the loudspeaker once again. “The next missile will hit your bridge,” she insisted. “Reduce your speed or we will stop you by force.”
Aboard the MV Rama, the ranking Russian commando had been arguing with the Vietnamese captain since the appearance of the Gemini. He’d ordered them to leave station off Heard Island to avoid any trouble or repercussions should Gregorovich succeed in detonating his bomb. Running into an Australian frigate was not the outcome he’d hoped for.
“I will not surrender!” he said.
“You can’t fight them,” the captain said.
The tracer rounds flashed by in the dark. That concerned him but did not change his mind. Then the “missile” was launched.
“Incoming!”
The commandos and the bridge crew hit the deck just as the missle lit up the world in front of them, rocketing past the main windows.
“That was too close,” the captain said.
“They wouldn’t fire a missile at poachers,” another commando insisted. “They must know we’re here and what we’ve done. If we don’t stop, we’ll all be killed.”
“We cannot fight them,” the Vietnamese captain repeated. “But you can negotiate once they’re aboard. Diplomatic immunity. That’s what you’ll claim. But only if you’re alive.”
The commando doubted the captain’s take on International Maritime Law, but he believed he would be better served, and more likely to live, if he surrendered rather than fighting.
“Do as they say,” he agreed reluctantly.
On the Gemini’s bridge, Gamay waited tensely. If their bluff didn’t work, they would have to try to risk a dangerous boarding maneuver in the storm.
She was about to make one more threat over the loudspeaker when the marine radio squawked.
“This is the MV Rama,” a voice said in accented English. “We will reduce speed to seven knots and allow your men to come aboard.”
A cheer went up on the bridge, and Gamay relayed the message to the others.
“Great work Commander Wallaby,” the captain said.
She smiled. Now the boarding would only be risky, not foolhardy beyond belief.
FORTY-THREE
“This is a mine,” Kurt whispered to himself.
He’d found quarried-out sections, discovered a conveyor belt loaded with gravel and a series of pipes along the wall that probably ran electrical wire. He’d found picks and a jackhammer and wheelbarrows.
What a mine was doing hidden on Heard Island, Kurt didn’t know. Nor did it matter at the moment. His only concerns were finding Joe and Hayley, if they were alive, and stopping Thero no matter what.
He slipped off the heavy parka, stashed it, and pulled his backpack on once again. He began moving down the dark tunnel, his hand on the conveyor belt, his head ducked to avoid any dangerous outcroppings of rock he probably wouldn’t see until it was too late.
After passing several other areas that had been quarried extensively, he came to a larger room. This one was dimly lit by a pair of exposed bulbs.
The conveyor belt ended there, beside a group of large machines designed to crush and sort the gravel. He’d seen this kind of setup before. It was an underground diamond mine. Suddenly, he had a better idea how Thero was financing the operation.
He saw a door on the far side and crossed the room toward it. Just as he reached for the handle, the door moved, inching open. Kurt stepped back and raised the pistol as a trio of men came through.
“Don’t move!” Kurt growled.
The men froze in place, and a tense standoff ensued. Kurt might have drilled all three of them, but without a silencer the gunshots would have echoed through the cave and brought the rest of Thero’s men running.
As they stared at the gun, Kurt studied them. They carried sharpened staves made of crude metal instead of guns. Two of them appeared almost petrified, the third just as shocked but calmer.
“Put your weapons down,” he said, then added: “Quietly.”
They did as ordered.
Kurt nodded toward one of the rock-crushing machines. “Over there.”
The three men shuffled toward the machine. Kurt kept his distance in case they tried something rash.
“Two of you are going to end up tied to this machine,” he told them. “Whoever doesn’t want to spend the night like that can take me to Thero.”
“Take you to Thero?” one of them asked. He spoke with a South African accent.
“Who’s Thero?” another said with an Irish lilt.
“The man who brought you here,” the South African said.
“Quiet,” Kurt said. “Which one of you wants to show me the way?”
The three men looked at one another as if they were baffled by the question.
“Why would we take you?” the third man said.
“Because I have an appointment,” Kurt said, “and I don’t want to miss it.”
The confused look returned. Apparently, biting humor wasn’t their strong suit.
“You mean, which one of us wants to go with you and die first,” the South African said.
Kurt stared at him. The statement made no sense. “What are you talking about?”
“What are you talking about?” the South African repeated.
Kurt felt like he was in the Twilight Zone. He took another look at the men. They were filthy, wearing rags. Their weapons were crude. Suddenly, it made sense.
“You three are miners here,” he said. “You’re trying to escape. Whose idea was it?”
Two of them pointed at the Irishman.
“Rats,” the Irishman replied. “The lot of you.”
A broad smile creased Kurt’s face. “More like three blind mice,” he said. “The question is, exactly where were you running to?”
For the next few minutes, Kurt pried information out of the miners, learning their names and a little bit about the operation. Masinga, the South African, had been there right from the start.
“Eight months ago, I stole a key from one of the guards,” he explained. “But he never reported it lost because Thero would kill him for losing it.”
“Took a lot of patience not to use it right away,” Kurt noted.
Devlin, the Irishman, spoke up. “Apparently, patience runs in his family.”
Masinga smiled. “I hoped a day would come when escape would mean more than just dying in the cold. Devlin here says he came on a ship. He says he knows how to get back to it.”
“I hate to tell you,” Kurt said, “but you’re going the wrong way. Nothing but excavation tunnels back this way.”
The other two prisoners looked menacingly toward Devlin.
“That’s what you get for listening to me,” Devlin said. “I’ve been here only two days.”
“So what’s the deal with this mine anyway? I don’t recall Thero having any mining expertise.”
“He has others,” Masinga explained. “It’s an uneasy relationship between him and the overseers. He keeps them on a short leash, yanking their chains from time to time, but for the most part he leaves them alone. They work us and sell the diamonds. Thero lets them keep a cut, or so I’ve heard.”
“Slave labor,” Kurt noted. “That’s one way to bump up the profit margin.”