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It was a good plan. And they certainly didn’t need Kurt to pull it off. “Well, there you go,” he said, his hand edging closer to the Makarov in case he’d just outlived his usefulness.
“Not just us,” Gregorovich replied.
Kurt narrowed his gaze.
“We’re taking you and your crew with us.”
“Gonna be a little tight on those helicopters with so many people and the extra fuel you’ll need for the long circular journey.”
“As it turns out, a few seats have become available,” Gregorovich said. “Twelve of the commandos have taken ill with a horrendous stomach virus.”
“So give them some fluids and tell them to quit goldbricking,” Kurt said, hoping no one would actually listen to his advice.
Gregorovich shook his head. “We’re not going to hike a glacier with men puking their guts out every five minutes. They’re
too dehydrated and weak to be of any use. You and your people will take their place.”
“Not all of our people are healthy either,” Kurt said. “Four of them are in your sick bay.”
“Only three,” Kirov corrected. “It seems one of them died during the night. From lingering effects of shock.”
“All they needed were basic treatments,” Kurt said angrily. “What kind of people are you?”
“The kind who will draw blood if we need to,” Gregorovich said, taking the conversation back from Kirov and unmistakably referencing their chess game and the altercation that nearly ended in both of their deaths. “The others will get the attention they deserve as long as you cooperate.”
Kurt stared. “Who do you want to bring?”
“You, your friend Zavala, and Ms. Anderson.”
“There’s no reason to bring her at this point,” Kurt said.
“I don’t need a reason,” Gregorovich said.
Kurt wondered if the Russian knew this was exactly what he’d hoped for. “Fine,” he said. “But not until I’m sure the others have been treated.”
A smirk appeared on the Russian’s rugged face. “Still protecting your pawns?” he asked. “So be it. They will receive what they need. But for you and I, the time has come. We’ll finish our game tonight right here where you said we’d be: at the very ends of the Earth.”
THIRTY-TWO
NUMA vessel Gemini
Gamay Trout sat in the darkened room of the Gemini’s ROV control center. She stared at the flickering black-and-white monitor in front of her. Twelve thousand feet below them, one of the ship’s deep-diving ROVs had come across a debris field.
Broken and mangled wreckage littered the seafloor in a familiar pattern. She had seen dozens like it before as NUMA explored and cataloged various wrecks. Only, this wreck was one of their own.
“Magnetometer reading peaking,” Paul said from beside her. “She’s got to be close.”
Paul and Gamay and the Gemini’s captain were crowded into the room along with three other techs. The quarters were tight, and no one wanted to see what they were about to find. Gamay slowed the ROV and tilted the camera upward. A moment later, the red hull plating of the Orion’s keel came into view along with her bent rudder and six-bladed propeller. The ship was lying on her side.
“That’s her,” the captain said grimly. “Bring the ROV up a hundred feet. Let’s see the big picture.”
Gamay did as ordered, operating calmly, despite the sick feeling in her stomach.
The ROV rose above the wreckage to reveal the true extent of the damage. The ship’s keel had been split wide open, like someone cracking a giant egg. Somehow, the two halves remained attached as she sank, but there was so much damage it was hard to make sense of it.
“No wonder they went down so fast,” Paul said.
As the ROV drifted on the current, they could see that the breach ran the width of the hull.
