cc.fireice-第11部分

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　〃Dead　guy。〃
　
　Austin　stuck　the　saber　point　into　the　sand　and　waded　through　the　thatch。　Dundee　pointed　to　the　body　of　a　man　who　lay　on　his　back；　glassy　eyes　locked　in　a　death　stare。　A　black　beard　and　mustache　matted　with　sand　hid　most　of　his　features。　He　could　have　been　in　his　forties。　His　head　was　twisted　at　a　wrong　angle。　Blood　soaked　one　side　of　his　face；　which　had　a　caved…in　look　to　it。
　
　Austin　said；　〃I'd　guess　he　fell　off　his　horse　during　the　fight　and　was　kicked　in　the　head。〃　He　was　not　a　callous　man；　but　he　felt　no　pity　for　the　dead　horseman。
　
　Lombardo　had　retrieved　his　camera　from　the　beached　Zodiac　and　was　filming　the　battle　site。　He　and　Kaela　came　over　to　see　what　the　others　were　looking　at。　Lombardo　let　out　a　low　whistle。　〃What　kind　of　a　getup　is　that？〃
　
　Austin　knelt　by　the　body。　〃Looks　like　something　out　of　The　Wizard　of　Oz。〃
　
　The　dead　man　wore　a　long　muddy…gray　coat　that　but…　toned　up　the　front　and　baggy　pants　tucked　into　black　boots。　His　black　fur　pillbox　hat　lay　a　few　feet　away。　Red　epaulets　decorated　each　shoulder。　A　pistol　holster　and　scabbard　hung　from　the　wide　leather　belt　that　encircled　his　waist。　Slung　across　his　chest　was　a　cartridge　belt。　A　sheathed　dagger　hung　from　a　cord　around　his　neck。
　
　〃G'dayr'　Dundee　said　with　wonderment。　〃The　man's　a　walking　arsenal。〃
　
　Austin　searched　the　grass　around　the　dead　man。　A　few　yards　away；　he　found　a　rifle　and　he　put　the　stock　against　his　shoulder　and　worked　the　well…oiled　bolt。　Like　the　saber　blade；　the　barrel　was　etched　with　Cyrillic　writing。　Austin　was　a　collector　of　dueling　pistols；　and　he　had　accumulated　a　general　knowledge　of　antique　guns。　The　rifle　was　a　Moisin…Nagant；　more　than　a　hundred　years　old；　and　in　mint　condition。　He　uttered　a　silent　prayer　of　thanks　that　the　horsemen　weren't　carrying　modern　automatic　weapons。　A　single　Kalashnikov　would　have　ripped　him　and　the　Gooney　to　shreds。
　
　Austin　handed　the　rifle　off　to　Dundee　and　went　through　the　dead　man's　pockets。　Nothing。　He　unpinned　the　metal　starburst　emblem　from　the　front　of　the　hat　and　pocketed　it。　Lombardo　had　finished　filming　the　battle　scene；　and　Kaela　suggested　shooting　some　footage　around　the　one…story　cinder…block　buildings　farther　inland。
　
　〃Not　a　good　idea；〃　Austin　said；　pointing　to　the　trail　of　hoofprints　leading　toward　the　structures。　He'd　been　worried　that　the　horsemen　would　make　a　return　appearance；　but　hadn't　said　anything　because　there　wasn't　much　they　could　do　about　it。　〃In　fact；　I'd　suggest　that　we　get　out　of　here　as　soon　as　we　can。〃　He　rested　the　rifle　on　his　shoulder；　retrieved　the　saber　and　started　walking　back　toward　the　beach。　Kaela　caught　up　with　him　on　the　crest　of　the　dune。
　
　〃Do　you　have　any　idea　what　this　is　all　about？〃　she　said　breathlessly。　〃Why　these　men　would　want　to　kill　us？〃
　〃You　know　as　much　as　I　do。　I　thought　they　were　filming　a　movie　until　somebody　took　a　few　shots　at　me。〃
　〃It's　a　good　thing　for　us　that　their　aim　was　bad。〃　She　paused。　Austin　was　studying　her　face　the　way　he　had　earlier。　〃Is　there　anything　wrong？〃
　〃I'm　almost　embarrassed　to　say。〃
　〃I　find　it　hard　to　believe　that　you'd　be　embarrassed。　You　hardly　seem　the　shy　type。〃
　
　Austin　shrugged。　〃Well；　in　a　manner　of　speaking；　you　might　say　we've　met　before。〃
　〃Sorry；　I'm　sure　I　would　have　remembered。〃
　〃Not　literally。　Believe　me　when　I　say　this。　You　bear　a　striking　resemblance　to　the　face　of　a　princess　I　once　saw　painted　on　the　wall　of　an　Egyptian　temple。〃
　
　Kaela　was　tall；　with　a　good　part　of　her　height　invested　in　long　shapely　legs。　She　had　a　smooth　mocha　plexion　and　ebony　black　hair　that　she　kept　long　with　a　natural　tight　curl。　Her　mouth　was　full　and　almost　perfect；　and　her　eyes　were　a　dark　amber。　As　an　attractive　woman　working　in　a　man's　profession；　she　thought　she　had　heard　every　male　line　invented　…　but　this　was　a　new　one。　She　gave　Austin　a　sidelong　glance。　〃That's　funny；　I　was　thinking　that　you　looked　as　if　you'd　fallen　off　Captain　Kidd's　pirate　ship。〃
　
　Austin　laughed　and　ran　his　fingers　through　his　disheveled　hair。　〃I　suppose　I　do　look　like　a　pirate；　but　I'm　not　joking。　You're　a　ringer　for　the　young　woman　in　the　temple。　You're　quite　a　bit　younger　than　she　is；　though。　I　believe　her　portrait　dates　back　to　about　four　thousand　B。C。〃
　〃I've　been　called　a　lot　of　things；〃　she　said；　〃but　never　an　Egyptian　mummy。　Thanks　for　the　pliment；　if　that's　what　it　was。　And　for　saving　our　necks。　There's　no　way　we　can　ever　repay　you；　Mr。　Austin。〃
　〃You　can　start　by　calling　me　Kurt。　And　may　I　call　you　Kaela？〃
　
　She　smiled。　〃Of　course。〃
　〃Now　that　we're　old　friends；　how　about　being　my　guest　at　dinner？〃
　
　She　glanced　up　and　down　the　deserted　coast。　〃What　did　you　have　in　mind；　something　out　of　the　Boy　Scout　handbook？　Roots　and　berries？〃
　〃I　only　made　it　as　far　as　Cub　Scout；　and　foraging　was　never　my　forte。　I　was　thinking　more　of　something　like　duck　a　l'orange。　I　can　almost　guarantee　a　table　with　a　water　view。〃
　〃Here？〃　she　said；　going　along　with　the　game。
　
　〃No；　there。〃　He　pointed　out　to　sea；　where　a　turquoise…hulled　ship　could　be　seen　steaming　in　their　direction。　〃Casa　Argo。　They　say　the　chef　used　to　work　at　the　Four　Seasons　before　NUMA　stole　him。〃
　〃My　mother　didn't　raise　any　stupid　kids；〃　Kaela　said。　〃I'd　be　a　fool　to　refuse　an　invitation　like　that。〃　Conscious　of　her　unkempt　state；　she　said；　〃I　don't　think　I'm　dressed　for　a　fancy　dinner。〃
　〃I'm　sure　we　can　find　something　appropriate　aboard　the　ship。　I'll　ask　when　I　call　for　reservations。　My　radio　is　the　only　thing　that　wasn't　smashed　when　I　landed。　Maybe　you　can　round　up　your　friends　while　I　hail　the　boat　…　but　you　might　want　to　hurry　them　along。　We're　on　Russian　territory；　and　I　don't　have　my　passport。　We　shouldn't　overstay　our　wele。〃
　
　Kaela　followed　Austin　with　her　eyes　as　he　made　his　way　back　to　the　damaged　ultralight。　She　sensed　a　story。　Who　was　this　guy？　This　was　no　nerd。　She　called　out　to　Mike　and　Dundee　and　told　them　to　wrap　up　their　filming。　Then　she　hurried　to　catch　up　with　Austin。
　
　…6…
　MOSCOW；　RUSSIA
　
　WIELDING　IRON　SELF…CONTROL；　Viktor　Petrov　replaced　his　telephone　in　its　cradle；　tented　his　fingers　and　stared　into　space。　After　a　moment　lost　in　thought；　he　rose　from　his　desk　and　went　to　the　window。　As　he　gazed　out　at　the　city；　letting　his　eyes　linger　on　the　turnip…shaped　spires　of　St。　Basil's　in　the　distance；　his　hand　came　up　and　brushed　his　right　cheek。　He　hardly　felt　the　touch　of　his　fingers　through　the　parchment…like　scar　tissue　that　covered　the　dead　nerve　endings　in　his　skin。　How　long　had　it　been？　Fifteen　years。　Strange。　After　all　that　time；　a　single　phone　call　brought　back　memories　of　the　searing　pain。
　
　Petrov　watched　the　crowds　of　pedestrians　swarming　in　the　summer　heat　and　yearned　for　winter。　Like　many　of　his　countrymen；　he　had　a　poignant　attachment　to　snow。　The　Russian　winter　was　harsh　and　unforgiving；　but　it　had　protected　the　country　from　the　armies　of　Napoleon　and　Hitler。　Petrov's　love　of　snow　was　more　prosaic；　as　well。　Winter　covered　the　city's　flaws；　hushed　its　noise　and　hid　its　corruption　under　a　white　blanket　of　purity。
　
　He　returned　to　his　battered　metal　desk；　the　largest　object　in　the　small；　drab　room。　At　one　elbow　was　an　old…fashioned　black　dial　telephone。　At　the　other；　a　fax　machine。　An　empty　filing　cabinet　stood　in　a　corner；　there　mainly　for　show。　The　cramped　office　was　one　of　dozens　of　cubicles　that　made　up　the　tenth…floor　warren　of　the　agricultural　building；　a　soaring　gray　monument　to　the　banality　of　socialist　architecture。　Printed　in　small　letters　on　the　door　were　the　words　SIBERIAN　PEST　CONTROL。　Petrov　rarely　had　visitors。　Occasionally；　a　lost　soul　blundered　into　the　office；　only　to　be　told　that　Siberian　Pest　Control　had　moved。
　
　In　spite　of　his　spartan　surroundings；　Petrov　exerted　wide　power　in　the　Russian　government。　The　key　to　his　influence　was　the　anonymity　that　kept　him　from　view。　He　remembered　the　old　days　when　Pravda　had　dutifully　printed　photos　of　the　Soviet　hierarchy　reviewing　the　May　Day　parade　from　Lenin's　tomb。　Any　hint　that　someone　in　the　lineup　was　a　possible　successor　to　the　reigning　tyrant　of　the　day　marked　the　unfortunate　individual　for　liquidation。　Petrov　had　mastered　the　art　of　fading　into　the　woodwork。　He　was　the　bureaucratic　equivalent　of　a　shape…shifter；　a　legendary　being　that　can　change　form　at　will。　He　had　survived　three　premiers　and　countless　Politburo　members　with　his　ability　to　avoid　definition。　He　hadn't　allowed　himself　to　be　photographed　in　years。　The　photos　clipped　to　his　personnel　files　were　of　dead　men。　He　resisted　attempts　to　give　him　a　title。　In　the　various　evolutions　of　his　long　career；　he　was　known　simply　as　an　aide。
　
　In　keeping　with　his　faзade；　Petrov　enclosed　his　athletic　physique　in　one　of　the　baggy　monotone　suits　that　had　long　been　the　uniform　of　the　Kremlin's　faceless　gray　men。　His　pepper…and…salt　hair　was　worn　over　the　collar　of　his　cheap　shirt　as　if　he　could　not　afford　a　regular　haircut。　The　glass　in　his　wire…rimmed　spectacles　was　plain　and　intended　to　give　him　a　professorial　look。　Disguise　had　its　limitations；　though。　He　could　cover　his　scar；　but　no　sartorial　sleight　of　hand　could　hide　the　lively　intelligence　that　glinted　in　the　slate…　blue　eyes；　and　his　chiseled　profile　projected　a　ruthless　determination。
　
　The　caller　was　an　earnest　young　man　named　Aleksei；　whom　Petrov　had　personally　recruited　as　an　agent。　〃There　is　a　new　development　in　the　south；〃　he　said；　making　no　effort　to　hide　his　excitement。
　
　The　four　cardinal　directions　had　bee　a　rough　verbal　shorthand　in　alerting　Petrov　to　the　general　location　of　trouble　in　the　vortex　of　assassinations；　murders；　rebellions　and　unrest　that　swirled　around　in　the　far　ers　of　the　old　Soviet　empire。　Petrov　thought　he　was　about　to　hear　more　bad　news　from　the　Republic　of　Georgia。
　
　〃Go　ahead；〃　Petrov　said　automatically。
　
　〃An　American　ship　violated　Russian　territory　in　the　Black　Sea　earlier　today。〃
　〃What　sort　of　ship？〃　Petrov　said；　with　barely　disguised　irritation。　Far　more　weighty　matters　occupied　his　mind。
　
　〃It　was　a　survey　vessel　from　the　National　Underwater　and　Marine　Agency。〃
　〃NUMA？〃　Petrov　tightened　his　grip　on　the　phone。　〃Go　on；〃　he　said；　trying　to　keep　his　voice　level。
　
　〃Our　observe