Clive Cussler - NUMA 3 Fire Ice

FOLLOWING IN THE wake of the original Argo, the NUMA ship steamed across the Black Sea toward the Bosporus, the narrow strait that separated the Asian and European sides of Istanbul. Unlike Jason, who brought home the Golden Fleece, all that Austin had to show for his labors was a head laceration, a bedraggled television crew and a pile of unanswered questions.

The evacuation from the Russian beach had gone off without a hitch. Captain Atwood had sent a boat in to transport Austin and the television people to the Argo. Moving the Gooney was less trouble than anticipated; it was mostly a case of picking up the pieces. Austin didn't look forward to telling Zavala that the nifty little plane he'd designed could practically fit into a shoe box.

On the final run to the beach, Austin had spotted something floating in the water. It was the body of the Turkish helmsman, Mehmet. They'd hauled the body onto the tender and brought it back to the ship. The pitiful sight reminded Austin of the deadly game he'd been playing. One wrong roll of the dice and it would have been his body pulled from the water and wrapped in a tarpaulin.

Austin checked in with the ship's paramedic to have his cut treated, then showered and changed. He had suggested to Kaela that she meet him for dinner in the mess hall after she had a chance to rest. Austin snagged a table next to a big window that looked out over the stern deck. He was gazing out at the ship's foamy wake, trying to make sense of the skirmish on the beach, when Kaela made her entrance.

The reporter wore jeans and a faded blue chambray shirt borrowed from a female oceanographer whose figure must have been shorter and wider. What would have been practical but ill-fitting work clothes on another woman achieved an elegant sophistication draped over Kaela' s slim physique. As she entered the mess, she could have been strolling down a Paris runway wearing the latest in avant-garde fashion.

She smiled at Austin and came over to the table. Something smells good.

You're in luck. The chef has decided on an Italian theme. Have a seat.

She sat down and closed her eyes. Don't tell me. She inhaled the aromas coming from the galley. An antipasto of truffle salad and olivi mushrooms followed by a porcini risotto.

Not quite. Austin cleared his throat. We're having pizza. Mushroom, or pepperoni if you'd prefer carne.

Kaela opened her eyes and stared at Austin. What happened to the four-star chef?

Austin tried his best to look angelic, but his rugged features wouldn't cooperate. I confess. I exaggerated. My intentions were entirely honorable. Your spirits needed a lift back there on the beach.

And you looked like you'd pushed your face through a plate-glass window. Glad to see you're in better shape.

Amazing the miracles that can be performed with a needle, sutures and swabs.

Kaela glanced over at the serving counter. How's the pizza?

Almost as good as Spago's. Especially when you have nectar like this to wash it down. He reached under the table and produced a bottle of Brunello Chianti Classico. I picked up a case when we stopped in Venice.

You'refull of surprises, aren't you? Kaela said, laughing.

Sorry the dinner is not quite as advertised, but you'll have to admit that the water-view table is as promised.

No argument there. The view is spectacular. She rose and said, If you open the bottle, I'll get our dinner. She grabbed a tray and stepped into the serving line. A few minutes later, she returned with two personal-sized pizzas and Caesar salads. Austin had the wine opened and poured their glasses. They hungrily attacked their dinner.

This pizza is incredible, Kaela said. She sipped the wine with a dreamy expression on her face. Suddenly, she glanced around as if she had lost something. Have you seen Mickey and Dundee?

I meant to tell you. The boys grabbed something to eat earlier, then went up to the bridge to shoot some video. Seems they've charmed their way past Captain Atwood's gruff faade.

The camera tends to bring out the ham in people. Austin refilled their glasses. Tell me about your Noah's ark assignment.

It's the usual combination of humbug and fact that Unbelievable Mysteries packages for the mass TV audience. They splice old blurry images with new footage and do a dramatic voice-over. Heavy on the mysterious background music. There's usually a hint of a government cover-up and some danger to the crew. The viewers love it.

The danger was real this time.

Yes, it was, she said thoughtfully. That's why I feel so bad about Captain Kemal's cousin. It was my idea to look into the old sub base.

Don't blame yourself. There was no way you could have known you'd be shot out of the water.

Still - has anyone been able to contact Captain Kemal?

The bridge got in touch with him a while ago. Apparently, his radio is working now. The captain gave him the bad news.

Poor Mehmet. I keep playing that scene over and over again in my head. His family must be devastated. Austin gently tried to take Kaela's mind off a situation she couldn't alter.

If you're looking for Noah's ark, wouldn't you do better poking around Mount Ararat?

Kaela welcomed the chance to change the subject. No, not especially. You're familiar with the findings of William Ryan and Walter Pitman?

They're the Columbia University geologists who speculated that the Black Sea was originally a freshwater lake be- fore the Mediterranean broke through the Bosporus in a great flood. The people who lived along the shore had to run for their lives.

Then you must know that the saga of the flood, passed down by generations of bards, may have inspired the tale of Noah and the ark. Which means that the ark sailed these waters. It would be a waste of time humping our cameras up the side of Mount Ararat. Don't you agree?

Austin leaned back in his chair and gazed into the dark amber eyes. They sparkled with good-humored intelligence.

I'll answer that with a question of my own.

Let me guess. You want to know why someone who pretends to be a serious reporter ended up on the television equivalent of a supermarket tabloid.

Austin added perceptiveness to the list of Kaela's other admirable qualities. I've seen your show. In the episode I watched, Big Foot had been found living in Loch Ness with an alien love-child.

That must have been before my time, but I take your point. U.M. is trash television at its trashiest.

Austin spread his hands. So?

It's a long story.

We've plenty of time to talk. I'll have the sommelier refill your wineglass as often as you'd like.

That's the best offer I've had all day. She cradled her chin in one hand and gazed into his face. There was no timidity in her large eyes. I'll tell you about my background if you do the same for yourself.

Okay, you're on.

She took another sip of Chianti. I was born in Oakland, California. I was named Katherine after my dad's mother, and Ella after Ella Fitzgerald, Mom's favorite singer. My last name was Doran. I shortened it to Kaela Dorn when I went into TV. My mother was a ballet instructor at an African-American community center and my dad was an Irish-American, long-haired, pot-smoking hippie who had come to Berkeley to protest the Vietnam War and everything else.

There was a lot of that in the sixties. She nodded. Dad put aside his love beads and bongos and now teaches courses in contemporary American history at Berkeley, specializing in the protest movements of the sixties and seventies. He still has his beard, but it's a lot whiter than it used to be.