Austin grunted. “The guys who shot me out of the air a few days ago weren't made out of ectoplasm.”

From the command post, they went back to the main passageway, poked into several rooms, each with two beds, that could have been officers' quarters, and followed another connector that led to a large and luxurious suite. The polished oak floors were covered with finely woven oriental rugs. The ornate furniture was made from heavy dark wood. The decor was a blend of Byzantine and Middle Eastern, with a liberal use of red cloth and gold fringe.

Zavala looked at the painting of a voluptuous woman, one of several that decorated the walls. “Remind me when I get home to redo my place in harem modern.”

Austin was having a problem imagining a bulldog-jowled Soviet sub commander in these decadent surroundings. “It looks like someone's idea of a Victorian bordello.”

Despite their bantering, both men were uneasy. Austin recalled the violence that had greeted his first visit to these shores. The quiet gave him the jitters. They explored the rest of the suite, eventually coming to a thick wooden door built with rivets and ornamental straps as if it guarded the portal to a medieval keep. Carved in the door was a large stylized letter R.

Zavala examined the antique keyhole, then he reached into his pack and pulled out a soft leather case that he unfolded to display an array of lock picks that would have gotten him arrested in most states. He selected a particularly large pick.

“The basic skeleton key should do the job.” He ran his fingers over the door carving and strong steel hinges. “There must be something valuable on the other side. I'm surprised they didn't use a better lock.” Bending to his task, he inserted the pick in the keyhole, jiggled the tool, then turned it. The lock had been well-lubricated and the deadbolt opened with a loud clunk.

Austin put his ear up against the dark wood. Hearing nothing, he tried the ornamental knob. He paused, wondering if hidden cameras had watched them every step of the way into the labyrinth. A gang of cutthroats could be lurking on the other side of the door. The thought of a bullet or dagger in the eye made him squeamish. His lips tightened in a grim smile. Being shot or stabbed in the heart would leave him just as dead as a poke in the eye.

Austin couldn't remember who'd said the best defense is a good offense, but he had always considered it good advice. He cocked his Bowen, motioned to Zavala to back him up, then turned the knob, threw the door open and stepped inside.

NUMA 3 - Fire Ice

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