The deep blue sea was a short walk from the camp. A lone swimmer was paddling around about a hundred feel out. The beach was stony and not conducive to sun bathing, and the metal beach chairs were as hot as grills to the touch.

While Gamay looked for a place to stretch out, Paul walked down the beach. He came back a few minutes later.

“I found something interesting,” he said, and led the way around a bend, where a powerboat was drawn up on shore. The white paint was peeling on the wooden hull, but the boat looked sound enough. The outboard motor was a Yamaha in good condition and there was gas in the tank.

Gamay read her husband's mind. “Are you thinking of taking a spin?”

Trout shrugged and glanced off at a young man of college age who was coming out of the water. “Let's ask this guy if it's okay.”

They went over to the swimmer, who had come to shore and was toweling himself dry. When they said hello, the young man smiled. “You're the Americans?”

Paul nodded and introduced himself and Gamay.

“My name is Yuri Orlov,” the Russian said. “You know my father. I'm a student at the university.” He spoke English with an American accent.

They shook hands all around. Yuri was tall and gangling, about twenty years old, with a shock of straw-colored hair over his forehead and big blue eyes magnified by horn-rimmed glasses.

“We were wondering if it would be possible to take a spin in the boat,” Paul said.

“No problem,” Yuri said, beaming. “Anything for friends of my father.”

He pushed the boat out to where the water was deeper and gave the cord a pull. The motor coughed, but didn't start. “This motor has an attitude,” he said in apology. He rubbed his hands together, then adjusted the fuel mixture and tried again. This time, the motor sputtered and snarled before smoothing out. The Trouts got in the boat and Yuri gave it a push, jumped aboard and pointed the boat out to sea.

NUMA 3 - Fire Ice

-15-

AUSTIN'S EYES TOOK a few seconds to adjust to the dimness. The pungent fragrance of incense evoked the image of an ancient Byzantine chapel in a monastery he had visited high on a hill at Mystra, overlooking the Greek city of Sparti. Gaslight flickered in brass lanterns of ornate gold and stained glass that were set into sconces in rough plaster walls covered with brilliantly painted icons. The vaulted ceiling was reinforced with thick wooden ribs. A high-backed chair faced an altar at the far end of the room.

They moved in for a closer look. The altar was draped with a dark purple cloth stitched in gold with the letter R. On top of the altar was a smoking incense burner. Set in the wall above the altar was a lamp whose yellow light illuminated a large black-and-white photograph in an ornate gold frame.