by Captain Sammitch
The surface of the Caribbean was a churning wasteland, impassable to any ships that might dare to traverse it, but four hundred feet down, the Korystnyj rode a warm current in total silence, punctuated only by the almost imperceptible hum of its nuclear power plant. Leslie Kline was unable to sleep and tried to amuse herself by walking around the decks of the submarine, seeing what she could find out about these ex-Soviet mercenaries. She was almost to the entrance of what was once the missile room, the area that had been hollowed out and transformed into a hangar/garage for hovercraft and helicopters.
A beefy hand fell on Leslie's shoulder. Leslie jumped and whirled around to see a burly Russian with bloodshot eyes. His breath reeked of Stolichnaya, and he obviously hadn't showered or shaved in days.
"I... Boris," he grunted haltingly. He grinned at her, and it wasn't hard for Leslie to guess what he wanted.
Leslie Kline was used to people telling her she was beautiful. While at five feet three inches and one hundred and thirty-nine pounds, she might not have been able to hack it as a European fashion model, Leslie had the curves and the face that most anorexic-looking models and many makeup models could only dream of having, and gorgeous salon-ad auburn hair to boot. Add to that impeccable fashion sense and a spectacular wardrobe, and Leslie was a knockout, charm powers or not. Unfortunately, Leslie's looks could be a double-edged sword at times. Her appearance could help get her places she might not be able to go otherwise, but it also attracted unwanted attention far too often, particularly now.
The drunk Russian leered at her, holding her arm tightly. He laughed and began to drag her off toward a darkened corner.
While being attractive was often a significant disadvantage in a fight, Leslie could usually count on the element of surprise to tip the odds in her favor. After all, few would-be assailants expected a beautiful woman in a skirt and heels to be any good at hand-to-hand combat, including, apparently, Boris, since he never expected the jujitsu hold Leslie used to pivot around his center of gravity and throw him against a bulkhead.
Stunned and confused, and pretty well sloshed to begin with, the Russian took a long moment to gather himself to his feet, by which time Leslie was already off and running down the corridor.
Leslie had a big lead on Boris, but ultimately there was still a limit to what a woman could do in heels. Rounding a corner, she tripped and fell to the rubber-coated steel floor, knocking the wind out of herself on landing. She tried to get to her feet, but the enraged Russian stepped on her skirt, pinning her to the floor. By this time, a small crowd of sailors had gathered in the corridor, and judging from the look of them, Leslie didn't expect any of them to be on her side.
Being beaten and raped by a dozen drunk Russians wasn't exactly in the contract, was it?
Leslie's thoughts were interrupted as her pursuer was leveled by a vicious haymaker to the chin, delivered by none other than Evgeni Kozlov. The big drunk slowly got to his feet, glaring at the commander, who stood over Leslie as if daring the others to try and attack her. But the besmirched Boris' bravado faded as Kozlov pulled his service sidearm from his shoulder holster.
"The next one who attempts to touch the girl, I will personally blow his brains out myself," Kozlov said, without even raising his voice. He turned to the big drunk and, without another word, pistol-whipped him into unconsciousness.
Kozlov helped Leslie to her feet. He barked an order to the onlookers in Russian, and they slowly walked away, presumably to their posts. "Perhaps," he told Leslie quietly, "I should accompany you on any future tours of the ship."
Leslie was too shaken to say anything, but she followed Kozlov on shaky legs back to the captain's ready room. She hoped this crazy expedition they had sent her on would be worth it. Sigma had better be somewhere on La Perdita.
Less than two hours later, Kozlov was at Leslie's door. It was locked, but Kozlov had a key and didn't have much time to waste. He walked in to find Leslie brushing her hair repeatedly, mechanically, as if indulging a nervous twitch of some sort. Kozlov imagined she was still trying to get over the trauma of Boris' attempt to assault her. No surprise there. Kozlov had personally returned and beaten some sense into the drunk, but he doubted it would make any difference in Boris' stuporous state.
"Elsiya," he called to her softly.
Leslie turned and quickly returned her hairbrush to her purse. "Yes?"
Kozlov could tell the girl had been crying. Infamous bounty hunter or not, Leslie was a woman, and in the Russian's mind, at least, some things about women might never change, not that he wanted them to. "It is time," he told her.
Leslie got up slowly and gathered her things. She followed Kozlov closely down the corridor, afraid to look at the other sailors. Kozlov headed astern down the long corridor until they came to the garage entrance.
Leslie stopped in her tracks. Kozlov realized that this was where Boris had tried to rape her not two hours before. "Miss Kline, I am sorry to make you go through here, but we must go through this way." He reached for her hand, and she took it timidly.
They were just about to enter the hangar area when the intercom sounded. "Bridge to Commander Kozlov."
Kozlov hit a button on the wall. "Kozlov here," he replied in Russian. "What is the situation?"
The answer came in Russian, but Leslie could make out Tsulygin's voice clearly. She might have panicked had she been able to tell what the captain was saying. "We have picked up an anomalous sonar contact just off the island," Tsulygin informed Kozlov.
"What sort of anomaly?"
"We had detected a school of sharks near the island, but they were obviously not a threat to the Zodiac. However, we are no longer sure of exactly what is going on down there. Reports and thermal-imaging scans indicate fleeting human contacts as well. We do not have an identification for these anomalies, and we have no procedure for surface operations in such a situation. Moreover, the storm has picked up speed, and the eye will not remain over the island for much longer. We estimate that we will have perhaps twenty minutes to remain at the surface. Advise that you take one of the hovercraft. We are preparing to surface at this moment. Prepare for departure."
Kozlov sighed. Leslie picked up on his frustration. "What's wrong?"
Kozlov chuckled dryly. "Our job has become more difficult."
After the frenzy of surf that had torn up so much of La Perdita's coastline, it was almost relieving to see the waves die down to a comparatively tame six-foot level. It made it harder for an observer the shore to see the Korystnyj break the surface, its engines running in reverse to keep it from being pushed close enough to the island to be detected. The huge doors on the back of the submarine swung open again, and this time one of the big cranes unfolded itself and extended upward, looming thirty feet above the water.
The cable lowered, and six deckhands in the depths of the hangar secured the riggings to one of the big assault hovercraft. It was built to carry forty fully armed Soviet marines, but today it carried only Lieutenant Kozlov and Leslie Kline. Tsulygin was reluctant to use anything smaller, given the current weather conditions.
Leslie waited in the cockpit with Kozlov as the hovercraft was hoisted into the air, then swung out over the water. Kozlov started the big engines, and Leslie was amazed at how quiet they were, even at full power. The crane lowered the hovercraft to the surface of the water, and then the rigging was released and the steel cables were pulled back in. Kozlov pulled away from the Korystnyj as the deckhands readied the search and rescue helicopter to go out next, if necessary.
The ride to shore took perhaps three minutes, at which point the hovercraft passed from surf to sand. Kozlov piloted the craft inland until he reached an area relatively untouched by the storm. "You will want to find cover relatively quickly," he explained to Leslie.
"I thought we were going back in a few minutes!" Leslie protested.
Kozlov shook his head. "The storm is moving much too rapidly. The eye is almost gone, and the trailing wall of the eye is the most severe part of the hurricane. I must return to the Korystnyj. We will return for you after the storm has died down. By that time, you should have accomplished your objective."
"Evgeni! I can't stay here!"
"Elsiya, I have no choice. I must go back to the ship, and we must submerge before the eye is gone completely. I am sorry, but it is the only way." Kozlov handed Leslie her luggage. "Be careful, Miss Kline," he instructed her. "And do not hesitate to call us if anything changes." He handed her a slip of paper.
"Is this a list of common radio frequencies?"
Evgeni laughed. "No. It is my cell phone number." He opened the cockpit hatch. "Be careful, Leslie."
Leslie smiled at him and clambered down the extended stairs. She began looking for a secure building to hide in as Kozlov pulled away, turned the hovercraft around, and set out across the waves, back toward the Korystnyj.
Now to find a place to hide, she thought, and hopefully Sigma, too.