“You want to tell me about Andras?” he asked, the joking nature of his voice long gone.
“I can’t,” Ion whispered.
“Once that snake wraps around you, there’s nothing I can do but leave and try to shut the door behind me,” Kurt said, “so you’d better talk quick before it’s too late.”
Ion was pressed against the plastic door. He seemed as if he was barely breathing. The snake slithered past his legs and began to curve back around.
“Can it sense him?” Kurt asked Joe.
“Oh yeah. That tongue senses heat.”
The snake began to coil up as if it would strike.
Ion sensed it; he was shaking but he didn’t speak. Then the snake lunged, knocking him down, and wrapping around him.
Kurt hadn’t actually expected it to happen.
Ion screamed and struggled. Both moves were a big mistake because they expended air, and as soon as his chest cavity shrank a smidgen, the constrictor tightened.
“Austin,” he managed, freeing one arm and grabbing at the snake’s neck. “Austin…”
Ion could speak no more, and obviously he could say nothing if he was dead. Kurt opened the door and sprang into action. He looped the stick collar over the snake’s head and tightened it. Moving to get leverage, he forced the snake’s head and neck up and away from Ion.
Kurt pushed with all his might. He found it hard to believe how strong the snake was. It fought him and twisted and flipped, even with Ion still in its coil.
“Joe,” Kurt shouted. “A little zookeeper help please?”
Joe was already there. He’d dropped down beside Ion and grabbed the snake’s midsection, pulling with all his might. He arched his back and managed to create a small amount of space in its tight coil.
Thin, wet, and desperate to live, Ion squirmed free, crawled out of the pen, and collapsed on the floor.
Joe followed right behind him, and Kurt released the snake and slammed the door shut. He immediately placed the stick collar over Ion’s head again. The man didn’t even resist.
“Where can I find Andras?” Kurt asked.
Ion turned his eyes toward Kurt, his face drawn, his look that of a beaten man.
“I haven’t seen him in over a year,” Ion said.
“Bull,” Kurt said. “You were his go-to guy for work. We all know that.”
“He doesn’t need work anymore,” Ion said. “He has a permanent gig now. He hasn’t looked for action in two years.”
“And yet you saw him a year ago,” Kurt said, tightening the collar again. “Get your story straight.”
“I did see him a year ago,” Ion admitted. “But he wasn’t looking for a job. He was hiring.”
“Hiring?”
“He needed men,” Ion said. “He needed some guys who knew demolitions and ships. More than he could round up on his own.”
Kurt thought about that, thought about the pirate attack on the Kinjara Maruand Dirk Pitt’s information about the mercenary group that had loaded the superconducting material on board in Freetown. It certainly sounded like Andras had built a small army. But why?
“How do you contact him?” Kurt asked.
“By e-mail,” Ion said. “You want to go beat up a server in some office tower somewhere?”
One of the problems with the modern world: people could send and receive information anywhere at any time. The days of the dark meeting and the dead drop had passed, for the most part.
Kurt looked down at Ion. He was still holding back, Kurt was sure of it. “You know something you’re not telling me,” Kurt said. “Otherwise, you would have told me all this without the hassle.”
Ion didn’t respond.
“Joe,” Kurt said. “If you please, it’s feeding time again.”
Joe unlatched the door to the snake pen one more time. Kurt began to drag Ion over there.
“Wait… Wait,” he said.
“Talk to me,” Kurt said, “or talk to the snake.”
“He lives at sea,” Ion said. “Andras lives on the sea. He doesn’t have a home. He goes from place to place on a ship. That’s why no one can find him. That’s why he can get in and out of almost any country even though he has no citizenship or passport and is wanted everywhere. He comes ashore as part of the crew or even with the cargo.”
Now it made sense. Every time the CIA, FBI, or Interpol got a lead on Andras, he seemed to vanish into thin air like a ghost, only to pop up somewhere else a month later. It was like an international game of Whack-A-Mole. But no one had been able to figure out how he did it. Turned out he was like an evil version of Juan Cabrillo.
“What’s the name of this ship?” Kurt asked.
“It could be any ship,” Ion said.
Kurt pushed him toward the door.
“I swear,” Ion said. “Do you think he would tell me?”
Kurt relaxed. He had a better idea. “When was he last in Singapore?” he asked. “The exact dates.”
“The last I saw him was February fourth,” Ion said. “I know because it was the day after Chinese New Year, a holiday here.”
Kurt sensed that Ion was telling the truth. He glanced at Joe, who closed the door of the snake enclosure tight. The python had retreated to the back of the enclosure and coiled itself up defensively anyway.
Kurt released Ion and stood over him. “We’re leaving,” he said. “Don’t even think about warning Andras. If you do, he’ll know you ratted on him. And you’re right. He’ll do far worse than feed you to the snakes.”
“What are you going to do?” Ion asked, looking up and rubbing at his neck where the collar had choked him.
“I told you, I’m going to kill him,” Kurt said. “For your own sake, you’d better hope I succeed.”
45
KURT AUSTIN SAT huddled over a laptop computer in his room. He and Joe had arrived back safely at the hotel and reported seeing a leopard in the shopping district to the proper authorities. And then they’d promptly gotten down to business.
For Joe that meant a hot shower and tending to his various wounds. For Kurt it meant toweling off his face and hair, changing into dry clothes, and getting on the horn to NUMA headquarters. He needed downloads of information, some which NUMA had access to, some which they had to beg Interpol, the FBI, and other agencies for.
Fortunately, NUMA had a long and positive history with these agencies, and there were enough markers to call in to still be on the right end of the balance sheet.
He’d been working at it for nearly forty-five minutes before Joe reappeared through the room’s adjoining door.
“What took you so long?”
“I was cleaning the gravel out of my knee.”
Kurt laughed. “That’s what you get for wearing Italian shoes to foot-race in the rain.”
“I didn’t know we were going to be running all over town,” Joe said.
Truthfully, neither did Kurt. “How’s your arm?”
Joe held it out. The claw marks were bandaged but clearly visible. “That’s gonna make a great story one day. Maybe even for your old girlfriend at the zoo.”
Joe did not seem too amused. “Very funny,” he said. “Just tell me my favorite Armani shirt didn’t die in vain.”
Kurt turned back to the computer. “A valiant sacrifice, my friend. And not without results.”
He brought up parallel lists.
“On the right, we have official confirmed sightings of our friend Andras, courtesy of Interpol, the FBI, and someone Dirk knows at the Agency.”
As Joe studied the list, Kurt read the names off. “Pyongyang eighteen months ago. Singapore five weeks later, on the exact date Ion gave us.”
“Score one for snake intimidation,” Joe said.
“Yeah,” Kurt said. “It gives a whole new meaning to squeezing information out of a suspect.”
Joe laughed, and Kurt continued.
“After Singapore, we find Andras in Kaohsiung, Taiwan. He’s there for twenty-four hours, at which point he disappears for three months until a possible sighting in Yemen. Six weeks later he was confirmed in Madagascar.”