Iris Johansen - Silent Thunder

You're joking, right?" Kirov shouted above the roaring surf.

Hannah, Kirov, and Niler aimed their flashlights ahead as they half walked, half slid down a sandy embankment to a narrow strip of shoreline. They were on a lonely stretch about forty minutes' drive from Niler's bar.

"Nope," Niler said. "This used to be a nice little beach, but Hurricane Opal took most of it away a few years ago. There was a set of stairs on that embankment, but they're gone too. That's good for me, because it keeps people away."

"Maybe it should have kept you away," Hannah said.

"Nah." Niler aimed his flashlight ahead at a small dilapidated structure. "That's an old snack stand. One of my old girlfriends used to get hot dogs and boiled peanuts from there when she was a kid. Anyway, I own it now."

"The bomb maker's lair," Kirov said.

"It's out of the way, and I can test fuses and detonators on the beach without causing a fuss."

Kirov chuckled. "Pity the poor passerby who tries to duck inside for some shelter from the elements."

Niler produced a large key ring. "It's securely locked. Someone would need a crowbar to get inside."

"Meaning that they would deserve to get blown to bits by your booby traps?" Hannah said.

"Damned straight," Niler said. He raised a tiny car alarm remote much like the one he'd used against Hannah the previous night. A doorbell-like tone sounded inside the structure. He raised a second remote, and a second tone sounded. Niler unlocked the door and threw it open wide. "Ladies first."

Hannah smiled. "This is one place I'd rather you lead the way."

"Still a little shell-shocked from the necklace I gave you, are you?" Niler strode through the door and turned on the overhead fluorescent lights.

"Wow," Hannah murmured. Niler's workshop resembled a laboratory clean room, bearing no resemblance to the weather-beaten shack outside. Bright fluorescent light flooded every nook and cranny of the windowless, almost antiseptic room, and an equipment-laden workbench dominated three of the four walls.

Niler smiled. "You expected a grimy little toolshed?"

"I don't know what I expected, but this wasn't it."

"Building bombs isn't like fixing lawn mowers. It's an exact science, or at least it should be." He pointed to four steel platters on the workbench. "There's the current project."

Kirov inspected the gray platters, which were approximately four inches thick and eighteen inches in diameter. "You're building these for Pavski?"

"You've got it. There will be a total of eight for a total covered area of fifty square feet. They'll be spaced just close enough together that one detonation will trigger the one next to it, which in turn will detonate the next in line, and so on."

"A ring of destruction," Kirov said. "So whatever they're protecting will be totally destroyed?"

Niler gave him a sour look. "Do you see a sign around here that says 'amateur bomb maker at work'? You must really enjoy insulting me."

Kirov turned to Hannah. "Artists are so sensitive about their work, aren't they?"

"Artist is right," Niler said. "And for that you've just won your way back into my good graces." He gestured toward the discs. "There's still a protected area of about twenty square feet. The main purpose of my devices is to protect, not destroy."

"Twenty square feet," Kirov said. "That seems small for the cargo were looking for."

Niler shrugged. "That's what Pavski needed. Maybe he wants this for something else."

"It doesn't matter," Kirov said. "It's Pavski we want, not the objects."

Niler smiled. "It wouldn't exactly suck if you got both, now would it? Money makes the world go round. Speaking of which, we need to have a chat about logistics."

"What do you mean?" Hannah asked.

"I don't know what you have planned for Pavski and friends, but you'll need to wait until my business with him is done."

"After you've handed off these devices?" Hannah said.

"And after I've received my money and gotten the hell out of your way."

"We'll try not to blow your deal." Kirov smiled. "No pun intended."

"It's not just the money. If it gets out that I've ratted out one of my clients, it might make my other customers… nervous."

"Understood," Kirov said. "I don't suppose you'd want to get on the bad side of a South American drug lord."

"Damn straight." Niler nodded. "You screw this up for me, I'll make damned sure you're on his bad side, too."

Hannah watched Niler pass them in his Z-98 and disappear down Highway 98.

"What did you think?" Hannah asked Kirov.

"I'm pretty well versed in the art of demolitions, and Niler clearly knows what he's doing. I still can't get past the small size of the protected area. The treasure occupied a good part of the forward hold of the Silent Thunder , which as you know is well over twenty square feet."

"Maybe it's not the treasure he wants to guard. Maybe it's a clue to the location, like we thought those canisters might be."

"Possibly." Kirov nodded to a roadside diner up ahead. "That looks like a four-star establishment. Are you in the mood for a gourmet meal?"

"Sure. Greasy hamburgers are just what I need after looking at lethal weapons."

He pulled into the parking lot. "I might spring for a steak."

"I'll take the hamburger." She got out of the car. "There's nothing fancy about my palate. My ex-husband used to say that I was very lacking in that department."

"That's the first time you mentioned your husband." He opened the glass door for her. "I gather he's totally out of the picture?"

"Totally." She slid into a red leather booth, picked up a menu, and handed him one. "But my relationship isn't one that I'd discuss with you, Kirov. It's personal."

"There's personal and there's personal ." He looked down at the menu. "I'd never ask you to talk about the child you lost. But ex-husbands are fair game."

"Why would you want me to talk about either one?"

He grimaced. "You're right. I've changed my mind. I don't want to hear anything about such a stupid bastard." He smiled. "It would tell me nothing about who you are now. We all change according to our experiences, and you've gone through a lot since you were with him."

The death of her child, the murder of Conner. "Yes, I have." She looked him in the eye. "And did the death of your wife change who you are?"

"Turnabout?" He shrugged. "Yes, I changed."

"How did she die?"

"Pavski."

She went still. "What?"

"She was sucked down in the morass after Silent Thunder was taken over. Pavski had staked out my home and was trying to use her to capture me after I escaped. For years we had a special code word. Whenever one of us used it in a telephone call, telegraph message, or e-mail, we knew to pack up and immediately proceed to a prearranged rendezvous spot. Those were uncertain times, and many officers had such arrangements with their loved ones." Kirov stared out the window for a long moment. "I called Mira with the code, but she never showed. I heard later that she was murdered by Pavski's men when she tried to escape from him and get to me."

"Jesus, I'm sorry."

"So was I."

"Does Bradworth know about your wife?"

"No; I needed him and his resources. If Bradworth knew that Pavski killed Mira, he'd know the chances were zilch I'd leave him alive long enough to turn him over to them. He's doubtful with what he knows about me now. He would have frozen me out."

"Like he tried to do to me."

"To his credit he was probably concerned for your well-being. On one hand you have Pavski, whose only concern is extracting information you have about the sub and those plates. On the other hand there's me, who obviously has no problem using you as bait in order to trap Pavski. I think Bradworth was trying to protect you as long as it didn't get in his way."