"Cussler, Clive - Fire Ice" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cussler Clive)

"What is wrong?"

"There's no one at the wheel. Can't you feel it? My stupid first mate is probably drunk."

Tovrov left the major behind and climbed to the wheelhouse. In the light from the binnacle, he saw the wheel slowly spinning back and forth as if moved by invisible hands. The captain stepped inside and stumbled over something soft and yielding. He swore, thinking that the mate had passed out. Then he turned on the light and saw how wrong he was.

The mate lay facedown on the metal deck, a puddle of blood around his head. Tovrov's anger turned to alarm. He knelt beside the young officer and turned him over. A wound grinned at him like a second mouth where the poor wretch's throat had been cut.

Eyes wide with horror, the captain stood and edged away from the corpse, only to back into a wall of solid flesh. He whirled and saw Yakelev.

"What has happened?" the major said.

"It's incredible! Someone has killed the first mate."

Yakelev nudged the bloody corpse with his boot. "Who could have done this?"

"No one."

"No one slaughtered your mate like a pig? Come to your senses, Captain."

Tovrov shook his head, unable to take his eyes off the mate's body. "I meant that I know all the crew well." He paused. "All except the two new men."

"What new men?" Yakelev's good eye blazed at Tovrov like a spotlight.

"I hired them two days ago as stokers. They were in the bar when I was talking to Federoff, and they came by later looking for berths. They looked like ruffians, but I was short of crew - "

Uttering a curse, Yakelev pulled his pistol from its holster, shoved Tovrov aside and vaulted through the door, shouting commands to his men. Tovrov glanced at the first mate and vowed not to let the same thing happen to him without a fight. He tied the wheel, then he went into his stateroom and with trembling hands turned the combination dial on the ship's safe. Pulling out a 7.63-millimeter Mauser automatic, he unwrapped the soft velvet cloth protecting the gun, which he had acquired years before in a barter in the event of a mutiny, loaded the magazine, stuck the pistol in his belt and peered out the cabin door.

Descending to the lower deck, he peeked through the small circular window in the door that led to the passengers' quarters. The passageway was empty. He went down to the main deck and crept forward. In the glow of the deck lights, he saw the Cossacks crouched near the rail.

Suddenly, a small, dark object looped over the gunwale, bounced once and skittered along the wet deck, leaving a trail of sparks.

"Grenade!" someone yelled. Moving like quicksilver, Yakelev dove for the sputtering grenade, rolled onto his back and snapped the metal pineapple over the side. An explosion sounded, and the screams of pain that followed were drowned out as the Cossacks poured rifle fire into the mist. One guard leaned over with a sharp: knife and slashed the lines tied to several grappling hooks, then a boat engine roared, as if it had been given full throttle. The Cossacks continued to fire until the boat was out of range.

The major turned and his rifle snapped up to firing position. Then a grin crossed his face as he recognized the captain.

"You'd better put that toy away before you shoot yourself, Captain."

Tovrov tucked the gun into his belt and walked over to Yakelev. "What happened?"

"You were right about being followed. A fishing boat came alongside and some impolite fellows tried to invite themselves on board. We had to teach them manners. One of your new crewmen was signaling them with a light until we put a knife in his heart." He indicated a body lying on the deck.

"We gave our visitors a warm welcome," another Cossack said, and his companions joined in the laughter. The guards picked the body up and threw it over the side. The captain was about to ask where the other stoker was. Too late.

The missing stoker announced his arrival with deadly force. Rifle fire cut short the Cossacks' mirth, and four men were mowed down as if by an invisible scythe. A round caught Yakelev in the chest, and the force slammed him against the bulkhead. He refused to go down and mustered the strength to push the captain out of the line of fire. The remaining Cossack dropped to his belly and crawled along the deck, firing as he went, but he was killed before he gained the protection of an air vent.

While the attacker was diverted, Tovrov and the major made their escape, but after a few steps, the major's knees buckled and his great body dropped to the deck, his tunic soaked in blood. He gestured toward the captain, who brought his ear close to the Cossack's mouth.

"See to the family," he said in a wet, guttural voice.