“Except for Thero,” Kurt guessed.

Gregorovich seemed to brood at the mention of the name.

“Come on,” Kurt said, “it’s not that hard to figure. Thero’s facility was blown to bits. Somehow, he survives, and now Russia ends up on his hit list. It was you guys who blew him up. Seems you got everything except the head of the snake. I’d say you failed pretty badly on that one.”

Gregorovich lunged across the table, his hand blasting the chess pieces all over the room as it plowed through them on the way to the Makarov. He reached the pistol before Kurt could react.

Kurt had made a different choice. His left hand went for the vodka bottle, grabbed it, and smashed it against the bulkhead wall and brought the shattered stub up to Gregorovich’s neck like a blade. It met the Russian’s neck at the very instant the barrel of the Makarov lodged against Kurt’s gut.

The safety was off, Kurt’s liver unprotected. But so was his opponent’s jugular. Either man could have ended the other’s life in a blink, but it was a standoff. If Gregorovich fired, Kurt’s body would convulse, and the jagged glass of the bottle would slice his artery. If Kurt flipped the edge of the glass, he would mortally wound the Russian, but death would not come quick enough to stop the 9mm bullet from blasting through his liver and tearing apart his internal organs.

They stared into each other’s eyes. Two men on the brink.

“In chess they call this blood,” Gregorovich said. “A piece for a piece, an even trade. But our trade wouldn’t be even, would it? End my life and I end yours, but Kirov will have your crew shot before dawn. The pawns you fight desperately to protect will die along with their king. And I sense you have no stomach for that kind of outcome.”

“That may be true,” Kurt said. “But if you kill me, you lose your only chance to find Thero, your only chance to erase your one big failure. And your pride won’t let you give that up. No matter how badly I’ve angered you.”

The Russian began to laugh. “At least we understand each other.”

Gregorovich released the pistol and dropped it into Kurt’s lap. He then pulled slowly away from the glass.

Kurt grabbed the pistol and tossed the broken bottle away.

“I will find and destroy Thero,” Gregorovich said matter-of-factly. “Whether it happens before or after he obliterates Australia, Russia, or the rest of the world matters little to me. I will hunt him down and kill him because it is personal to me. And I will do so if I have to drive every man and woman on this ship to their deaths in the process.”

Kurt nodded. He recognized a modern-day Ahab when he saw one.

“Why would you need to drive your men so hard,” Kurt asked. “Don’t they have the same orders as you?”

“Orders, yes. But they lack my zeal. They’re uneasy and have been since we determined what happened to your ship. Like the men with Columbus, they’re afraid we’re sailing off the edge of the map.”

“So that’s why you gave us the guns,” Kurt said.

“You and your men are quite an effective counterbalance against them,” Gregorovich said. “Now they have something else to worry about beyond getting rid of me.”

“How Machiavellian of you,” Kurt said.

“It’s worked so far,” Gregorovich boasted. “But for how long, I don’t know. Kirov prods them and plots against me. They may find the heart to challenge me yet. If they do, you and your men will certainly die.”

“Or fight for you,” Kurt guessed.

“Odd as that sounds, yes.”

“I guess we’d have no choice,” he said. “The question is: how much time do you think we have until that occurs?”

Gregorovich shook his head. “No,” he said, “that’s not the question. The question is: how far will you go to stop Thero?”

So that was it. Gregorovich was looking for a partner, a blood brother, in his quest for the prey that escaped him. Kurt was up for that, as long as they got there in time.

“To stop Thero from killing millions,” Kurt said. “To the ends of the Earth, if necessary.”

Gregorovich nodded. It was the answer he wanted to hear. It also happened to be true.

“This far south,” the Russian said, “it would seem we’re almost there.”

“Not quite,” Kurt replied. He stood and checked his watch. It was time for a new heading. “Tell your helmsman to change course. Our new heading should be 245 degrees.”

“So we don’t journey to Antarctica after all?”

“Not yet anyway,” Kurt said, keeping the truth to himself. “I’m going to my quarters so I can sleep this off. Assuming Kirov doesn’t kill me during the night, I’ll have more course changes for you in the morning.”

Gregorovich nodded, and Kurt stepped out into the hall. One of the commandos waited there.

“You must be the bellhop,” Kurt muttered. “Take me to my cabin.”

He was escorted aft until he reached a pair of the Russian commandos standing outside the cabin in which the NUMA crew had been placed. He stepped past them and went inside, only to find an argument in full bloom.

Captain Winslow and his XO were on one side, Joe and Hayley on the other.

“… he’s got us this far,” Hayley insisted.

“He’s playing a game with our lives,” the XO replied.

“We’d be dead if he told them what they wanted to hear,” Joe added.

Apparently, more than one mutiny was brewing on the ship.

“Told who what they wanted to hear?” Kurt asked.

The group turned in unison.

“The Russians,” Captain Winslow said. “While you were out drinking with their leader, they came and took our injured crewmen to the sick bay. Only now they tell us no one will be receiving medical treatment until we give them more information.”

Kurt didn’t like the sound of that. But there was no turning back.

“I don’t know if this is the right course of action,” Winslow added.

“It’s the only course left,” Kurt said.

“We have to give them something,” Winslow said. “At least a hint.”

“No. If they guess right, we’re all dead,” Kurt explained. “They’ll tie weights to our feet and drop us over the side to save the cost of a bullet.”

“My crewmen are in shock,” Winslow said. “They’re dying. For God sakes, Kurt, be reasonable.”

“There’s no room for reason,” Kurt snapped. “Can’t you see that?!”

The others stared back at him, taken off guard at an uncommon burst of fury.

“We’re caught in between a madman and a lunatic,” he explained. “Gregorovich is insane. This isn’t a job for him. It’s some kind of vendetta. Maybe even a suicide mission. His failure to kill Thero years ago is eating him alive. If he has to, he’ll murder every one of us just to get another shot at it. And Thero is worse. He was a schizophrenic, a sociopath, years ago. Can you imagine what time and pain have done to him since? He’s called his lair Tartarus, the Prison of the Gods. What do you think that says about him? He considers himself a god. A persecuted one at that. You think he’s going to let up on his threat?”

They gazed at Kurt oddly. No doubt he looked half deranged himself at this point.

“It can’t be that bad,” the XO said.

“It can be and it is,” Kurt said. “If anyone’s making plans to survive this, I suggest you stop wasting your time because most likely we won’t. The only thing we can hope for is to prevent Thero from acting. And to do that, we need the Russians as much as they need us.”

Joe stood with Kurt, the loyal friend that he was. Hayley seemed to understand the truth and had resigned herself to it. Even the XO seemed to soften his posture. But Winslow shook his head.

“They’re my crew,” he said. “My responsibility.”

Kurt understood that. He figured lack of sleep and guilt were weighing on the captain’s mind too.

“Most of your crewmen already gave their lives to fight this,” Kurt said. “So did nine members of the ASIO, and at least four civilians who’ve tried to escape Thero’s grasp. The only way to give those deaths meaning is to stop Thero from winning. We have a chance to do that if we side with Gregorovich. It’s a long shot. But it’s the only shot we have.”