“Mercifully, it was smooth.”
“Do you have any luggage?”
“I’m wearing it,” said Pitt. He winced and clenched his teeth as he slipped into the seat beside the admiral.
“You in much pain?”
“A little stiff. They don’t tape cracked ribs like they did in the old days. Just let them heal on their own.”
“Sorry I insisted on your return in such haste, but things in Washington are boiling up a storm, and Doug Oates is hoping you possess information that might clear up a few entanglements.”
“I understand,” Pitt said. “Has there been any news of Loren?”
“Nothing, I’m afraid.”
“She’s alive,” said Pitt, staring out the window.
“I don’t doubt it,” Sandecker concurred. “Probably an oversight her name isn’t on the survivor list. Maybe she requested anonymity to avoid the press.”
“Loren had no reason to hide.”
“She’ll turn up,” Sandecker said. “Now, suppose you tell me how you managed to be present at the worst maritime tragedy in fifty years.”
Pitt marveled at how the admiral could twist a conversation in another direction with the abruptness of leaping from a sauna into the snow.
“In the brief time we had together on the Leonid Andreyev,” Pitt began, “Loren told me she was strolling on the deck on the first night of the cruise when the lights around the exterior of the ship went out, followed by the landing of a helicopter. Three passengers were taken off, two of them roughly handled. Loren thought she recognized one of them in the dim light as Alan Moran. Not certain whether her eyes were playing tricks, she called her aide Sally Lindemann over ship-to-shore phone and asked her to locate Moran’s whereabouts. Sally turned up false trails covered over by vague reports and no Moran. She also discovered he and Marcus Larimer were supposed to be together. She then related the negative results to Loren, who told her to contact me. But the call was cut off. The Russians had monitored her calls and learned she’d accidentally stumbled into the middle of a delicate operation.”
“So they made her a prisoner along with her congressional pals, who were on a one-way trip to Moscow.”
“Except that Loren was more risk than asset. She was to be conveniently lost overboard.”
“And after Lindemann contacted you?” Sandecker probed.
“Al Giordino and I drew up a plan and flew south, catching up with the ship in San Salvador and boarding there.”
“Over two hundred people died on the Leonid Andreyev. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“Yes,” Pitt said meditatively. “It was a near thing.”
He went quiet, his mind’s eye seeing only a face the face of the steward who stood in the lifeboat leering down at him with the look of a man who enjoyed his work: a murderer without a shred of remorse.
“In case you’re interested,” said Sandecker, breaking the spell, “we’re going direct to a meeting with Secretary Oates at the State Department.”
“Make a detour by the Washington Post,” Pitt said abruptly.
Sandecker gave him a negative look. “We can’t spare the time to buy a newspaper.”
“If Oates wants to hear what I’ve got, he’ll damn well have to wait.”
Sandecker made a sour expression and gave in. “Ten minutes is all you get. I’ll call Oates and say your plane was delayed.”
Pitt had met the Secretary of State previously, during the North American Treaty affair. The neatly trimmed hair was slate-colored, and the brown eyes moved with practiced ease as they read Pitt. Oates wore a five-hundred-dollar gray tailored suit and highly polished black custom shoes. There was a no-nonsense aggressiveness about him, and he moved well, almost like a track and field athlete.
“Mr. Pitt, how nice to see you again.”
“Good to see you, Mr. Secretary.”
Oates wrung Pitt’s hand, then turned to the other men in the conference room and went through the introductions. The inner sanctum had turned out. Brogan of the CIA, Emmett of the FBI, National Security’s Alan Mercier, whom Pitt also knew, and Dan Fawcett representing the White House. Admiral Sandecker remained at Pitt’s side, keeping a wary eye on his friend.
“Please sit down,” Oates said, waving them all to a chair.
Sam Emmett turned toward Pitt and regarded him with interest, noting the drawn lines in his face. “I’ve taken the liberty of pulling your packet, Mr. Pitt, and I must confess your service with the government reads like a novel.” He paused to scan the dossier. “Directly responsible for saving innumerable lives during the Vixen operation. Instrumental in obtaining the Canadian merger treaty. Heading the project to raise the Titanic, with subsequent discovery of a rare element for the Sicilian project. You have an uncanny knack for getting around.”
“I believe the word is ‘ubiquitous,’ “ Oates injected.
“You were in the Air Force before joining NUMA,” Emmett continued. “Rank of major. Excellent record in Vietnam.” He hesitated, a strange inquisitive look growing on his face. “I see here you received a commendation for destroying one of our own aircraft.”
“Perhaps I should explain that,” Sandecker said, “since I was on the aircraft Dirk shot down.”
“I realize we’re pressed for time, but I’d be interested to hear that tale,” said Oates.
Sandecker nodded agreeably. “My staff and I were flying on a twin turboprop transport from Saigon to a small coastal port north of Da Nang. Unknown to us, the field we were supposed to land on was overrun by North Vietnamese regulars. Our radio malfunctioned and my pilot was unable to receive the warning. Dirk was flying nearby, returning to his base from a bombing mission. The local commander directed him to intercept and alert us by whatever means available.” Sandecker looked over at Pitt and smiled. “I have to say he tried everything short of a neon sign. He played charades from his cockpit, fired several bursts from his guns across our nose, but nothing penetrated our thick skulls. When we were on our final landing approach, coming in from the sea toward the airstrip, in what has to be a rare exhibition of precision aerial marksmanship, he shot out both our engines, forcing my pilot to ditch our plane in the water only one mile from shore. Dirk then flew cover, strafing enemy boats putting out from the beach, until everyone was taken aboard a Navy patrol vessel. After learning that he saved me from certain imprisonment and possible death, we became good friends. Several years later, when President Ford asked me to launch NUMA, I persuaded Dirk to join me.”
Oates looked at Pitt through bemused eyes. “You lead an interesting life. I envy you.”
Before Pitt could reply, Alan Mercier said, “I’m sure Mr. Pitt is curious why we asked him here.”
“I’m well aware of the reason,” Pitt said.
He looked from man to man. They all looked like they hadn’t slept in a month. At last he addressed himself directly to Oates. “I know who was responsible for the theft and subsequent spill of Nerve Agent S into the Gulf of Alaska.” He spoke slowly and distinctly. “I know who committed nearly thirty murders while hijacking the presidential yacht and its passengers. I know the identities of those passengers and why they were abducted. And lastly, I know who sabotaged the Leonid Andreyev, killing two hundred men, women and children. There is no speculation or guesswork on my part. The facts and evidence are rock solid.”
The room took on an almost deathly stillness. No one made even the slightest attempt to speak. Pitt’s statement had stunned them to the soles of their feet. Emmett had a distraught expression on his face. Fawcett clasped his hands to conceal his nervousness. Oates appeared dazed.