Wearily, Pitt climbed a circular metal staircase and entered his apartment. There was no sense in calling 911. He expected federal marshals to come bounding up the road any minute. Methodically, he rinsed a glass with water, shook it partially dry and inverted it in a bowl of salt. Then he added crushed ice, a sliced lime, and two shots from a bottle of Don Julio silver tequila. Relaxing in a leather sofa, he savored the drink like a thirst-stricken bedouin who staggered onto an oasis.
Five minutes and a second tequila later, Admiral Sandecker arrived with a team of marshals. Pitt came down to the hangar floor and met them, drink in hand. “Good evening, Admiral, always good to see you.”
Sandecker grunted something appropriate and then nodded at the body beneath the apartment. “You really must leam to pick up after yourself.” The voice was caustic, but there was no mistaking the concern in his eyes.
Pitt smiled and shrugged. “The world needs murderers like it needs cancer.”
Sandecker noticed the streak of blood on Pitt's arm. “You took a hit.” “Nothing a Band-Aid won't fix.”
“Let's have the story,” demanded Sandecker, all preliminaries over. “Where did they come from?”
“I haven't a clue. They were waiting for me.”
“A miracle they didn't kill you.”
“They didn't plan on me coming to the party prepared after I saw that my security system had been tampered with.”
Sandecker looked at Pitt cautiously. “You might have waited until I arrived with the marshals.”
Pitt motioned through the door toward the road and barren land outside the hangar. “If I made a run for it, they'd have cut me down before I got fifty yards. Better to go on the offensive. I felt my only chance was to do something quickly and catch them off balance.”
Sandecker stared at Pitt shrewdly. He knew his special projects director would never attempt anything without a solid reason. His eyes took in the bullet-riddled doorway. “I hope you know a good handyman.”
At that moment a man wearing casual clothes and a wind-breaker over a ballistic armor vest with a Smith & Wesson model 442 .38 revolver in a shoulder holster approached. In one hand he held a hooded mask worn by the killer whom Pitt had dropped in the doorway. “Won't be easy to ID them. They were probably imported for the hit.”
Sandecker made the introduction. “Dirk, this is Mr. Peter Harper, executive associate commissioner of field operations for the Immigration and Naturalization Service.”
Harper shook Pitt's hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Pitt. It seems you had an unexpected homecoming.”
“A dubious surprise I wasn't counting on.” Pitt was not at all sure he could warm to Harper. The associate commissioner of the INS struck him as a man who spent his spare time working algebra problems. Despite the fact he carried a weapon, Harper looked benign and scholastic. “There is a van parked a short distance from the hangar.”
“We already checked it out,” said Harper. “It belongs to a \ rental-car agency. The name on the agreement is fictitious.” “Who do you suspect was behind this?” Sandecker asked. “The name Qin Shang comes to mind,” said Pitt. “I'm told he has a retaliatory nature.”
“The obvious choice,” Sandecker agreed. “He won't be happy when he finds out his assassins failed,” added Harper.
Sandecker's expression turned foxlike. “I think it only appropriate that Dirk tell him in person.”
Pitt shook his head. “I hardly think that's a sensible idea. I'm persona non grata in Hong Kong.”
Sandecker and Harper exchanged glances. Then Sandecker said, “Qin Shang saved you the trip. He recently arrived in Washington to grease his way out of any connection with Orion Lake. As a matter of fact, he's throwing a party at his residence in Chevy Chase to stroke congressmen and their staffers. If you hurry and dress, you can just make it.”
Pitt looked as if he'd been sandbagged. “I hope you're joking.”
“I was never more serious.”
“I believe the admiral makes a good case,” said Harper. “You and Qin Shang should meet face-to-face.”
“Why? So he can provide a first-hand description of me to the next team he sends out to put me in a cemetery?”
“No,” said Harper seriously. “To let Qin Shang know that despite his wealth and power he can't outclass the United States government. The man is not infallible. If your appearance can shake him up, he probably won't get the word you're alive until you walk in on him. The shock just might make him mad enough to make a mistake in the future. And that's when we step in.”
“In essence you want me to create a chink in his armor.” Harper nodded. “Exactly.”
“You realize, of course,” said Pitt, “that what you're proposing will compromise my further involvement in investigating his illegal activities.”
“Think of yourself as a distraction,” said Sandecker. “The more Qin Shang concentrates on you as a threat to his operations, the easier it will be for the INS and the other intelligence services to nail him to the cross.” “Distraction hell. You want a decoy.” Harper shrugged. “A rose by any other name.” Pitt made as if to appear uneasy with the idea despite the fact it intrigued him. He thought of the bodies strewn on the bottom of Orion Lake, and the anger rose inside him like an uncontrollable flood. “Whatever it takes to hang the murdering scum.”
Harper sighed in relief, but Sandecker never doubted for an instant that Pitt would acquiesce. The admiral had never known
Pitt to turn down a challenge, no matter how impossible. Some men were indifferent, impassive. It was difficult to tell what they were thinking. Not Pitt. Sandecker understood him like no other man except Al Giordino. To women he was a mystery, a man they could reach out and touch but never restrain. He knew there were two Dirk Pitts, one that could be tender, considerate and humorous, the other cold and ruthless as a winter storm. Unvaryingly competent to the point of brilliance, his perception of events and people was uncanny. Pitt never made a conscious error. He had a knack for doing the right thing during incredibly difficult circumstances that was almost inhuman.
Harper was unable to read Pitt. All he saw was a marine engineer who had unbelievably killed two professional assassins who had come to murder him. “So you'll do it.”
“I'll meet Qin Shang, but I wish someone would tell me how I'm going to crash his party without an invitation.”
“It's all been arranged,” explained Harper. “A good agent I always has connections with the company that prints invitations.”
“You were pretty sure of yourself.”
“I admit I wasn't, but the admiral here assured me that you never turned down free drinks and food.”
Pitt threw Sandecker a peevish look. “The admiral has mads victimization an art form.”
“I've even taken the liberty of arranging an escort for you,” Harper continued. “A most attractive lady who will back you up in case of trouble.”
“A baby-sitter,” Pitt muttered, rolling his eyes upward. “As a matter of pure optimism I have to ask if she's seen combat.” “I'm told she shot down two aircraft and saved your ass on the Orion River.” “Julia Lee.” “The same.”
Pitt's lips stretched into a wide grin. “It looks as if the evening won't turn out to be a bust after all.”
PITT KNOCKED ON THE DOOR OF THE ADDRESS GIVEN HIM BY Peter Harper. After a short wait, it was opened by Julia Lee. She stood radiant in a white silk cashmere dress that came slightly below the knees with open shoulders and back to the curve above her hips and was held up by a thin strap around the neck. Her black hair was swept back in a wrapped ponytail high on the head with spiky ends. Her only jewelry was a thin gold chain around her waist and a gold cuff necklace. Her legs were nude, her feet showing in open gold shoes.