"It's as if we were presented with a pregnant rabbit," Sandecker grunted. "One solution leaves us with a new brood of unfathomable puzzles."
"Are you in contact with COmmander Koski?"
"Yes. The Catawaba is standing by the derelict while a team of investigators combs it thoroughly. In fact, I received a signal from them just before you struggled from bed. Three of the bodies were positively established as Fyrie's crew. The rest were too badly burned to identify."
"Like an Edgar Allan Poe ghost story. Fyrie and his people and the Lax disappear into the sea. Nearly a year later the Lax turns up at one of our research stations with a different crew. Then soon after that, the same ship becomes a burned-out derelict in an iceberg with the remains of Fyrie and the original crew on board. The more I dwell on it, the more I kick myself for not catching that Air Force jet to Tyler Field."
"You were warned."
Pitt managed a sour grin as he lightly touched the bandage on his head. "One of these times I'm going to volunteer once too often."
"You're probably the world's luckiest bastard," Sandecker said. "Living through two attempts on your life in the same morning."
"Which reminds me, how are my two friendly POlicemen?"
"Under interrogation. But short of Gestapo torture methods. I seriously doubt if we even get so much as a name, rank and serial number out of them. They keep insisting that they're going to be killed anyway, so why should they offer us information."
"Who is doing the interrogating?"
"National Intelligence agents on our airbase at Keflavik. The Iceland government is cooperating with us every step of the way-after all, Fyrie was practically their national hero. They're just as interested in finding out what happened to the probe and the Lax as we are."
Sandecker paused to remove a small bit Of tobacco from his tongue. "If you're wondering why NUMA is mixed up in this instead of sitting on the sidelines and cheering on the National Intelligence Agency and their army of super spies, the answer is, or I should say was, Hunnewell. He corresponded with Fyrie's scientists for months, offering his knowledge toward the ultimate success of the probe. It was Hunnewell who was instrumental in the development of celtinium-279. Only he had a rough idea of what the probe looked like, and only he could have safely disassembled it."
"That, of course, explains why Hunnewell had to be the first aboard the derelict."
"Yes, celtinium in its refined state is very unstable.
Under the right conditions, it can explode with a force equal to a fifty-ton phosphate bomb, but with a pronounced characteristic difference. Celtinium fulminates at a very slow rate, burning everything in its path to ashes. Yet, unlike more common explosives, its expansion pressure is quite low, about the same as a sixtymile-an-hour wind. It could go off and melt but not shatter a pane of glass."
"Then MY flamethrower theory was a bust. It was the probe that went off and turned the Lax into an instant pyre."
Sandecker smiled. "You came close."
“But that means the probe is destroyed."
Sandecker nodded, his smile rapidly fading. "All of it, the murders, the probe, the killers' search for undersea treasure, it went all for nothing-a terrible, terrible waste."
"It's possible that the organization behind this affair has the design and plans for the probe in its possession."
"It is more than possible." He paused, then went on almost absently. "A lot of good it will do them. Hunnewell was the only person on earth with the process for celtinium-279. As he often said, it was basically so simple that he kept it in his head."
"The fools," pitt murmured. "They murdered their only key to constructing a new probe. But why? Hunnewell couldn't have been a serious threat unless he found something on the derelict that led to the organization's paid mastermind."
"I haven't the vaguest idea." Sandecker shrugged helplessly. "Anymore than I can guess who the unseen men were who chipped the red dye marker off the iceberg."
"I wish I knew where in the hell to take the next step," Pitt said.
"I've taken care of that little matter for you."
Pitt looked up skeptically. "I hope this isn't another one of your famous favors."
“You said it yourself, you wanted to see if Iceland's women were coolly beautiful."
"You're changing the subject." Pitt looked steadily at the admiral. "Here it comes, let me guess, You're going to introduce me to a burly, steely-eyed Icelandic female government official who is going to make me sit up half the night going over the same old tired questions and answers that I've already covered. Sorry, Admiral, I'm not up to it."
Sandecker's eyes narrowed and he sighed. "Suit yourself. The girl I have in mind isn't burly or steelyeyed or a government official, for that matter. She happens to be the loveliest woman north of the sixty-fourth parallel and, I might add, the wealthiest."
"Oh, really?" Pitt suddenly came alive. "What's her name?"
"Kirsti," Sandecker said with a sly smile. "Kirsti Fyrie, Kristjan Fyrie's twin sister."
Chapter 8
If Snorri's Restaurant in Reykjavik could be picked up and placed down in any of the epicurean distinguished cities of the world, it would be instantly greeted with respectful acclaim. its one great hall, with open kitchen and earthen ovens only a few feet from the dining area, was designed in the Viking tradition. Richly panneled walls and intricately carved doors and beams rovided the perfect atmosphere for a leisurely yet elegant dinner. The menu selection was created to reward even the most picky gourmet, and along one entire wall stood a buffet table with over two hundred different native dishes.
Pitt surveyed the crowded dining hall. The tables were filled with laughing, talkative Icelanders and their lovely women. He was standing there, his eyes taking in the scene, his nostrils basking in the rich food smells when the maitre d' came up and spoke in Icelandic. Pitt shook his head and pointed at Admiral Sandecker and Tidi Royal comfortably ensconced at a table near the bar. He made his way over to them.
Sandecker waved Pitt to a chair opposite Tidi and hailed a passing waiter in the same motion. "You're ten minutes late."
"Sorry," Pitt said. "I took a walk in the Tjamargardar gardens and did a little sightseeing."
"Looks like you found yourself a swinging men's shop," Tidi remarked admiringly. Her wise brown eyes roved over his wool turtleneck sweater, belted corduroy jacket and plaid slacks.
"I grew tired of wearing hand-me-downs," he said, smiling.
Sandecker looked up at the waiter. "Two more of the same," he said. "What will you have, Dirk?"
"What are you and Tidi drinking?"
"Holland gin-schnapps if you prefer. It seems to be big with the natives."
Pitt twisted his mouth. "No, thanks. I'll stick with my old standby, Cutty rocks."
The waiter nodded and left.
"Where is this exciting creature I've heard so much about?" Pitt asked.
"Miss Fyrie should be along any minute," Sandecker replied.
"Just before we were attacked, Hunnewell said that Fyrie's sister was a missionary in New Guinea."
"Yes, little else is known about her. In fact, few people knew she even existed until Fyrie's will named her sole beneficiary. Then she appeared at Fyrie Limited one day and took the reins as smoothly as if she had built the empire herself. Don't get any ideas in that bedroom mind of yours. She's shrewd-just as shrewd as her brother was."