Swiftly he was over it, studying the cylinder carefully. The crash had torn it from the support strut and, together with the tire and wheel, had thrown the assembly out from under the nose section. It was the same story. The manufacturer's serial number had been filed from the aluminum housing. Then, as he was about to head toward the surface, he threw a last quick look down. On the end section of the housing where the hydraulic tubing had pulled from its connection, Pitt spotted a small marking: two roughly gouged letters in the metal-SC. Taking the screwdriver from his weightbelt, he etched his initials next to the other marking. The depth of his DP matched that of the SC.
Okay. No sense in hanging around, he reasoned.
His air was becoming difficult to inhale-the signal that his tank was getting low. He pulled his reserve valve and moved upward. The rosefish followed him until he turned and waved his hand in its path, sending the little marine creature scurrying behind a friendly rock. Pitt smiled and nodded. His playful companion would have to find a new friend.
Pitt arched on his back at fifty feet, looking directly up at where the surface should have been, trying to get his bearings in relation to The Grimsi. The light was equal in all directions, only his ascending bubbles indicated the direction of his native element. It slowly began to get lighter, but it was still much darker than when he dropped off The Grimsi's side. Pitts anxious head broke water, to be engulfed by a thick cloak of fog. God, he thought, this soup makes it impossible to find the boat. To strike out for shore would have been at best a four-to-one gamble.
Pitt unshouldered his airtank harness, tied it to his already unhooked weightbelt, and let them fall together to the bottom. Now he could float comfortably, thanks to the buoyancy of his rubber wet suit.
He lay quietly, barely breathing, listening for a sound through the dense gray blanket. At first he could hear only the water lapping around his body. Then his ears picked up a faint gravelly voice… a voice singing a flat version of "My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean." Pitt cupped his ears, amplifying the sound, determining the direction.
He struck out with an easy energy-saving breast stroke fifty feet and then stopped. The offkey signaling had increased in volume. Five minutes later he touched the seaworn hull of The Grimsi and pulled himself on board.
"Have a nice swim?" Sandecker asked conversationally.
"Hardly enjoyable and barely profitible." Pitt unzipped the wet suit top, revealing a dense mat of black chest hair. He grinned at the admiral. "Funny thing. I could swear I heard a fog horn."
"That was no fog horn. That was a former baritone of the Annapolis Glee Club, class of '39."
"You were never in better voice, Admiral." Pitt looked Sandecker in the eye. "Thanks."
Sandecker smiled. "Don't thank me, thank Tidi. She had to sit through ten choruses."
She materialized out of the mist and hugged him.
"Thank God you're safe." She clung to him, the dampness trickling down her face, her hair falling in matted tendrils.
"It's nice to know I've been missed."
She stood back. "Missed? That's putting it mildly. Admiral Sandecker and I were beginning to come unglued."
"Speak for yourself, Miss Royal," Sandecker said sternly.
"You didn't fool me for a second, Admiral. You were worried."
"Concerned is the word," Sandecker corrected. "I take it as a personal insult when any of my men get themselves killed." He turned his gaze to Pitt. "Did you find anything of value?"
"Two bodies and little else. Somebody went to a hell of a lot of work to remove the plane's identification. Every serial number on every piece of equipment had been removed before the crash. The only markings were two letters scratched on the nose gear's hydraulic cylinder." He gratefully accepted a towel from Tidi.
"The boxes I sent up. Did you retrieve them?"
"It wasn't easy," Sandecker said. "They broke surface about forty feet away. Twenty tries later-I haven't cast with a pole in ears-I managed to reel them in."
"You opened them?" Pitt probed.
"Yes. They're miniature models of buildings… like dollhouses."
Pitt straightened. "Dollhouses? You mean threedimensional architectural exhibits?"
"Call them what you want." Sandecker paused to flip a cigar stub overboard. "Damned fine craftsmanship. The detab on each structure is amazing. They even break away by floors so you can study the interior."
"Let's take a look."
"We carried them to the galley," Sandecker said.
"It's as good a place as any to get you into some dry clothes and a cup of hot coffee into your stomach."
Tidi had already changed back into her own blouse and slacks. She demurely turned her back as Pitt finished stripping off the wet suit before he donned his colorful mod outfit.
He smiled while she busied herself over the galley stove. "Did you keep them warm for me?" he asked.
"Your gay threads?" She turned and stared at him, her face showing the beginning signs of a blush. "Are you kidding? You're at least eight inches taller, and you outweigh me by nearly sixty pounds. I literally swam in the damn things. It was as if I was wearing a tent. The cold air swept up my legs and out my neck and arms like a hurricane."
"I sincerely hope it didn't cause any critical damage to your vital parts."
"If you're referring to my future sex life, I fear the worst."
"My sympathies, Miss Royal." Sandecker didn't sound very convincing. He lifted the boxes onto the table and pulled off the lids. "OK, here they are, including furniture and draperies."
Pitt looked into the first box. "No indications of water damage."
"They were watertight," Sandecker offered. "Each packed so carefully the crash left them entirely intact.
To say the models were simply masterpieces of difficult art would have been a gross understatement.
The admiral was right. The detail was amazing. Every brick, every windowpane, was precise in scale and placement. Pitt lifted off the roof. He had seen model exhibits before in museums, but never workmanship like this. Nothing had been overlooked. Paintings on the walls were exacting in color and design. The furniture had liny designs printed on the fabric. Telephones on desks had receivers that could be picked up, connected to wires that led into the walls. As a crowning touch, the bathrooms even possessed toilet paper rolls that unraveled to the touch. The first model building consisted of four floors and a basement. Pitt carefully lifted them off one at a time, studied the contents and just as carefully replaced them. Then he inspected the second model.
"I know this one," Pitt said quietly.
Sandecker looked up. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. It's pink. You don't often forget a structure built of pink marble. It was about six years ago when I entered those walls.
My father was on an economic survey mission for the President, conferring with the heads of finance of Latin American governments. I took a thirty-day leave from the Air Force and acted as his aide and pilot during the trip. Yes, I remember it well, especially this exotic black-eyed little secretary-"
"Spare us your erotic escapades," Sandecker said impatiently. "Where is it located?"
"In El Salvador. This model is a perfect scaleddown replica of the Dominican Republic capitol building." He gestured toward the first model. "Judging from the design, the other model also represents the legislative offices of another South or Central American country."