One of the radio operators scanned a sheet in a log book. "A few minutes shy of eighteen hundred hours yesterday, Commander. They requested an up-to-the-minute report of the hurricane's speed and direction."
The commander nodded and turned back to the officer. "They haven't transmitted for over twelve hours. Could be their radio is out."
"It's quite possible."
"We'd better have a look," the commander said. "Up periscope."
The periscope tubing hummed slowly into the raised position. The commander gripped the handles and stared through the eyepiece.
"Looks quiet enough," he said. "She's got a heavy list to starboard and she's down by the bow, but not bad enough to be considered dangerous yet. No distress flags flying. No one in sight on her decks-wait a moment, I take that back. There's a man atop the bridgehouse roof." The commander increased the magnification. "Good lord!" he muttered. "It's a woman."
The officer stared at him with a disbelieving expression. "You did say a woman, sir?"
"See for yourself."
The officer saw for himself. There was indeed a young blond woman above the Titanic's bridgehouse. She seemed to be waving a brassiere.
Ten minutes later, the Dragonfish had surfaced and was lying under the shadow of the Titanic.
Thirty minutes later, reserve fuel from the sub's auxiliary diesel engine was coursing through a pipe that arched across the still thrashing swells and passed neatly into a hastily cut hole in the Titanic's hull.
71
"It's from the Dragonfish, " Admiral Kemper said, reading the latest in a long line of communications. "Her captain has sent a work party aboard the Titanic to assist Pitt and his salvage crew. He states that the derelict should remain afloat, even with numerous leaks, during the tow providing, of course, she's not struck by another hurricane."
"Thank God for small favors," Marshall Collins exhaled between yawns.
"He also reports," Kemper went on, "that Mrs. Seagram is on board the Titanic and is in rare stage form, whatever that means."
Mel Donner moved out of the bathroom, a towel still draped over his arm. "Would you repeat that, Admiral?"
"The captain of the Dragonfish says that Mrs. Dana Seagram is alive and well."
Donner rushed over and shook Seagram, who was sleeping fitfully on the couch. "Gene! Wake up! They've found Dana! She's all right!"
Seagram's eyes blinked open and for long seconds he looked up at Donner, astonishment slowly spreading across his face. "Dana . . . Dana is alive?"
"Yes, she must have been on the Titanic during the storm."
"But how did she get there?"
"We don't know all the details yet. We'll just have to wait it out. But the important thing is that Dana is safe and the Titanic is still afloat."
Seagram hung his head in his hands and sat there huddled and shrunken. He began sobbing quietly.
Admiral Kemper was thankful for the distraction when a very tired Commander Keith entered and handed him another signal. "This one's from Admiral Sandecker," Kemper said. "I think you'll be interested in what he has to say, Mr. Nicholson."
Warren Nicholson and Marshall Collins both eased away from Seagram and gathered around Kemper's desk.
"Sandecker says, 'Visiting relatives have been entertained and furnished with guest bedroom. Got something in my eye during the party last night but enjoyed belting out good old song favorites like "Silver Threads among the Gold." Say hello to Cousin Warren and tell him I have a present to give him. Having wonderful time. Wish you were all here. Signed Sandecker'."
"It seems the admiral has a strange way with words," said the President. "Just what in hell is it he's trying to get across?"
Kemper stared at him sheepishly. "The Russians apparently boarded during the eye of the hurricane."
"Apparently, " the President said icily.
"'Silver Threads among the Gold'," Nicholson said excitedly. "Silver and Gold. They've caught the two espionage agents."
"And your present, Cousin Warren," Collins said, grinning with every tooth, "must be none other than Captain Andre Prevlov."
"It's imperative that I get on board the derelict as soon as possible," Nicholson said to Kemper. "How soon can you arrange transportation for me, Admiral?"
Kemper's hand was already reaching for the phone. "Inside thirty minutes I can have you on a Navy jet that will land you on the Beecher's Island. From there you can take a helicopter to the Titanic. "
The President stepped over to a large window and gazed out at the rising sun as it crept above the eastern horizon and fingered its rays across the lazy waters of the Potomac. He yawned a long comfortable yawn.
72
Dana leaned over the forward railing of the Titanic's bridge and closed her eyes. The ocean breeze whipped her honey hair and tingled the skin on her upturned face. She felt soothed and free and completely relaxed. It was as though she were flying.
She knew now that she could never go back and slip into the painted puppet that had been the Dana Seagram of two days ago. She had made up her mind she would divorce Gene. Nothing between them mattered any more, at least to her. The girl he had loved was dead, never to return. She reveled in the knowledge. It was her rebirth. To begin again, start fresh with no holds barred.
"A dollar for your thoughts."
She opened her eyes and was greeted by the grinning and freshly shaven face of Dirk Pitt.
"A dollar? I thought it used to be a penny."
"Inflation strikes everything, sooner or later."
They stood for a while without saying anything and watched the Wallace and the Morse as they strained at the great leash that led to the Titanic's bow. Chief Bascom and his men were checking the tow cable and dabbing grease to the fair-lead to ease the chafing. The chief looked up and waved to them.
"I wish this voyage would never end," Dana murmured as they both waved back. "It's so strange and yet so wonderful." She turned suddenly and laid her hand on his. "Promise me we'll never see New York. Promise me that we'll sail on forever, like the Flying Dutchman."
"We'll sail on forever."
She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. "Dirk, Dirk!" she whispered urgently. "Nothing makes any sense any more. I want you. I want you now, and I don't really know why."
"It's because of where you are," Pitt said quietly.
He took her by the hand and led her down the grand staircase and into one of the two parlour suite bedrooms on B Deck. "There you are, madame. The finest suite of rooms on the entire ship. Cost for a one-way voyage came to better than four thousand dollars. Those were, of course, 1912 prices. However, in honor of the light in your eyes, I'll provide you with a handsome discount." He swept her up and carried her to the bed. It had been cleaned of the slime and rot and was covered with several blankets.
Dana , looked at the bed with wise eyes. "You prepared this?"
"Let's just say that like the little old ant who moved the rubber tree plant, I had high hopes."
"You know what you are?"
"A bastard, a lecher, a satyr-- I could think of a dozen apt descriptions."
She looked at him with a secret, womanly smile. "No, you're none of those. Even a satyr would not have been so thoughtful."
He pulled her lips to his and kissed her so hard she moaned.
Her performance in bed fooled him. He expected a body that would merely give response. Instead, he found himself merged with thrashing, undulating waves of flesh, piercing screams that he muffled with his hands, nails that dug oozing red trenches in his back, and finally soft, wet sobbings into his neck. He couldn't help wondering if all wives blossom with such abandon when they make love for the first time with someone other than their husbands. The storm lasted for nearly an hour, and the humid perfume of sweating skin began to soak the air of that old rotted, ghostly bedroom.