type of sea creature and a human head at the bottom that remotely resembled Pitt. He read a note that was pinned to the ear of the wolf.
Please accept this commemorative column in your honor from the Haida people as a token of their appreciation for your efforts in removing the disfigurement on our sacred island. The Dorsett mine has been closed, and soon the animals and plants will reclaim their rightful home. You are now an honored member of the Haida.
Your friend,
Mason Broadmoor
Pitt was deeply moved. To be given a masterwork of such eminent significance was a rare privilege. He felt grateful beyond measure to Broadmoor and his people for their generous gift.
Then he walked around the totem and felt his heart stop beating. Disbelief clouded his opaline green eyes. Then astonishment was replaced with emptiness followed by sorrow. Directly behind, sitting in the aisle between the classic cars, was the Marvelous Maeve.
Tired, worn and the worse for wear, but there she sat in all her sea-ravaged glory. Pitt could not imagine how the faithful boat had survived the eruption and had been transported thousands of kilometers to Washington. It was as if someone had performed a miracle. He walked over, and reached out his hand to touch the bow to see if he wasn’t hallucinating.
Just as his fingertips met the hull’s hard surface, people began emerging from the back of the Pullman railroad car parked along one wall of the hangar, the rear seats of the automobiles and from his upstairs apartment, where they had been hiding. Suddenly, he was surrounded by a crowd of familiar faces shouting “surprise” and “welcome home.”
Giordino embraced him gently, well aware of Pitt’s injuries. Admiral Sandecker, never one for emotional display, warmly shook Pitt’s hand, turning away as tears welled in his eyes.
Rudi Gunn was there, along with Hiram Yaeger, and over forty of his other friends and fellow employees at NUMA. His parents were there to greet him too. His father, Senator George Pitt of California, and his mother, Barbara, were shocked at his gaunt appearance, but bravely acted as though he looked healthy and fit. St. Julien Perlmutter was there, directing the food and drink. Congresswoman Loren Smith, his close and intimate friend for ten years, kissed him tenderly, saddened at seeing the dull, world-weary look of pain and exhaustion in his normally glinting eyes.
Pitt stared at the little boat that had performed so faithfully. He turned without hesitation to Giordino. “How did you ever manage it?”
Giordino smiled triumphantly. “After the admiral and I flew you to the hospital in Tasmania, I returned to the island with another load of relief supplies. A quick pass over the eastern cliffs revealed that Marvelous Maeve had survived the eruption. I borrowed a couple of Aussie engineers and lowered them into the ravine. They secured the boat to the cable from the helicopter. I hoisted it to the top of the bluffs, where we disassembled the hull and outriggers. The operation took some doing, but the parts we couldn’t load inside the helicopter we attached underneath the fuselage. Then I flew back to Tasmania, where I talked the pilot of a commercial cargo plane that was headed for the States into transporting the beast home. With the help of a team from NUMA, we put it back together barely in time for your arrival.”
“You’re a good friend,” said Pitt sincerely. “I can never repay you.”
“It is I who owe you,” Giordino responded devotedly.
“I deeply regret that I was unable to attend Maeve’s funeral in Melbourne.”
“The admiral and I were there along with her boys and the father. Just as you requested, they played ‘Moon River’ as she was lowered into the ground.”
“Who gave the eulogy?”
“The admiral delivered the words you wrote,” said Giordino sadly. “There wasn’t a dry eye in the house.”
“And Rodney York?”
“We sent York’s logbook and letters to England by courier,” said Giordino. “York’s widow is still living by Falmouth Bay, a sweet little lady in her late seventies. I talked to her by phone after she received the log. There is no expressing how happy she was to learn how York died. She and her family are making plans to bring his remains home.”
“I’m glad she finally knows the story,” said Pitt.
“She asked me to thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
Pitt was saved from misting eyes by Perlmutter, who put a glass of wine in his hand. “You’ll enjoy this, my boy. An excellent chardonnay from Plum Creek Winery in Colorado.”
The surprise over, the party took off in full swing until after midnight. Friends came and went until Pitt was talked out and fighting to stay awake. Finally, Pitt’s mother insisted her son get some rest. They all bid him a good night, wished him a speedy recovery and began drifting out the door for the drive to their homes.
“Don’t come to work until you’re fit and able,” counseled Sandecker. “NUMA will struggle along without you.”
“There is one project I’d like to pursue in about a month,” said Pitt, the old devilish buccaneer gleam briefly flashing in his eyes.
“What project is that?”
Pitt grinned. “I’d like to be on Gladiator Island when the water clears in the lagoon.”
“What do you expect to find?”
“His name is Basil.”
Sandecker stared, puzzled. “Who in hell is Basil?”
“He’s a sea serpent. I figure he’ll return to his breeding ground after the lagoon is free of ash and debris.”
Sandecker placed a hand on Pitt’s shoulder and gave him a look usually reserved for a child who has claimed to have seen the bogeyman. “Take a nice long rest, and we’ll talk about it.”
The admiral turned and walked away, shaking his head and mumbling something about no such things as sea monsters as Congresswoman Loren Smith came up to Pitt and held his hand.
“Would you like me to stay?” she asked him softly.
Pitt kissed her on the forehead. “Thank you, but I think I’d like to be alone for a while.”
Sandecker offered to drive Loren to her townhouse, and she gladly accepted, having arrived at Pitt’s welcome-home party in a cab. They sat in reflective silence until the car passed over the bridge into the city.
“I’ve never seen Dirk so dispirited,” said Loren, her face sad and thoughtful. “I never thought I’d ever live to say it, but the fire has gone out of his eyes.”
“He’ll mend,” Sandecker assured her. “A couple of weeks of rest, and he’ll be champing at the bit again.”
“Don’t you think he’s getting a little old to play the daring adventurer?”
“I can’t think of him sitting behind a desk. He’ll never stop roving the seas, doing what he loves to do.”
“What drives him?” Loren wondered aloud.
“Some men are born restless,” Sandecker said philosophically. “To Dirk, every hour has a mystery to be solved, every day a challenge to conquer.”
Loren looked at the admiral. “You envy him, don’t you?”
Sandecker nodded. “Of course, and so do you.”
“Why is that, do you think?”
“The answer is simple,” Sandecker said wisely. “There’s a little of Dirk Pitt in all of us.”
