“I suspect that Mr. Pitt and Maeve have already left Washington.”
Her eyes squinted at him under the sun. “So soon?”
“Since Maeve hasn’t been seen at her house, nor has Pitt set foot in his NUMA office for the past two days, it goes without saying that they are together and on their way here for the twins.”
“Tell me where to set a trap for them,” she said, a sparkle of the feline hunter in her eyes, certain her father had the answer. “An airport or hotel in Honolulu, Auckland or Sydney?”
He shook his head. “None of those. They won’t make it easy for us by flying on commercial flights and staying at secluded inns. They’ll take one of NUMA’s small fleet of jet transports and use the agency’s facilities as a base.”
“I didn’t know the Americans had a permanent base for oceanographic study in either New Zealand or Australia.”
“They don’t,” replied Dorsett. “What they do have is a research ship, the Ocean Angler, which is on a deepsea survey project in the Bounty Trough, west of New Zealand. If all goes according to plan, Pitt and Maeve will arrive in Wellington and rendezvous with the NUMA ship at the city docks this time tomorrow.”
Deirdre stared at her father with open admiration. “How could you know all this?”
He smiled imperiously. “I have my own source in NUMA, who I pay very well to keep me informed of any underwater discoveries of precious stones.”
“Then our strategy is to have Boudicca and her crew intercept and board the research ship and arrange for it to disappear.”
“Not wise,” Dorsett said flatly. “Boudicca has learned that Dirk Pitt somehow traced the cleanup of the derelict ships to her and our yacht. We send one of NUMA’s research ships and its crew to the bottom and they’ll know damned well we were behind it. No, we’ll treat that matter more delicately.”
“Twenty-four hours isn’t much time.”
“Leave after lunch and you can be in Wellington by supper. John Merchant and his security force will be waiting for you at our warehouse outside of the city.”
“I thought Merchant had his skull fractured on Kunghit Island.”
“A hairline crack. Just enough to make him insane for revenge. He insisted on being in on the kill.”
“And you and Boudicca?” asked Deirdre.
“We’ll come across in the yacht and should arrive by midnight,” answered Dorsett. “That still leaves us ten hours to firm up our preparations.”
“That means we’ll be forced into seizing them during daylight.”
Dorsett gripped Deirdre by the shoulders so hard she winced. “I’m counting on you, Daughter, to overcome any obstacles.”
“A mistake, thinking we could trust Maeve,” Deirdre said reproachfully. “You should have guessed she would come chasing after her brats the first chance she got.”
“The information she passed on to us before disappearing was useful,” he insisted, angrily. Excuses for miscalculation did not come easily to Arthur Dorsett.
“If only Maeve had died on Seymour Island, we wouldn’t have this mess.”
“The blame is not entirely hers,” said Dorsett. “She had no prior knowledge of Pitt’s intrusion on Kunghit. He’s cast out a net, but any information he might have obtained cannot hurt us.”
Despite the minor setback, Dorsett was not overly concerned. His mines were on islands whose isolation was a barrier to any kind of organized protest. His vast resources had shifted into gear. Security was tightened to keep any reporters from coming within several kilometers of his operations. Dorsett attorneys worked long hours to keep any legal opposition at bay while the public relations people labeled the stories of deaths and disappearances throughout the Pacific Ocean as products of environmentalist rumor mills and attempted to throw the blame elsewhere, the most likely target being secret American military experiments.
When Dorsett spoke it was with renewed calm. “Twenty-three days from now any storm raised by Admiral Sandecker will die a natural death when we close the mines.”
“We can’t make it look as though we’re admitting guilt by shutting down our operations, Daddy. We’d open ourselves to a mountain of lawsuits by environmentalists and families of those who were killed.”
“Not to worry, Daughter. Obtaining evidence that proves our mining methods cause underwater ultrasonic convergence that kills organic life is next to impossible. Scientific tests would have to be conducted over a period of months. In three weeks’ time, scientists will have nothing to study. Plans have been made to remove every nut and bolt from our diamond excavations. The acoustic plague, as they insist on calling it, will be yesterday’s headlines.”
The little Chinese girl returned with their drinks and served them from a tray. She retreated into the shadows of the veranda as soundlessly as a wraith.
“Now that their mother has betrayed us, what will you do with Sean and Michael?”
“I’ll arrange for her never to see them again.”
“A great pity,” Deirdre said as she rolled the icy glass over her forehead.
Dorsett downed the gin as if it were water. He lowered the glass and looked at her. “Pity? Who am I supposed to pity, Maeve or the twins?”
“Neither.”
“Who then?”
Deirdre’s exotic-model features wore a sardonic grin. “The millions of women around the world, when they find out their diamonds are as worthless as glass.”
“We’ll take the romance out of the stone,” Dorsett said, laughing. “That, I promise you.”
Wellington, observed Pitt through the window of the NUMA aircraft, couldn’t have rested in a more beautiful setting. Enclosed by a huge bay and a maze of islands, low mountains with Mount Victoria as the highest peak, and lush, green vegetation, the port boasted one of the finest harbors in the world. This was his fourth trip in ten years to the capital city of New Zealand, and he had seldom seen it without scattered rain showers and gusting winds.
Admiral Sandecker had given Pitt’s mission his very reluctant blessing with grave misgivings. He considered Arthur Dorsett a very threatening man, a greedy sociopath who killed without a shred of remorse. The admiral cooperated by authorizing a NUMA aircraft for Pitt and Giordino to fly, with Maeve, to New Zealand and take command of a research ship as a base of operations for the rescue, but with the strict condition that no lives be risked in the attempt. Pitt gladly agreed, knowing the only people at risk, once the Ocean Angler stood a safe distance off Gladiator Island, would be the three of them.
His plan was to use an underwater submersible to slip’ into the lagoon, then land and help Maeve reclaim her sons before returning to the ship. It was, Pitt thought bemusedly, a plan without technicalities. Once on shore, everything hinged on Maeve.
He looked across the cockpit at Giordino, who was piloting the executive Gulfstream jet. His burly friend was as composed as if he were lounging under a palm tree on a sandy beach. They had been close friends since that first day they had met in elementary school and got ten into a fistfight. They played on the same high school football team, Giordino as a tackle, Pitt as quarterback, and later at the Air Force Academy. Blatantly using his father’s influence-George Pitt happened to be the senior Senator from California-to keep them together, Dirk and Al had trained in the same flight school and flown two tours with the same tactical squadron in Vietnam, When it came to the ladies, however, they differed. Giordino reveled in affairs, while Pitt felt more comfortable with relationships.
Pitt rose from his seat, moved back into the main cabin and stared down at Maeve. She had slept fitfully during the long and tedious flight from Washington, and her face looked tired and drawn. Even now her eyes were closed, but the way she constantly changed position on the narrow couch indicated she had not yet crossed over the threshold into unconscious slumber. He reached over and gently shook her. “We’re about to land in Wellington,” he said.
Her indelible blue eyes fluttered open. “I’m awake,” she murmured sleepily.
“How do you feel?” he asked with gentleness and concern.
She roused herself and nodded gamely. “Ready and willing.”
Giordino flared the aircraft, dropping smoothly till the tires touched and smoked briefly on contact with the
