embassy. Far beyond his comprehension of events, Catana was told nothing about the reason for his release. Catana would never know that he had been set up for the murder of an underage prostitute as part of a concerted plot to influence public sentiment against the U.S. military presence in Korea. Nor would he know that Kang's own assistant, Kwan, had revealed the details of the staged murder. Ensuring full blame fell to the dead assassin Tongju, Kwan readily confessed to the plot, along with the political assassinations that occurred in Japan. None of this mattered to the stunned serviceman as he was whisked onto a U.S.-bound military jet. He knew only one thing. He would happily oblige the order given by the Air Force colonel never to set foot on Korean soil again for as long as he lived.
In Washington, D.C.' NUMA was briefly exalted for the role played in diverting the launch and preventing the release of the deadly virus over Los Angeles. But with the death of Kang and the public release of his culpability for the attack, Pitt's and Giordino's exploits quickly fell to yesterday's news. Congressional hearings and investigations into the attack were the order of the day, and a drumbeat for war with North Korea beat loudly for a spell. But emotions eventually cooled as the diplomats were held at bay and the focus gradually shifted to Homeland Security's border resources and ensuring that such an act could never occur again.
Shrewdly seizing the moment, the new head of NUMA appealed to Congress for a special appropriations supplement for his organization, to fund a replacement helicopter, research ship, and two submersibles for those damaged or destroyed by Kang's men. In a wave of patriotic gratitude, Congress heartily approved the measure, the bill sweeping through both houses in just a matter of days.
Much to Giordino's chagrin, Pitt had sneaked an additional funding item into the approved bill, requesting a mobile atmospheric marine surveillance platform for the agency to use in coastal research. It was otherwise known as “a blimp.”
It was A clear, crisp afternoon in Seattle, the type of day that was just a few degrees shy of invigorating. The declining sun was casting long shadows from the tall pines dotting Fircrest Campus when Sarah hobbled out the front door of the Washington State Public Health Lab. A heavy plaster cast coated her right leg, which she was heartened to know would finally be removed in just a few more days.
She winced slightly as she set her weight on a pair of aluminum crutches, her wrists and forearms sore from carrying the load of her broken leg for the past few weeks. Hobbling a few paces out the doorway, she dropped her eyes to the pavement and navigated herself down a short flight of steps. Carefully picking the next spot along the ground to jab her crutches, she did not notice the car parked illegally at the sidewalk entrance and nearly bumped into it. Looking up, she dropped her jaw in amazement.
Parked in front of her was Dirk's 1958 Chrysler 300-D convertible. The car looked to be in a semi state of restoration. The pockmarked leather seats had been temporarily taped over while the bullet holes in the body had been sealed with bondo Assorted spots of gray primer paint across the turquoise body gave the car the look of a giant camouflaged manta ray.
“I promise not to break the other leg.”
Sarah turned to the deep voice behind her to find Dirk standing there with a bouquet of white lilies and a mischievous grin on his face. Lost in emotion, she dropped her crutches and threw her arms around him in a warm hug.
“I was beginning to worry. I hadn't heard from you since the rocket attack.”
“I was away on an all-expense-paid trip to Korea for a farewell cruise on Dae-jong Kang's yacht.”
“The virus they concocted ... it's just mad,” she said, shaking her head.
“There is no need to worry anymore. Confidence is high that all the samples were retrieved and destroyed. Hopefully, that bug will never appear on earth again.”
“There's always some crazy working on the next biological Pandora's box for money or notoriety.”
“Speaking of crazies, how's Irv doing?”
Sarah laughed at the simile. “He's going to be the only modern-day survivor of smallpox in the world. He's fast on his way to a full recovery.”
“Glad to hear it. He's a good man.”
“Looks like your car is on the road to recovery as well,” she said, nodding toward the Chrysler.
“She's a tough old beast. I had the mechanicals refurbished while I was away but haven't got to the body and interior yet.”
Dirk turned and looked at Sarah tenderly. “I still owe you that crab dinner.”
Sarah looked deep into Dirk's green eyes and nodded. With a quick scoop, Dirk bent over and picked Sarah up and placed her gently on the front seat of the car with the lilies, then kissed her lightly on the cheek. Tossing the crutches into the backseat, he jumped in behind the wheel and fired up the car. The rebuilt motor kicked over easily and idled with a deep purr.
“No ferries?” Sarah asked, snuggling close to Dirk.
“No ferries,” Dirk laughed, slipping an arm around Sarah. Tapping on the accelerator, the old convertible rumbling deeply, he steered across the lush grounds and into the pink-tinted dusk.
------------------------------------
