Galasso nodded silently in satisfaction. Then he turned toward the doorway to the laboratory.
'All right, gentlemen,' he said over his shoulder. 'Let's see what you've got.'
Dr. Galasso may have been sadly lacking in the social graces, but he had no shortage of patience. He used up two hours simply removing the oilcloth from the travel bag, describing in precise detail every step of the procedure as though lecturing to a class. 'The bottom mud was your savior,' he elucidated. 'The leather, as you can see, is in an excellent state of preservation and still quite soft.'
With meticulous dexterity he cut a rectangular hole in the side of the travel bag with a surgical scalpel, extremely careful not to damage the contents. Then he trimmed a thin plastic sheet to slightly larger dimensions than the packet and eased it into the opening.
'You were wise, Mr. Pitt, not to touch the wrapping,' he droned on. 'If you had attempted to lift it out of the bag, the material would have crumbled away.'
'Won't oilcloth stand up under water?' asked Moon.
Galasso paused and fixed him with a surley stare. 'Water is a solvent. Loosely speaking, if given enough time it can dissolve a battleship. Oilcloth is simply a piece of fabric that has been chemically treated, generally on one side only. Therefore, it is perishable.'
Dismissing Moon, Galasso went back to his work.
When he was satisfied that the plastic was correctly positioned under the packet, he began slipping it out a few millimeters at a time, until at last the still dripping, shapeless thing lay exposed and vulnerable for the first time in seventy-five years.
They stood there in hushed silence. Even Galasso seemed caught up in the awesome moment; he could think of nothing to say. Moon began to tremble and he clamped his hands on a sink for support. Sandecker pulled at his beard while Pitt sipped at his fourth cup of black coffee.
Wordlessly, Galasso began concentrating on un peeling the wrapping. First he gently patted a paper towel against the surface until it was dry. Then he examined it from every angle, like a diamond cutter contemplating the impact point on a fifty-carat gem, probing here and there with a tiny marking pen.
At last he started the unveiling. With agonizing slowness he doggedly unraveled the brittle cloth. After what seemed an eternity to the men pacing the floor, Galasso came to the final layer. He paused to wipe the perspiration that was glistening on his face, and to flex his numbed fingers. Then he was ready to continue.
'The moment of truth,' he said pontifically.
Moon picked up a nearby telephone and established a direct line to the President. Sandecker moved in closer and peered intently over Galasso's shoulder. Pitt's features were expressionless, cold and strangely remote.
The thin, fragile flap was lifted cautiously by degrees and laid back.
They had dared to confront the impossible and their only reward was disillusionment, followed by a crushing bitterness.
The indifferent river had seeped into the oilcloth and turned the British copy of the North American Treaty into a paste like unreadable mush.
Part V
THE MANHATTAN LIMITED
MAY 1989
QUEBEC, CANADA
The roar of the jet engines diminished soon after the Boeing 757 lifted from the runway of the Quebec airport. When the no smoking sign blinked out, Heidi loosened her seat belt, readjusted the leg that was encased in an ankle-to-thigh cast to a comfortable position and looked out the window.
Below, the long ribbon that was the St. Lawrence sparkled in the sun and then fell away behind as the plane curved south toward New York.
Her thoughts wandered over the events of the past several days in a kaleidoscope of blurred images. The shock and the pain that followed the explosion beneath the Ocean Venturer. The considerate attention of the surgeon and sailors on board the Phoenix-her leg-cast carried more drawings than a tattoo parlor sample book. The doctors and nurses in the Rimouski hospital where they had treated a dislocated shoulder, and laughed good- heartedly at her sorry attempts to speak French. They all seemed like distant figures out of a dream, and she felt saddened at knowing she might never see them again.
She did not notice a man slide into the aisle seat beside her until he touched her arm.
'Hello, Heidi.'
She looked into the face of Brian Shaw and was too startled to speak.
'I know what you must think,' he said softly, 'but I had to talk to you.'
Heidi's initial surprise quickly turned to scorn. 'What hole did you crawl from?'
He could see her face flush with anger. 'I can't deny it was a cold, calculated seduction. For that, I'm sorry.'
'All in the line of duty,' she said sarcastically. 'Bedding down a woman to extract information and then using it to murder twelve innocent men. In my book, Mr. Shaw, you stink.'
He was silent for a moment. American women, he mused, have an entirely different way of expressing themselves from that of British women. 'A regrettable and completely senseless tragedy,' he said. 'I want you, and especially Dirk Pitt, to know I was not responsible for what happened.'
'You've lied before. Why break your streak?'
'Pitt will believe me when you tell him it was Foss Gly who set off the explosives.'
'Foss Gly?'
'Pitt knows the name.'
She looked at him skeptically. 'You could have stated your case with a phone call. Why are you really here? To pump more information out of me? To learn if we recovered the treaty copy from the Empress of Ireland?'
'You did not find the treaty,' he said with finality. 'You're shooting in the dark.'
'I know that Pitt left Washington for New York and the search on the Hudson River still goes on. That's proof enough.'
'You haven't told me what you want,' she persisted.
He looked at her, his eyes intent. 'You're to deliver a message from my prime minister to your president.'
She glared back at him. 'You're crazy.'
'Not the least. On the face of it, Her Majesty's government is not supposed to be aware of what yours is about and it's too early in the game for a direct confrontation. Because the situation is too delicate for two friendly nations to go through ordinary diplomatic channels, all communications must be handled in a roundabout fashion. It's not an uncommon practice; in fact, the Russians are particularly fond of it.'
'But I can't just call up the President,' she said, bewildered.
'No need. Just relay the message to Alan Mercier. He'll take it from there.'
'The national security adviser?'
Shaw nodded. 'The same.'
Heidi looked lost. 'What do I tell him?'
'You're simply to say that Britain will not give up one of its Commonwealth nations because of a scrap of paper. And we will conduct a strong military defense against any incursion from outside the nation's borders.'
'Are you suggesting a showdown between America and…...'
'You'd win, of course, but it would be the end of the Atlantic Alliance and NATO. The Prime Minister is hoping your country won't pay that high a price to take over Canada.'
'Take over Canada,' she repeated. 'That's ridiculous.'
'Is it? Why else are your people pulling out all stops to find a treaty copy?'
'There must be other reasons.'
'Perhaps.' He hesitated as he took her hand in his. 'But somehow I don't think so.'
'So the train lies buried under the fallen bridge,' said Pitt. Glen Chase nodded. 'Everything points in that direction.'
'The only place it could be,' added Giordino.
