CAUGHT IN FLYING WHOREHOUSE.'
'I'm not President yet.' He laughed. 'You will be after the elections.'
'They're six months away. Anything can happen between now and then.'
'The polls say you're a shoo-in.'
'What does Charles say?'
'He never mentions you anymore.'
Villon sat down on the bed and trailed his fingers lightly across her belly. 'Now that Parliament has handed him a vote of no confidence, his power has evaporated. Why don't you leave him? Things would be simpler for us.'
'Better I remain at his side a little while longer. There is much I can still learn of importance to Quebec.'
'While we're on the subject, there is something that concerns me.'
She began to squirm. 'What is it?'
'The President of the United States is speaking to Parliament next week. I'd like to know what he intends to say. Have you heard anything?'
She took his hand and moved it down. 'Charles talked about it yesterday. Nothing to worry about. He said the President was going to make a plea for an orderly transition of Quebec independence.'
'I knew it,' Villon said, smiling. 'The Americans are caving in.'
Danielle began to lose control and reached out for him.
'I hope you filled the fuel tanks before we left Ottawa,' she murmured in a slurred voice.
'We have enough for three more hours' flying time,' he said, and then he came down on top of her.
'There is no mistake?' Sarveux said into the phone.
'Absolutely none,' replied Commissioner Finn. 'My man saw them board Mr. Villon's plane. We've tracked them on air force radar. They've been circling Laurentides Park since one o'clock.
'Your man is certain it was Henri Villon.'
'Yes, Sir, there was no doubt,' Finn reassured him.
'Thank you, commissioner.'
'Not at all, Prime Minister. I'll be standing by.'
Sarveux replaced the receiver and paused a moment to rally his senses. Then he spoke into the intercom. 'You may send him in now.'
Sarveux's face tensed in the first conclusive moment of shock. He was certain his eyes were deceiving him, his mind playing tricks with his imagination. His legs refused to respond, and he could not gather the strength to rise from behind the desk. Then the visitor walked across the room and stood looking down.
'Thank you for seeing me, Charles.'
The face bore the familiar cold expression, the voice came exactly as he had known it. Sarveux fought to maintain an outward calm, but he suddenly felt weak and dizzy.
The man standing before him was Henri Villon, in the flesh, completely at ease, displaying the same aloof poise that never cracked.
'I thought…... I thought you were…... were campaigning in Quebec,' Sarveux stammered.
'I took time out to come to Ottawa in the hope you and I might declare a truce.'
'The gap between our differences is too wide,' Sarveux said, slowly regaining his composure.
'Canada and Quebec must learn to live together without further friction,' said Villon. 'You and I should too.'
'I'm willing to listen to reason.' There was a subtle hardening in Sarveux's voice. 'Sit down, Henri, and tell me what's on your mind.'
Alan Mercier finished reading the contents of a folder marked MOST SECRET and then reread them. He was stunned. Every so often he flipped the pages backward, attempting to keep an open mind, but finding it increasingly difficult to believe what his eyes conveyed. He had the look of a man who held a ticking bomb in his hands.
The President sat across from him, seemingly detached, patiently waiting. It was very quiet in the room; the only sound was an occasional crackle from a smoldering log in the fireplace. Two trays of food sat on the large coffee table that separated the two men. Mercier was too engrossed to eat, but the President consumed the late dinner hungrily.
Finally Mercier closed the folder and solemnly removed his glasses. He pondered for a moment, then looked up.
'I have to ask,' he said. 'Is this mad plot for real?'
'Right down to the period in the lase sentence.'
'A remarkable concept,' Mercier sighed. 'I'll give it that.'
'I think so.'
'I find it hard to believe you took it so far in all these years without a leak.'
'Not surprising when you consider only two people knew about it.'
'Doug Oates over at State was aware.'
'Only after the inauguration,' the President acknowledged. 'Once I possessed the power to put the wheels in motion, the first step, the obvious step, was to bring in the State Department.'
'But not national security,' said Mercier, a cool edge on his voice.
'Nothing personal, Alan. I only added to the inner circle as each stage progressed.'
'So now it's my turn.'
The President nodded. 'I want you and your staff to recruit and organize influential Canadians who see things as I do.'
Mercier dabbed a handkerchief at the sweat glistening on his face. 'Good God. If this thing backfires and your announcement of national insolvency follows on its heels…...?' He let the implication hang.
'It won't,' the President said grimly.
'You may have reached too far.'
'But if it is accepted, at least in principle, think of the opportunities.'
'You'll get your first indication when you spring it on the Canadian Parliament on Monday.'
'Yes, it'll be out in the open then.' Mercier laid the folder on the table. 'I have to hand it to you, Mr. President. When you sat silent and refused to intervene in Quebec's bid for independence, I thought you'd slipped a cog. Now I'm beginning to see the method behind your madness.'
'We've only opened the first door'-the President waxed philosophical-'to a long hallway.'
'Don't you think you're counting too heavily on finding the North American Treaty?'
'Yes, I suppose you're right.' The President stared out the window at Washington without seeing it. 'But if a miracle happens on the Hudson River by Monday, we may have the privilege of designing a new flag.'
The sky hook was just what its name suggested: a helicopter capable of transporting bulky equipment to the tops of high buildings and heavy equipment across rivers and mountains. Its slender fuselage tapered to a length of 105 feet and the landing gear hung down like rigid stalks.
To the men on the salvage site the ungainly craft looked like a monstrous praying mantis that had escaped from a Japanese science fiction movie. They watched fascinated as it flew two hundred feet above the river, the huge rotor blades whipping the water into froth from shore to shore.
The sight was made even stranger by the wedge-shaped object that hung suspended from the sky hook's belly. Except for Pitt and Giordino, it was the first time any of the NUMA crew had set eyes on the Doodlebug.
Pitt directed the lowering operation by radio, instructing the pilot to set his load beside the De Soto. The sky hook very slowly halted its forward motion and hovered for a few minutes until the Doodlebug's pendulum motion died. Then the twin cargo cables unreeled, easing the research vessel into the river. When the strain slackened, the De Soto's crane was swung over the side and divers scrambled up the ladder on the vertical hull. The cable hooks were exchanged on the hoisting loops and, free of its burden, the sky hook rose, banked into a broad half circle and headed back downriver.
Everyone stood along the rails gawking at the Doodlebug, wondering about its purpose. Suddenly, adding to their silent bewilderment, a hatch popped open, a head appeared and a pair of heavy-lidded eyes surveyed the astonished onlookers. 'Where in hell is Pitt?' the intruder shouted.
'Here!' Pitt yelled back.
'Guess what?'
