expedient to become a great conservationist, insisted she exceed every requirement. The ship is designed to operate—”
“Precisely why we’re here, Captain,” Hawke said, leaping through the opening. “Environmental issue. We’re going to need to do a thorough inspection of your reactor rooms. Immediately. I understand you’re sailing back to Le Havre tomorrow evening?”
“No.”
“No? That’s the announced schedule. A six o’clock sailing.”
“There will be an unfortunate delay. A mechanical problem—one of the propulsion monitors has shut down our reactors. The ship is to remain here indefinitely. It is not my decision.”
“Really? You being the captain and all, I’d think—whose decision is it?”
“The builder. He was a passenger on our maiden voyage. All over my ship, with his little notebook, writing and writing. Now, he says we cannot leave. He is flying in some more Chinese technicians to make the repairs, and who knows how long that will take? I’ve just learned all of this myself, Captain. The man was standing here not ten minutes ago. To tell you the truth, I am furious with this decision. It is an embarrassment.”
“The builder is onboard?” Mariucci asked, looking around.
“Mais oui! You know what he said to me? That we have too many screws in the coat racks on the stateroom doors! Eh? Too many screws?” The captain was getting a little hot under the collar. Whatever was going on aboard this behemoth, the captain obviously wasn’t in on it. And he was pissed.
“Bonaparte had Baron von Draxis build this ship in Germany,” Dechevereux said. “The new Queen Mary, she was built in France. Many jobs for Frenchmen. But Germans built this great ship for our beloved President Bonaparte. Germans! Make sense to you? No. Go. Find him. He went to the Normandie Bar for a nightcap before turning in.”
“One more question before we go, Captain,” Hawke said. “Tell me about your keel design. Anything unusual about it?”
“No. It’s lead.”
“Nothing inside? No electronics? Side thrusters?”
“It’s a keel, monsieur. A dead weight. Please. Leave me alone. I am very upset at the moment.”
“Thanks for your time, Captain,” Mariucci said. “We’ll find our way to the bar.”
Under his breath, Mariucci said, “Von Draxis is faking some mechanical problem so his ship can remain in New York indefinitely. Like a permanent Trojan Horse.”
“Right. But I’ve an idea,” Hawke said as they walked quickly aft to find the builder.
“Don’t be shy,” Mariucci said as they entered the vast Art Deco lounge.
“We tell this von Draxis we’re here to save him, and France, a lot of embarrassment. Tell him Port Security was doing random samples and picked up a radiation leak.”
“I like that—look. That’s got to be him, headed this way. Looks like a friggin’ bull.”
“In a bloody China shop,” Hawke said, lowering his voice. “Remember, no inspection, his ship has to leave immediately. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Gentlemen, good evening! Zo, I understand there is some kind of problem. I am the proud builder, Augustus von Draxis. Perhaps I may be of service?”
The captain flashed his creds. “Mariucci, NYPD Anti-Terrorist Task Force. This is my driver, George.”
“Evening,” Hawke said, smiling.
The baron eyed Hawke suspiciously and said, “What seems to be the problem?”
“Pollution,” Mariucci said.
“Pollution? Ha! This is the cleanest ship afloat, Captain. A zero-waste ship.”
“Radioactive leak, Mr. von Draxis. One of my Port Security boats in the East River picked it up in a random sample. Just this afternoon. We’ll need to do an immediate inspection.”
“Inspection? Impossible. If there is a leak, which I doubt, we’ll find it and fix it ourselves.”
“I knew you’d say that. But, frankly, I can’t take your word for it. Two choices, sir. Allow my divers and inspectors and their mobile X-ray scanners aboard, or get out of Dodge. Your call.”
“This is ridiculous. In any event, we are scheduled to depart for Le Havre tomorrow.”
“But you’re not, right? You’re waiting for a powwow with some Chinese technicians?”
“Who told you that?”
“That would be your captain. Dechevereux is his name? Am I right, George? Dechevereux?”
Hawke nodded.
“This is insanity,” von Draxis said, the color rising in his cheeks. “My family has been building the finest ships afloat for four generations. And I am telling you there is no leak. I know her every bolt, every screw on this vessel! You know how some people talk to horses? I talk to boats! She is not leaking radiation. I will not tolerate this!”
“What a world, huh?” Mariucci said. “Hey, listen, Mr. von Draxis. I know it’s a royal pain in the ass. But save yourself a lot of bad PR, all right? We’ll be in and out of here in two hours, max. You don’t want to see your pride and joy on the news tomorrow with police barricades up all around it, do you? What do you say?”
The baron looked like he was about to detonate. “What exactly is it you people wish to see?”
“What we the people would like to see is your fat ass headed due east out of our fucking harbor. But what we will settle for is a complete inspection of your reactor rooms, your hull, your keel, and any other part of this fucking ship I want to look at. Got all that?”
The German, Hawke noticed, was balling his fists and rising up onto the tips of his toes. His thickly corded neck was bulging and his shoulder blades looked like tectonic plates shifting under his dinner jacket. But somehow he managed to control all this and not to take a swing at Captain Mariucci.
“The governor of New York will hear about this outrage. He is a close personal friend of German chancellor Gerhardt’s. I will squash you like a bug.”
“Fine, we’ll do it the hard way, pal. Come on, George. We’re out of here.”
Chapter Sixty
Washington, D.C.
“HERE’S HOW I LIKE MY BAD NEWS,” PRESIDENT MCATEE said, striding into the Sit Room.
“Like a frozen rope, for you golfers: straight and to the point. For you baseball fans, I like a hard fastball over the heart of the plate. Let me have it, boys. Batter up.”
Wild Card, the top-secret, highly compartmentalized White House team devoted to the Chinese crisis, had gathered in the Situation Room. The team was now composed of a dozen men and women, including members of the JCS, CIA, National Security Council, and National Security Agency officers. You could read the faces; it wasn’t good news.
The long, narrow office had the air of a stale boardroom after a marathon meeting. One where all the details had obviously been sweated. The long burl table, with seats for about eighteen, was full. So were the few chairs along the walls. The far wall, which converted to a giant screen with real-time media capability, now displayed a brilliant four-color map of China and its troublesome neighbor, Taiwan. The mood was tense, but still informal.
As the president took his chair, the national security advisor, John Gooch, was the first one on his feet.
“Mr. President. We are now looking at three distinct threat scenarios,” Gooch said, nodding to the Marine who was manning the computer. “Number one—”
“Only three?” the president said with a smile. “That’s not too bad. Hell, that’s hardly enough for a full-blown global crisis.”
“Mr. President,” John Gooch said when the nervous laughter had died down, “I’m afraid the situation has sharply deteriorated since your last briefing.”
“Sorry. Go ahead, John. Can I get a Diet Coke?”
“One, the nuclear device in New York City has been confirmed. The—”
“Excuse me,” the president said. “Confirmed?”
