Committee, the IOC, said legally he couldn’t use that five-ring logo on his planes. Cost him a fortune to change them. You know what he did, that wily Greek bastard?”
“He added a sixth ring,” Hawke said.
“What? That’s exactly right! Good for you, George.”
“Danke vielmaus,” Hawke said with a slight bow. The baron looked at him again, shaking his head.
“Here’s the deal, Mr. von Draxis,” Mariucci said. “You are hereby—”
“Baron von Draxis. Please.”
“Fine. Here’s the deal, Baron. With the authority invested in me by the United States government, I am hereby rescinding your landing rights. If you do not remove your vessel immediately, you will be in violation of U.S. federal laws and subject to seizure.”
“Seize away, Captain! We’re not moving. I told you. The ship’s propulsion monitors have malfunctioned. Besides, we have shut down the reactors.”
“Is he telling the truth, Captain?” Mariucci asked Dechevereux.
“The reactors are down. It would take hours to restart them.”
“Zo. You see? I am, quite literally, powerless. Now. If you’d be so good as to leave my ship, Captain Dechevereux and I can continue our conversation.”
“You want us to leave?”
“Ja, I do. Arnold? Be so kind as to escort these gentlemen off my ship.”
The bald giant smiled and got to his feet. So did his dog. He had a strange weapon in his hand. It looked like a German machine gun from World War II.
“Lovely weapon,” Hawke said to the big man, “A Schmeisser machine pistol, if I’m not mistaken.”
Hawke had heard all about the gun when Stokely debriefed him upon arrival in Oman. The gun, the twin Arnolds, and von Draxis’s pet Doberman.
“This is your driver?” the baron said, incredulous. Mariucci smiled and nodded.
“Baron, come over here a second,” Mariucci said.
“What?”
“Just come over here to the window. I want you to see something. Beautiful sight.”
“If you insist,” von Draxis said, moving slowly toward where Mariucci stood at the window.
“What is it?” the baron sighed.
“Look down there on the street. Tell me what you see.”
The baron stepped closer to the window and looked down. The line of flashing NYPD cars now stretched the length of the block and around the corner all the way to Eleventh Avenue. Von Draxis shook his head sadly and made a clicking sound with his tongue at the top of his mouth.
“Polizei,” he said.
“Yeah. You want to save yourself a whole lot of trouble? Show me what’s in your keel. Tell me how to get at it.”
The German froze in place. His small eyes took on a ball-bearing hardness.
“Arnold,” von Draxis said quietly, “Bitte, please ask George if he’s carrying a weapon. If he is, relieve him of it. If he refuses to cooperate, kill him.”
“Little late for this kind of drama, Baron,” Hawke said.
“Do it, Arnold!”
Hawke pulled the Walther out of the holster in the small of his back, reversed the muzzle, and handed it to the German thug.
“Are you armed, Captain Mariucci?” von Draxis asked.
“Nope. Clean.”
“Sehr gut. I want you both to go over there and sit down. You and your charming driver. Sit side by side on that sofa where Arnold can keep an eye on you. All right? Please?”
“Whatever you say,” Mariucci said, looking at Hawke. “Hey, Moran? Pick a seat.”
“Moran?”
“His last name, Baron. His first name is George.”
“Ah.” There was an ornate French desk by the window, bare except for an Apple G5 laptop and two telephones, one white and one black. Von Draxis sat in the gilded desk chair and lit up his computer. He punched in a series of commands, staring at the screen. Hawke leaned forward, attempting to see the display. There was a low growl from the Doberman, staring at him with big black eyes.
“Nice dog, Baron,” Hawke said, reaching out to it. “Come here, Blondi, kommen Sie hier.”
Von Draxis swiveled on his chair, staring at Hawke in utter disbelief. “Blondi, did he say?”
“That’s what he said.” Mariucci smiled.
“But this is the dog’s actual name!” von Draxis said, a look of incredulity on his face. “How does George —”
“He’s a dog psychic,” Mariucci said. “What can I tell you?” Mariucci got up and walked back over to the windows. Chief Tynan had heard the magic word, all right. The six Moran tugs were moving into position just off the pier. His own guys, Marine Unit officers, were running fore and aft readying the lines that would secure Leviathan to the tugboats.
The white phone rang.
Von Draxis picked it up.
“General Moon, thank you for responding so promptly to my e-mail. I’m here in New York aboard the vessel with a Captain Mariucci from the New York Police Department. Yes, yes. Here at the dock. Everything is fine. Don’t worry. Your ship is not going anywhere. You may initiate the sequence whenever you wish. Good-bye, General, and may I say what an honor it’s—I’m sorry, sir? Yes, you may. Please hold the line.”
“Initiate the sequence?” Mariucci said. “What the hell does that mean?”
Von Draxis looked at Mariucci. “He wants to talk to you, Captain.”
Mariucci stood up and took the phone from von Draxis.
“This is Captain Mariucci,” he said. “Who is this?”
He listened intently for roughly sixty seconds, all the color draining from his face.
“Wait a second, General,” he said, picking up a pen, “I think I better write that last part down.”
Mariucci scribbled a line on the pad. “Okay, repeat that for me one more time, please? Yeah. Okay. I’ve got it. Good-bye, General. I’ll convey your message.” He tore the top page from the pad and stared at it for a second.
There was a noticeable tremor in his hand as he replaced the receiver. He drew himself up and turned to Alex Hawke.
“That was General Sun-yat Moon of the People’s Republic of China,” Mariucci said, his voice devoid of emotion. “He wants us to call the president and deliver a message for him.”
“A message.”
“Yeah. I think you should do it, Alex. He knows you.”
“Mind if I use your phone, Baron?” Hawke said, getting to his feet.
“Please,” the Baron said, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.
“What’s the message?” Hawke asked, punching in the president’s direct line.
“Here. I wrote it down.”
Hawke heard the president say, “Jack McAtee.”
“Mr. President. Alex Hawke.”
“Alex. Where are you now?”
“Aboard Leviathan at Pier 93 in New York, sir. I have an urgent message for you, sir. Just received directly from General Sun-yat Moon in Hong Kong. You may wish to have others hear this, sir.”
“I’m putting you on the Sit Room speaker. Go ahead, Alex.”
“Mr. President, the general has issued the following demand—I am quoting him now, sir. ‘The United States must rescind her order to initiate Operation Wild Card immediately. Failure to do so will have disastrous consequences.’”
“All right. We’ve got that. Did he give you a time frame?”
“Yes, sir, he did. He just initiated the sequence. The device will detonate at 4:00 A.M., Eastern Standard
