America

'So something happened to Schlegel, eh?' Jake had thought that something probably would. Flap Le Beau was crawling through the jungle slitting throats while Willi Schlegel was playing with dueling swords in college. Welcome to the major leagues, fella.

Soon he was on the radio to Flap. Sea Wind was not in sight.

'Tell Callie I'm all right,' he said.

'Things are under control here,' the general boomed. 'Schlegel is technically missing, deceased I think. Captain Janvier has decided to proceed to the Madeiras. We've been talking to the authorities on the radio. A delegation of officials will meet us there.'

When Jake's turn to talk came, he said, 'I suggest you find a reason to have Peter Kerr arrested and sent back to the States. He's aboard someplace. Maybe under a false name and passport.'

'The missing NASA guy? I can do that. Oh, I talked to Callie, Rita, and Corina a few minutes ago, told them you guys had been pulled out of the drink.'

'Where is she now?' Jake asked, meaning Callie.

'Uh, they went to breakfast. Callie hoped you'd meet her in Las Palmas for the rest of the cruise. She said since the cruise is paid for…'

That was when Jake realized the crisis was really over. Callie didn't want to go back to candles and canned food in a powerless flat in Rosslyn. And he didn't blame her. In his mind's eye he saw her as she must have looked when she broke the news to Flap Le Beau, and laughed aloud. Then he couldn't stop. Callie was what he had to go home to. Schlegel and Jouany — they weren't rich. Oh, they had money, but they weren't rich He was! He laughed so hard he had to sit.

When he finally calmed down a sailor brought him a cup of coffee and a sandwich that had been brought aboard the hydrofoil that morning. He had to hold on to the coffee with both hands, the boat was rolling so badly. He managed to get a sip, wolfed down the sandwich, and felt better.

The master chief wanted to talk. 'I don't want to leave this area until I'm sure there are no more survivors.' He told Jake how many people the hydrofoil crews had pulled from the water, even passed him a list of names. Only three of the pirates had been rescued. Kolnikov and Turchak weren't on the list.

'How deep is the water?'

'The depth is marked on the chart, sir, as seventy-nine hundred feet.'

Just then two F/A-18s flew slowly overhead. They were about a thousand feet in the air, loafing along.

When the sound of their engines faded, Jake Grafton said, 'The sub's reactor was dead and her main hatch was open, so she was taking water. As she goes down, any compartment not open to the sea will be crushed — the bulkheads will collapse. If there are any more survivors, they are on the surface now.'

'I thought we should search for another hour or so, just to be sure.'

'Fine,' Jake Grafton said. 'Satisfy yourself. But talk to your corps-man. Let's not let our injured woman bleed to death while we hunt for nonexistent survivors.'

'I'll talk to the corpsman,' the master chief promised. His voice had an edge. Obviously he had already thought of that.

Jake went below, to the small office/mess deck/galley, the topside compartment under the.wheelhouse. The dozen marines who were aboard had to stay out on the deck. Out of the wind and reasonably warm, Jake settled into a corner, pulled the blanket tightly around him, and went to sleep as the boat rocked on the swells.

He awoke when the master chief powered up the hydrofoil. The deck and bulkheads — everything — vibrated as the two huge gas turbine engines lit off and came up to speed. And the motion of the vessel changed. The rocking and pitching steadied, with longer and longer periods as the small ship accelerated. Jake went out on deck where the marines were hunkered down against the increasing wind. Soon the vessel had her hull out of the water and was rock steady.

With the blanket still pulled around him, Jake went up the ladder to the wheelhouse. The hydrofoils were in formation, skimming the sea, headed toward Rota.

'How fast are we going?'

'Working up to fifty-two knots, sir. Be back at base in three hours.'

Zelda Hudson was in the one sick bay berth hooked up to an IV, awake, pale, and hurting. The corpsman was there. After a last look at Zelda, he withdrew from the tiny compartment to give Jake a little privacy. 'I'll be right outside, Admiral.' Someone had passed the word about Jake's rank.

With the door closed, the sound level was tolerable. Jake asked Zelda, 'How are you doing?'

'That bastard cut me to pieces, and he enjoyed every moment of it.'

'There are people like that out there.'

'Ten more minutes and he would have got to my face.' A tremor went through her.

Jake reached for her hand, which was ice-cold. 'I'm Grafton.'

'I remember.'

'We're going to be in Rota in three hours. The docs at the base hospital will stitch you up. They'll probably do a whole-blood IV with major antibiotics. When they say it's okay, we'll fly you to the States. The FBI will be waiting. Heck, they'll probably be waiting on the dock in Rota.'

She nodded. He released her hand and backed away a step.

'I can't promise you anything, Ms. Hudson. I have no authority to make deals. You're going to need a good lawyer. Maybe your lawyer can cut a deal, maybe he can't. My guess is you're going to do a serious stretch in a federal pen. Be that as it may, I'd hate to see Antoine Jouany dance all the way to the bank with his billions, laughing like hell.'

'What do you want to know?'

'I want to know enough so that the feds can seize his assets in the United States. If he doesn't like that, he'll have to file suit in federal court to get them back. Odds are he won't.'

She fixed her eyes on his face and began talking.

When he got back to the United States from Spain, Tommy Car-mellini went to Langley to see his boss, Pulzelli. When he arrived, Pulzelli was packing the items in his office in cardboard boxes.

'Ah, the prodigal son returns,' Pulzelli said. 'It's about time. I've been wondering where you were.'

'It's a long story, sir, and I—'

Pulzelli waved him into silence. 'I've been reading of your exploits. Admiral Grafton sends messages, you know.'

'Oh.' Carmellini sank into a chair and watched Pulzelli empty a drawer item by item into a box.

'Are you opening a new office in Kandahar, or taking that movie role in Hollywood?'

'I'm moving into Herman Watring's office. Alas, he's left us.'

Carmellini gaped. 'Dead?' he asked hopefully.

'No,' said Pulzelli, who disappeared behind his desk as he cleaned out a bottom drawer. 'He was arrested. It seems that one of the computer criminals is talking to the FBI. Vance, I think. Spilling his guts, as the saying goes. According to him, Watring and our man in London, McSweeney, helped set Zelda Hudson up with Antoine Jouany. The FBI arrested them both.'

'Oh, man, I would have loved to have been here to see them take him away!' Carmellini exclaimed. 'Did they slap the cuffs on him?'

Pulzelli lifted his head above the top of the desk and made eye contact with Carmellini. 'Try to control yourself. Please. For my sake. I have been promoted to department head, and you are now in charge of this division. You'll want to move into this office, of course, as soon as I remove my things.'

So Tommy Carmellini didn't quit the CIA. He thought about it for two minutes, but he liked Pulzelli, and with Watring gone, things were looking up. Oh, and a raise went with his promotion. After all, he reflected, the jewelry stores and museums would always be there if he ever got bored.

When the telephone technicians had the system in his new office up and running again, he sat staring at it. He should call someone, but who?

Lizzy, he decided. Before he did he looked in the sports section of the newspaper. After four telephone calls, he tracked her down at the marine base at Quantico.

'Lizzy, Tommy Carmellini. Just checking in.'

She was cool. She hadn't forgiven him for not making a pass at her.

'I was calling to see if you would like to go to the wrestling match this weekend in Richmond. Saturday