“You’re damn right I have.”
“And if I turned her over to you?” Zac asked speculatively.
“As soon as Teri is missed, if she hasn’t been already, von Till will turn Thasos upside down in an exhaustive search. The safest place to hide her now is on board the First Attempt. He won’t think to look for her there, at least not until he’s sure she isn’t on the island.”
Zac stared a long moment at Pitt, examining every inch of the man as if he were seeing him for the first time, wondering why someone with an excellent position and influential family would take such difficult and dangerous risks, never knowing when a miscalculation might spell the end of his career or even his death. Zac idly tapped his pipe against an ashtray, knocking the loose ashes from the round briar bowl.
“It will be as you say,” Zac murmured. “Providing, of course, the young lady will cause no trouble.”
“I don’t think so,” Pitt grinned. “She has other things on her mind besides international drug smuggling.
I’d say that sneaking off to the boat with me holds more interest than another dull evening with Uncle Bruno. Besides, show me a woman who doesn’t crave a little taste of adventure, now and then, and I’ll show you a—”
He broke off as the door opened and Giordino walked in, followed by Zeno. Giordino had a wide grin stretched across his cherub face and he clutched a bottle of Metaxa Five Star brandy in one hand.
“Look what Zeno found,” Giordino flicked off the bottle lid and sniffed the contents, screwing up his face into a mock look of ecstasy. “I’ve decided they’re not such bad guys after all.”
Pitt laughed and turned to Zeno. “You’ll have to excuse Giordino. He always comes unglued at the mere sight of booze.”
“if so,” Zeno grinned beneath his moustache, “We have much in common.” He stepped around Giordino and set a tray with four glasses on the desk.
“How’s Darius?” Pitt asked.
“He is on his feet,” Zeno replied. “But he will be limping for a few days.”
“Tell him I’m sorry,” Pitt said sincerely. “I regret-”
“No regrets are necessary,” Zeno interrupted. “In our line of work these things happen.” He passed a glass to Pitt, noticing for the first time the blood stained shirt. “You seem to have your injuries also.”
“Courtesy of von Till’s dog,” Pitt said, holding the glass to the light.
Zac nodded silently. He now grasped more fully Pitt’s hatred for von Till. He relaxed, hands banging limply over the arms of the swivel chair, secure in the knowledge that Pitt had revenge on his mind, not sex.
“After you get back to your ship, we’ll keep you posted by radio on von Till’s activities.”
“Good,” Pitt said simply. He sipped the brandy, enjoying the fiery lava-like liquid that trickled down his throat into the stomach. “One more favor, Zac. I’d like you to use your official status and send a couple of messages to Germany.”
“Of course. What do you wish to say?”
Pitt had already picked up a pad and pencil off desk. “I’ll write everything down including names addresses, but will have to fake my German spelling.
When Pitt finished he passed the pad to Zac. “Ask them to forward their reply to the First Attempt. I’ve add NUMA’s radio frequency.”
Zac scanned the pad. “I don’t understand your motives.”
“Just a wild hunch.” Pitt poured another shot Metaxa in his glass. “By the way, when will the Queen Artemisia make her detour by Thasos?”
“How. but how do you know that?”
“I’m psychic,” Pitt said briefly. “When?”
“Tomorrow morning.” Zac looked at Pitt long and consideringly. “Sometime between four and five A.M.
Why do you ask?”
“No reason, just curiosity.” Pitt braced himself for the burn and downed the drink. The jolt was almost too much. He shook his head from side to side, blinking away the tears that burst from his eyes.
“My God,” he whispered hoarsely. “That stuff goes down like battery acid.”
13
The eerie, phosphorescent froth gradually diminished and fell away from the old straight up and down bow of Queen Artemisia as the aging ship slowly lost way and came to a stop. Then the anchor clattered down into ten fathoms of water, and the navigation lights blinked out, leaving a black silhouette resting on an even blacker sea. It was as though the Queen Artemisia had never been.
Two hundred feet away, a small wooden packing crate bobbed lazily on the swells. It was a common type of crate, one of empty thousands that float in cast off neglect on every sea and waterway of the world. To the casual eye, at least, it looked like ordinary flotsam; even the stenciled letters that advertised
“THIS END UP” pointed incongruously downward toward the seabed. There was, however, one thing that made this particular crate quite different; it wasn’t empty.
There must be a better way, Pitt thought wryly from inside the box as a wave bumped it against the top of his head, but at least this was a damn sight better than swimming in plain view when the morning light appeared. He took a mouthful of saltwater and coughed it out. Then he puffed lightly into the mouthpiece of his flotation vest, increasing his buoyancy, and returned his gaze to the ship through a jaggedly cut peephole.
The Queen Artemisia lay silent, only the faint hum of her generators and the slap of the waves of her hull betrayed her presence. Gradually the sounds faded away and the ship became a part of the silence. For a long time Pitt listened, but no other sounds traveled across the water to his bobbing outpost No footsteps on a steel deck, no masculine voices shouting commands, no clank of human operated machinery, nothing. The silence was total and very puzzling. It was like a phantom ship with a phantom crew.
The starboard anchor was down, and Pitt made his way toward it, slowly pushing the box from within.
The light breeze and the incoming tide worked in his favor, and soon the box gently nudged the anchor chain. He swiftly removed the U.S. Divers air tank and attached its backpack webbing through one of the big steel chain links. Then using the regulator’s single air hose as a line, he slipped his fins, mask and snorkel over the second stage mouthpiece and let the whole package dangle just beneath the surface.
Pitt grabbed the chain, looking up at the seemingly endless links that vanished into the darkness, and felt like Jack climbing the beanstalk. He thought of Teri, lying asleep in a cozy bunk back on the First Attempt. He thought of her soft and fluid body and he began to wonder what in hell he was doing here.
Teri had wondered too, but over a different question. “Why take me to a ship? I can’t go out there and meet all those brainy scientists looking like this.” She lifted the hem of her transparent negligee, displaying her legs to the thighs.
“Oh what the hell,” Pitt laughed. “It’ll probably be the sexiest thing that’s happened to them in years.”
‘What about Uncle Bruno?”
“Tell him you went shopping on the mainland.
Tell him anything. you’re over twenty-one.”
“I guess it would be fun to be naughty,” she giggled. “It’s just like a romantic adventure story in the cinema.”
“That’s one way to look at It,” Pitt had said. He’d figured she would think that, and he’d been right.
Pitt went up the anchor chain, copying the style of a Polynesian native climbing a palm tree after coconuts. He soon reached the hawserhole and peered over the rail He hesitated, listening and watching for any movement in the shadows. Not a soul was visible. The foredeck was deserted.
He swung over the side, crouched low and moved silently across the deck to the foremast. The blacked-out ship was a blessing. If the cargo loading lamps had been on, the midships and foredeck would have been bathed in a flood of white light; not the best circumstances for sneaking around unnoticed. Pitt was also thankful that the darkness blotted out his dripping water trail across the foredeck. He paused, waiting for the expected sounds and movements that never came. It was quiet, far too quiet. There was something else about the ship that didn’t jell in Pitt’s subconscious mind, but he couldn’t pin it down. It eluded him for the present
Pitt reached down, unsheathing the diver’s knife strapped to his calf, and moved aft, holding the seven inch
