tugboat”
“Here comes Zac,” Giordino said pointing. Pitt twisted and looked in the direction of Giordino’s ex tended finger.
The black Mercedes was approaching down a trail from the mountains, pulling a cloud of brown dust behind its rear bumper. A quarter of a mile away swung onto the paved coastal road, dropping the dust cloud, and soon Pitt could hear the steady purr of the diesel engine above the beat from the surf below.
The car rolled to a stop beside the truck and Zacynthus and Zeno unreeled from the front seat. They were followed by Darius, who made no attempt to disguise a painful limp. Zacynthus was dressed in old faded army fatigues, and his eyes were tired and bloodshot He gave the impression of a man who had spent a dismal and sleepless night. Pitt grinned sympathetically at him.
“Well Zac, how did it go? See anything interesting?”
Zacynthus didn’t seem to hear him. He wearily pulled his pipe from a pocket, filled the bowl and lit it.
Then he sank slowly to the ground, stretching out and leaning on one elbow.
“The bastards, the dirty cunning bastards,” he swore bitterly. “We spent the whole night straining our eyes and sneaking around trees and boulders, with mosquitoes attacking us at every turn. And what did we find?” He took a deep breath to answer his own question, but Pitt beat him to it.
“You found nothing, you saw nothing and you heard nothing.”
Zacynthus managed a faint smile. “Does it show that much?”
“It shows,” Pitt replied briefly.
“This whole business is exceedingly exasperating.” Zacynthus accented his words by pounding his fist into the soft earth.
“Exceedingly exasperating?” Pitt echoed. “Is that the best you can do?”
Zacynthus sat up and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “I’ve just about reached the end of my rope. I feel as though I’ve just clawed my way up a steep mountain, only to find the peak enshrouded in fog.
Possibly you understand, I don’t know, but I’ve dedicated my life to tracking down scum like von Till.”
He paused for a moment, then went on very quietly. “I’ve never failed to crack a case. I can’t give up now. That ship must be stopped, and yet, thanks to our lily white code of justice, it can’t be stopped.
God, can you imagine what will happen if that cargo of heroin reaches the States?”
“I’ve given it some thought.”
“Screw your code of justice.” Giordino seemed vexed. “Let me stick a limpet mine on that old tub’s hull and bang,” he formed a blast cloud with his hands. “The fish inherit the drugs.”
Zacynthus nodded slowly. “You have a direct approach, but a—”
“Simple mind,” Pitt interrupted again. He grinned at Giordino’s scornful glance.
“Believe me, I would much prefer to see a hundred schools of doped-up fish than one drug crazed school boy.” Zacynthus’ voice was grim. “Destroying that ship would only solve the immediate problem; it’s like cutting off one tentacle of an octopus. We’d still be left with von Till and his able gang of seagoing smugglers, not to mention the unanswered riddle of his — I am forced to admit — ingenious operation. No, we must be patient The Queen Artemisia hasn’t docked at Chicago yet We’ll get another chance at her Marseille.”
“I don’t think you’ll have any better luck in Marseille,” Pitt said doubtfully. “Even if one of your phony French dockworkers slips on board, you have the gilt-edged Pitt guarantee that he won’t find anything worth writing home about.”
“How would you know that for certain?” Zacynthus suddenly looked up, surprised. “Unless… unless.
you somehow searched the ship yourself.”
“With him, anything’s possible,” Giordino murmured. “He was seaward of the ship when it anchored. I lost him through the night glasses for almost half an hour.”
Now all four men looked at Pitt questioningly.
Pitt laughed and flipped his cigarette over the embankment. “The time has come, the walrus said, to speak of many things. Gather round gentlemen and listen to the cloak and dagger adventures of Dirk Pitt, the naked cat burglar.”
Pitt finally leaned back against the truck and became silent. For a long moment he stared at the thoughtful faces in front of him.
“There you have it. As neat a little set-up as you can find.” He smiled wryly. “The Queen Artemisia is in reality nothing but a false front. Oh sure, it sails the briny blue, picking up and delivering cargo. That’s where any similarity between a bona fide cargo freighter and Queen ends. She’s an old ship, true, but beneath her steel skin beats a complete up-to-date centralized control system. I saw the same equipment on an old ship in the Pacific just last year. No large crew is required. Six or seven men can handle her easily.”
“No fuss, no muss,” Giordino said admiringly.
“Precisely,” Pitt nodded. “Each compartment, each cabin is set up as a stage prop. When the ship reaches port the crew materializes from the wings and turns into a cast of actors.”
“Pardon this humble man’s blind perception, Major.” The peasant choice of words failed to mask the Oxford accent of Zeno’s voice. “I do not understand how the Queen Artemisia can engage in commercial shipping without the necessary maintenance during long voyages.”
‘It’s like a historical landmark,” Pitt explained.
“Let’s say a famous castle where the fires in the fireplaces still burn, the plumbing still works, and the grounds are always trimmed and neat. Five days out of the week the castle is closed, but on the weekends it opens for the tourists, or, in this case, the Customs Inspectors.”
“And the caretakers?” Zeno asked quizzically.
“The caretakers,” Pitt murmured, “live in the cellar.”
“Only rats live in cellars,” Darius ventured dryly.
“A very, appropriate observation, Darius,” Pitt said approvingly. “Particularly when you consider the two- legged variety we’re dealing with.”
“Cellars, stage props, castles. A crew buried somewhere in the hull. What are you driving at?” Zacynth demanded. “Please get to the point”
“I’m coming to it. To begin with, the crew isn't quartered in the hull. They’re quartered under it.”
Zacynthus’ eyes narrowed. “That’s not possible.”
“On the contrary,” Pitt grinned. “It would be entirely possible if the good Queen Artemisia was pregnant.”
There was a brief incredulous silence. All four stared at Pitt in blank skepticism. Giordino broke the silence first.
“You’re trying to tell us something, but I'll be damned if you’re getting through.”
“Zac admitted that von Till’s method of smuggling is ingenious,” Pitt said. “And he’s right. The ingenuity lies in the simplicity. The Queen Artemisia and the other Minerva ships can operate independently or they can be controlled by a satellite vessel attached to their hulls. Think about it for a minute. It’s not as ridiculous as it sounds.” Pitt spoke with a calm surety about him that began to crack any doubts. “The Queen didn’t:’ cruise two days off her course just to blow kisses at von Till. Contact must have been made somehow.” He turned to Zacynthus and Zeno, “You and your men, watched the villa and saw no sign of a signal.”
“Nor did anyone enter or leave,” Zeno added.
“Same goes for the ship,” said Giordino eyeing Pitt curiously. “No one set foot on the beach except you.”’
“Darius and I make it unanimous,” said Pitt. “He heard no radio transmissions and I found the radio cabin deserted.”
“I’m beginning to see your point,” Zac said thoughtfully. “Any communication between the ship and von Till could only have taken place underwater. But I’m still not sure I buy your satellite vessel theory.”
“Try this one.” Pitt paused. “What travels long distances under water, carries a crew, has the capacity to hold a hundred and thirty tons of heroin, and would never be searched by Customs or the Bureau of Narcotic Inspectors? The only logical answer Is a full scale submarine.”
“Nice try, but it won’t pass.” Zac shook his head.
‘We’ve had divers search beneath the waterline of every Minerva ship at least a hundred times. They have yet to discover a submarine.”
