'I fervently hope you meet with success in finding the man responsible for the terrible number of senseless murders,' Jonsson said. 'If you should meet him, I fear for your life. You are not a killer. If you were, two men would lie dead in my home. Your concern for life, I fear, will be your defeat. I beg you, my friend, do not hesitate when the moment arrives. God and luck go with you.'
Pitt threw a last salute at Dr. Jonsson and turned and stepped down the front steps to the road. Bjarni held the passenger door of the Land Rover open for him. The seat was firm and the backrest stiff, but Pitt could not have cared less; his entire body was numb. He sat there as Mundsson started the engine and shifted through the gears, steering the truck over a stretch of smooth, narrow pavement toward Reykjavik. Pitt could have easily drifted off into a dead sleep, but somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind a spark refused to go out. Something that he saw, something that was said, an undistinguishable something refused to let his mind slow down and rest. It was like a song he couldn't quite recall whose title was on the tip of his tongue.
Finally, he gave it up and dozed off.
Chapter 7
Time after time, the exact number became lost, Pitt struggled up from the bottom of the rolling surf and staggered onto the beach dragging Hunnewell. Time after time, he bandaged the oceanographer's arm only to slide into darkness again. Desperately, every time the event ran through his brain like an image from a film projector, he tried to hang onto those fleeting moments of consciousness, only to lose out to the inevitable fact that nothing can change the past. It was a nightmare, he thought vaguely as he tried to tear himself away from the bloodstained beach. He gathered his strength and with a mighty effort forced his eyes open, expecting to see an empty bedroom. The bedroom was there all right, but it wasn't empty.
'Good morning, Dirk,' said a soft voice. 'I'd almost lost hope that you would ever wake up.'
Pitt looked up into the smiling brown eyes of a long-bodied girl who sat on a chair at the foot of his bed. 'The last birdie with a Yellow bill who hopped upon my windowsill didn't resemble you in the slightest,' he said.
She laughed, so did the brown eyes. She pushed the long strands of shining fawn-colored hair behind her ears. Then she stood up 'and walked around to the head of the bed with a movement that could best be described as mercury flowing down a meandering glass tube. She wore a red wool dress that clung to her precision-shaped hour-glass figure, the bern topping a pair of neatly sculptured knees. She wasn't exactly beautiful in the exotic sense nor was she overly sexy, but she was cute-damned cute-with a pert attractiveness that melted every man she met.
She touched the bandage on the side of his head, and the smile gave way to a feminine look of Florence Nightingale concern. 'You've had a nasty time, hurt much?'
'Only when I stand on my head.'
Pitt knew who she was. Her name was Tidi Royal and he knew her reason for genuine anxiety; he knew her fun and-games personality was misleading. She could pound out one hundred and twenty words a minute on a typewriter for eight hours without a yawn, and take shorthand a shade faster. The primary reasons why Admiral James Sandecker hired her as his private secretary-or so he steadfastly claimed.
Pitt pulled himself to a sitting position and peeked under the covers to see if he was wearing anything. He was, just barely-a pair of boxer shorts. 'If you're here, it could only mean the admiral is close by.'
Fifteen minutes after he got your message over the consulates radio, we were on a jet to Iceland. He's pretty shaken about Dr. Hunnewell's death. Admiral Sandecker blames himself.'
'He's going to have to stand in line,' Pitt said. 'I got there first.'
'He said you'd feel that way.' Tidi tried to speak lightly but it didn't quite come off. 'Guilt-ridden conscience, probably trying to redo the event in your mind.'
'The admiral's extrasensory perception must be working overtime.'
'Oh, no,' she said. 'I don't mean the admiral.'
Pitt frowned quizzically.
'A Dr. Jonsson from a little vilage to the north called and gave the consulate very explicit instructions regarding your convalescence.'
'Convalescence, crap!' Pitt snapped. 'Which reminds me. What in hell are you doing in my bedroom?'
She looked hurt. 'I volunteered.'
'Volunteered?'
'To sit with you while you slept,' she said. 'Dr. Jonsson insisted. There's been a consulate staff member sitting in this room every minute since you closed your eyes last evening.' Our 'What time is it? 'A few minutes past ten-A.m. I might add.'
'God, I've wasted Nearly fourteen hours. What happened to my clothes?'
'Thrown out in the trash, I should imagine. They weren't fit for rags. You'll have to borrow some from a staff member.'
'In that case, how about rounding up something casual while I take a quick shower and shave.' He tossed her his bite-is-worse-than-bark look and said, 'OK, dearheart, face the wall.'
She remained facing the bed. 'I've always wondered what it would be like to see you wake up in the morning.'
He shrugged and threw back the covers. He was halfway through the motion of pushing himself to his feet when three things happened: his eyes suddenly saw three Tidis, the room swayed as though it was made of rubber, and his head began to ache with the mother of all aches.
Tidi stepped forward abruptly and clutched his right arm, her face reflecting the Florence Nightingale concern again. 'Please, Dirk, your head isn't ready for your feet yet.'
'Nothing, it's nothing. I stood up too fast.' He made it to his feet and lurched into her arms. 'You'd make a lousy nurse, Tidi. you get too involved with Your patients.'
He held onto her for several moments until the triplets became one and the bedroom stood at rigid attention; only the ache in his head refused to diminish.
'You're the one Patient I'd love to get involved With, Dirk.' She held onto him tightly and made no attempt to remove her arms. 'But you never seem to entice me. You'd stand next to me in an empty elevator and never recognize me at all.
There are times when I doubt whether you know I exist.'
'Oh, I know you exist all right.' He pushed himself away and started slowly for the bathroom, refraining from facing her as he talked. 'Your vital statistics are five foot seven, one hundred thirty-five pounds, thirty-six inches around the hips, an astonishing twenty-three inches at the waist, and the bust, a probable thirty-six, C-cup. All in all, a figure that belongs on the centerspread of Playboy. There is also the light-brown hair framing an eager, bright face enhanced by sparkling brown eyes, a pert little nose, a perfectly formed mouth flanked by two dimples that only show when you smile. Oh, yes, I almost forgot. Two moles behind the left ear and, at this moment, your heart is beating at approximately one hundred and five thumps per minute.'
She stood there like a stunned winner on a TV quiz show momentarily at a loss for words. She reached up and touched the two moles. 'Like wow! I can't believe I heard you. It's unreal. You like me-you really care for me.'
'Don't get carried away.' Pitt hesitated in the bathroom doorway and faced her. 'I'm very attracted to you, as any man would be to a pretty girl, but I'm not in love with you.'
'You… you never gave me any indication. You've never even asked me for a date.'
'Sorry, Tidi. You're the admiral's personal secretary. I make it a rule never to play games that close to him.' Pitt leaned against the doorframe for support. 'I respect that old guy; he's much more than just a friend or boss. I won't cause complications behind his back.'
'I understand,' she said humbly. 'But I certainly didn't figure you for the modest hero who sacrifices the heroine to a typewriter.'
'The rejected virgin who throws herself into a convent isn't exactly your bag either.'
'Must we get nasty?'
'No,' Pitt said approvingly. 'Why don't you be a good girl and scrounge me up a change of clothes, Let's see if
