me pull the trigger. You must wait until Oskar arrives.'
Pitt shook his head again. 'Don't look for Oskar to come bounding in here to rescue you. At this moment, your ex-slavemaster is lying unconscious, encased in half a ton of plaster in a hospital bed. Surrounded, I might add, by a bevy of National Intelligence agents.
They may have to push him to the gallows in a wheelchair, but walk or ride, he will surely swing.'
The gun wavered a hair. 'What do you mean?'
'It's done, over with. You're free. Hermit Limited and its management just went belly up.'
Strangely, Kirsti didn't accuse Pitt of insanity. 'I want to believe you, but how can I?'
'Pick up the phone and call Kelly, Marks, Von Hummel, or your friend Rondheim. Or better yet, search every room on the sixth floor.'
'And what do you expect me to find?'
'Nothing, nothing at all. They've all been arrested.' Pitt finished the drink and set it down. 'You and I are the only ones left.
Courtesy of the N.I.A.
You're my bonus-a little side gift-for services rendered. Love it or hate it, your soul has passed from Rondheim to me.'
The room swayed around Kirsti as the truth of Pitts words took hold. She had wondered why Rondheim hael not contacted her, why Kelly had not visited her as he had promised, why there had been no ring of the phone, no knock at the door for nearly two hours.
She steadied herself, quickly accepting the realization of what had taken place.
'But… what of me? Am I to be arrested also?'
'No, the N.I.A. knows of your new status. They put two and two together and figured that Rondheim was blackmailing you. They considered taking you in as an accomplice, but I talked them out of it.'
The gun was gently laid on the end table. An awkward silence descended. Finally Kirsti stared at Pitt and said, 'There is a price; there always has to be a price.'
'It's cheap enough considering your past mistakes… mistakes you can never buy back even with your fortune. But you can clean the slate and make a new life without outside intrusion. All I want is your guarantee for close and continued cooperation between Fyrie Limited and NUMA.'
'And?'
'The memory banks in Kelly's computers contain enough data to build a new undersea probe. I speak for Aden Sandecker when I say he would like you to head up the project.'
'That's all, nothing more?' she asked incredulously.
'I said the price was cheap.'
She gazed levelly at him. 'Tomorrow, next week, the coming year, how can I be sure you will not decide to raise the interest rate?'
Pitts eyes turned cold and his voice was like ice.
'Don't put me in the same league with your other playmates. Mass murder and extortion have never turned me on. Your secret is safe with me, and it's even safer with the N.I.A.-they'll see to it that Rondheim, Kelly and Ybirra will never get within fifty feet of a press reporter.'
She hesitated. 'I'm sorry, truly sorry. What else can I say.'
He didn't answer, just looked at her.
She turned and gazed out the window at the park.
The turrets of the Magic Castile were lit lip like a birthday cake.
The lanilies were gone now. The young couples had taken over and were strolling along the park walkways and streets, hand in hand, breathing in the make-believe romantic atmosphere.
'And where do you go from here?' she asked.
After a short vacation, I'll go back to NUMA headquarters in Washington and begin work on a new project.'
She turned to look at him. 'And if I asked you to come to Iceland with me and become a member of my board of directors?'
'I'm not the board-of-director type.'
'There must be some other way for me to show my gratefulness.'
She came toward Pitt and stood in front of him. A knowing smile curled her lips, the doelike eyes grew soft and there seemed to be faint signs of dampness on her forehead.
'All will be as you ask,' she said slowly. She raised her hand and her fingers lightly touched his battered face. 'Tomorrow I will see Admiral Sandecker and affirm out mutual efforts.' She hesitated and stood back from him. 'I must, however, extract a small cost in return.'
'And that is?'
She loosened the sash and shrugged the kimono from her shoulders to the floor, standing there in the relaxed classical pose of the nude.
Under the light from the lamp, she was like a sun-bronzed figure crafted to exacting satin smoothness by the patient hands of a master sculptor. The full rounded lips were slightly open with excitement and impatience. The soft violet eyes gave forth a silent invitation. Her features and body could only be described as magnificent: a perfectly constructed monument to the miracle of medical science.
'If it's any compliment,' she said in a throaty voice, 'I never for a minute believed your gay act,'
'It takes one to know one.'
She turned pale. 'What I became is not the same.'
'What you became is a cold, shrewd, calculating witch.'
'No!'
'Kristjan Fyrie was a warm, honest lover of humanity. Your change was emotional as well as physical.
People to you are only to be used, to be thrown away when their usefulness ends. You're cold and you're sick.'
She shook her head. 'No… no! I've changed.
Yes. But I'm not cold… not cold.' She held out her arms. 'Let me prove it.'
They stood in the center of the room, facing each other silently. And then she saw the expression forming on Pitts face, and her arms slowly dropped to her sides.
She looked dazed, those exotic eyes were stricken. She stared at his face with a strange, paralyzed intentness.
Pitts features were coldly menacing. 'The purplish bruises, the swollen flesh, the jagged cuts all worked together in one terrible mask of disgust. His eyes no longer saw her loveliness. He could only see the unidentifiable ashes of what had once been men. He saw Hunnewell dying on a lonely beach. He remembered the face of the captain of the hydroplane before he disappeared in flames. He knew the pain of Lillie, Tidi, and Sam Kelly, And he knew Kirsti Fyrie was partly responsible for their suffering and for some-their deaths.
Kirsti paled and backed away a step. 'Dirk, what's the matter?'
'God save thee,' he said.
He turned and opened the door. The first few steps toward the elevator were the hardest. Then it got easier. By the time he reached the main floor, walked to the curb and hailed a cab, the old confident, relaxed composure was back.
The driver opened the door and dropped the flag.
'Where to, sir?'
Pitt sat there a moment in silence. Then suddenly he knew where he had to go. He had no choice. He was what he was.
'The Newport Inn. And a compassionate redhead… I hope.'
