'And you, Dirk?'
Pitt was silent a few moments. Then he spoke, 'My vote goes for a delay of forty-eight hours.'
Sandecker stared across the map speculatively. 'We can't afford one hour, much less forty-eight.'
Pitt stared back at him. 'I suggest that we skip the TV cameras and leapfrog to the next step.'
'Which is?'
'We send down a manned submersible.'
Sandecker shook his head. 'No good. A TV camera sled towed by a surface vessel can cover five times the area in half the time it would take a slow-moving submersible.'
'Not if we pinpoint the gravesite in advance.'
Sandecker's expression darkened. 'And how do you propose to pull off that minor miracle?'
'We gather every shred of knowledge concerning the Titanic's final hours-glean all records for speed, conflicting position reports, water currents, the angle she slid beneath the waves, throw in the cornet's resting place-- everything, and program it through NUMA's computers. With luck, the readout data should point directly to the Titanic's front yard.'
'It's the logical approach,' Gunn admitted.
'In the meantime,' Sandecker said, 'we lose two days.'
'We lose nothing, sir. We gain,' Pitt said earnestly. 'Admiral Kemper has loaned us the Modoc. She's docked at Norfolk right now, fitted out and ready to sail.'
'Of course!' Gunn blurted. 'The Sea Slug. '
'Precisely,' Pitt replied. 'The Sea Slug is the Navy's latest-model submersible, designed and constructed especially for deep-water salvage and rescue, and she's sitting on the Modoc's afterdeck. In two days, Rudi and I can have both vessels over the general area of the wreck, ready to begin the search operation.'
Sandecker rubbed the pointer across his chin. 'And then, if the computers do their job, I feed you the corrected position of the wreck site. Is that the picture?'
'Yes, sir, that's the picture.'
Sandecker moved away from the map and eased into a chair. Then he looked up into the determined faces of Pitt and Gunn. 'Okay, gentlemen, it's your ball game.'
31
Mel Donner leaned on the doorbell of Seagram's house in Chevy Chase and stifled a yawn.
Seagram opened the door and stepped out onto the front porch. They nodded silently without the usual early morning pleasantries and walked to the curb and Donner's car.
Seagram sat and gazed dully out the side window, his eyes ringed with dark circles. Donner slipped the car into gear.
'You look like Frankenstein's monster before he came alive,' Donner said. 'How late did you work last night?'
'Actually came home early,' Seagram replied. 'Bad mistake; should have worked late. Simply gave Dana and me more time to fight. She's been so damned condescending lately, it drives me up the wall. I finally got pissed and locked myself in the study. Fell asleep at my desk. I ache in places I didn't know existed.'
'Thank you,' Donner said, smiling.
Seagram turned, puzzled. 'Thank you for what?'
'For adding another brick under my determination to remain single.'
They were both silent while Donner eased through Washington's rush-hour traffic.
'Gene,' Donner said at last, 'I know this is a touchy subject; put me on your shit list if you will, but you're beginning to come across like a self-tortured cynic.'
There was no reaction from Seagram, so Donner forged ahead. 'Why don't you take a week or two off and take Dana to a quiet, sunny beach somewhere. Get away from Washington for a while. The defense-installation construction is going off without a hitch, and there's nothing we can do about the byzanium except sit back and pray that Sandecker's boys at NUMA salvage it from the Titanic.'
'I'm needed now, more than ever,' Seagram said flatly.
'You're only kidding yourself into an ego trip. At the moment, everything is out of our hands.'
A grim smile touched Seagram's lips. 'You're closer to the truth than you can imagine.'
Donner glanced at him. 'What do you mean?'
'It's out of our hands,' Seagram repeated vacantly. 'The President ordered me to leak the Sicilian Project to the Russians.'
Donner pulled over to the curb and looked at Seagram dumbfounded.
'My God, why?'
'Warren Nicholson over at CIA has convinced the President that by feeding bits of hard data on the project to the Russians, he can get control of one of their top intelligence networks.'
'I don't believe a word of it,' Donner said.
'It makes no difference what you believe,' Seagram said brusquely.
'If what you say is true, what good will the Russians get out of bits and scraps? Without the necessary detailed equations and calculations, it would take them at least two years to put a workable theory on paper. And without byzanium, the whole concept is worthless.'
'They could build a working system within thirty months if they get their hands on the byzanium first.'
'Impossible. Admiral Kemper would never permit it. He'd send the Russians packing in a hurry if they tried to pirate the Titanic. '
'Suppose,' Seagram murmured softly, 'just suppose Kemper was ordered to lay back and do nothing.'
Donner leaned over the wheel and rubbed his forehead in disbelief. 'Are you asking me to believe the President of the United States is working with the Communists?'
Seagram shrugged wearily and said, 'How can I ask you to believe anything when I don't know what to believe myself?'
32
Pavel Marganin, tall and authoritative in his white naval uniform, took a deep breath of the evening air and turned into the ornate lobby of the Borodino Restaurant. He gave his name to the maitre d' and followed him to Prevlov's customary table. The captain sat there reading a thick sheath of papers bound in a file folder. His eyes came up briefly and acknowledged Marganin with a bored glance before they flicked back to the contents of the file.
'May I sit down, Captain?'
'Unless you wish to place a towel over your arm and clear away the dishes,' Prevlov said, still engrossed in his reading. 'By all means.'
Marganin ordered a vodka and waited for Prevlov to initiate the conversation. After nearly three full minutes, the captain finally laid the file aside and lit a cigarette.
'Tell me, Lieutenant, have you followed the Lorelei Current Drift Expedition?'
'Not in detail. I merely scanned the report before passing it along to your attention.'
'A pity,' Prevlov said loftily. 'Think of it, Lieutenant, a submersible capable of moving fifteen hundred miles along the ocean floor without surfacing once in almost two months. Soviet scientists would do well to be half as imaginative.'
'Frankly, sir, I found the report rather dull reading.'
'Dull reading, indeed! If you had studied it during one of your rare fits of conscientious dedication, you would have discerned a strange course deviation during the expedition's final days.'
'I fail to see a hidden meaning in a simple course change.'
'A good intelligence man looks for the hidden meaning in everything, Marganin.'
Properly rebuked, Marganin nervously checked his watch and stared in the direction of the men's room.
'I think we should investigate whatever it is the Americans find so interesting off the Newfoundland Grand Banks,' Prevlov continued. 'Since that Novaya Zemlya business, I want a close look into every operation undertaken by the National Underwater and Marine Agency, beginning six months ago. My intuition tells me the Americans are up to something that spells trouble for Mother Russia.' Prevlov motioned to a passing waiter and pointed at his empty glass. He leaned back and sighed. 'Things are never what they seem, are they? We are in a strange and
