'Thank you, James,' Bass said, obviously pleased. 'I fully realize the gamble you're taking merely on the word of a rusty old sea dog.'
'I'd say those were pretty good odds,' Sandecker replied.
'A thought just occurred to me,' Giordino cut in. 'If water kills this QD stuff, why don't we simply leave it on the bottom of thel ake?'
Bass shook his head solemnly. 'No thank you. If you found it, so can someone else. It's far better we deposit it for eternity where no human will ever set eyes on it. I can only thank God the canisters have gone undiscovered all these years.'
'Which brings up another matter,' Pitt said, noting the sudden uneasy lowering of Giordino's and Steiger's eyes.
Sandecker flicked an ash into an abaloneshell tray. 'What is that?'
'According to the original flight plan, Vixen 03 departed Buckley Field with a crew of four. Is that correct, Admiral Bass?'
Bass's expression went quizzical. 'Yes, there were four.'
'Perhaps I should have brought this up sooner,' Pitt said, 'but I was afraid of complicating the issue at hand.'
'You're not the type to beat around the bush,' Sandecker said impatiently. 'What are you getting at?'
'The fifth skeleton.'
'The fifth what?'
'When I dove on the wreckage, I found the bones of a fifth man tied to the floor of the cargo section.'
Sandecker looked at Bass. 'Have you any idea who he's talking about?'
Bass sat like a man who had been slapped in the face. 'A ground maintenance man,' he murmured vacantly. 'One must have somehow been left on board when the plane took off.'
'Won't wash,' said Pitt. 'Flesh was still evident. The remains haven't been immersed as long as the others.'
'You said the canisters were still sealed,' replied Bass, snatching at threads.
'Yes, sir, I saw no evidence of tampering,' Pitt reassured him.
'My God, my God!' Bass held his hands to his face. 'Someone besides ourselves knows about the aircraft. '
'We can't be sure of that,' said Steiger.
Bass lowered his hands and stared at Pitt through glazed eyes. 'Bring her up, Mr. Pitt. For the sake of humanity, bring up Vixen 03 from the bottom of that lake — and do it quickly.'
Pitt could not shake the feeling of dread as he left the meeting and passed through the main entrance of the NUMA building. The Washington night was heavy with humidity, the stickiness adding to his depression. He walked across the deserted parking lot and opened the door to his car. He was halfway behind the wheel before he noticed a small figure on the passenger seat.
Loren was asleep. She was cuddled in a ball and lost to the world. She wore a Grecian-style green dress and calfskin boots under a long fur coat. Pitt leaned over and brushed the hair from her cheeks and gently shook her awake. Her eyes fluttered open and then locked on his. Her lips arched into a feline smile and her face looked strangely pale and young.
'Mmm. Fancy meeting you here.'
He leaned over and kissed her. 'Are you crazy? A luscious creature all alone in an empty Washington parking lot. It's a miracle you weren't assaulted and gangbanged.'
She pushed him away and wrinkled her nose. 'Ugh, you reek of stale cigars.'
'Blame that on being cooped up with Admiral Sandecker for six hours.' He settled back and started the car. 'How did you track me down?'
'No great feat. I called your office to get your number in Savannah. Your secretary said you were already back in town, tied up in conference.'
'Whatever possessed you to stake out my car?'
'I fought and lost an overwhelming urge to do something foolish and feminine.' She kneaded the inside of his thigh. 'Glad?'
'I cannot tell a lie,' he said, grinning. 'You come as a welcome relief after the last twenty-four hours.'
'Welcome relief?' Loren faked a pout. 'You really know how to charm a girl with flattery.'
'We don't have much time,' he said, turning serious. 'I'm off again in the morning.'
'I figured as much. That's why I've planned a nice surprise.'
She snuggled closer and her hand worked its way up his thigh.
'I don't believe this.,' Pitt murmured in awe.
'Felicia hinted it was sexy, but I had no idea.'
Pitt and Loren stood ankle deep in a crimson carpet. staring in fascination at a room whose four walls and ceilings were solidly paneled with gold-tinted mirrors. The only piece of furniture was a large circular bed raised on a platform and covered with red satin sheets. Illumination came from four spotlights embedded in the corners of the ceiling, emitting a soft blue light.
Loren stepped over to the raised bed and touched its gleaming pillows reverently, as though they were exquisite art objects. Pitt studied her reflection, multiplied into infinity, for several moments, and then he walked up behind her and deftly stripped off her clothes.
'Don't move_,' he said. 'I want my eyes to devour a thousand naked Loren Smiths.'
Her face flushed dark. her eyes riveted to the unending images of herself in the mirrors. 'Lord,' she whispered, 'I feel as though I'm performing in front of a crowd.' Then she tensed and said something blurred and murmurous as Pitt bent down and flicked his tongue in her navel.
The telephone's muted ring summoned Frederick Daggat from a sound sleep. Beside him Felicia moaned softly, rolled over, and continued sleeping. He groped for his wristwatch on the bedstand and focused his eyes on its luminous dial. It read four O'clock. He picked up the receiver.
'This is Daggat.'
'Sam Jackson. I have the pictures.'
'Any problems?'
'A breeze. You were right. I didn't have to shoot with infrared. They left the lights on. Can't say as I blame them — the room mirrored from top to bottom and all. Highspeed film should bring out all the details you asked for. They put on quite a show. Too bad we didn't tape it.'
'They didn't suspect?'
'How could they know one of the mirrored panels was two way? They were too busy to notice anything short of an earthquake. just to play safe, I used a special noiseless camera.'
'When can I expect to see the results?'
'By eight in the morning, if it's a dire emergency. I could use some sack time, though. Wait till early evening and I promise you eight-by-ten glossy prints fit for a gallery exhibit.'
'Take your time and do it right,' said Daggat. 'I want every detail highlighted.'
'You can count on it,' Jackson said. 'By the way, who's the foxy lady? She's a real tiger.'
'That doesn't concern you, Jackson. Call me when you're ready. And remember, I'm only interested in the artistic positions.'
'I get the message. Good night, Congressman.'
39
Dale Jarvis was just getting ready to clear his desk and leave for the thirty-minute drive home to his wife and a traditional Friday supper of pork roast when there was a knock at the door and John Gossard, who headed up the agency's Africa Section, entered. Gossard had come to the NSA from the Army after the Vietnam war, where he had served as a specialist in guerrilla logistics. A quiet man with a cynical sense of humor, he walked with a limp caused by a rifle grenade whose shrapnel had severed his right foot. He was known as a heavy drinker, but also as a man
