“The risk is worth it,” Brogan stated flatly.
There was a knock on the door and Oates’s secretary leaned her head into the room. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Secretary, but Mr. Brogan has an urgent call.”
Brogan got up quickly, lifted the phone on Oates’s desk and pressed the winking button. “Brogan.”
He stood there listening for close to a full minute without speaking. Then he hung up and faced Oates.
“Speaker of the House Alan Moran just turned up alive at our Guantanamo Bay naval base in Cuba,” he said slowly.
“Margolin?”
“No report.”
“Larimer?”
“Senator Larimer is dead.”
“Oh, good God!” Oates moaned. “That means Moran could be our next President. I can’t think of a more unscrupulous or ill-equipped man for the job!”
“A Fagin poised at the White House gate,” commented Brogan. “Not a pleasant thought.”
60
Pitt was certain he was dead. There was no reason why he shouldn’t be dead. And yet he saw no blinding light at the end of a tunnel, no faces of friends and relatives who died before him. He felt as though he were dozing in his own bed at home. And Loren was there, her hair cascading on the pillow, her body pressed against his, her arms encircling his neck, holding tightly, refusing to let him drift away. Her face seemed to glow, and her violet eyes looked straight into his. He wondered if she was dead too.
Suddenly she released her hold and began to blur, moving away, diminishing ever smaller until she vanished altogether. A dim light filtered through his closed eyelids and he heard voices in the distance. Slowly, with an effort as great as lifting a pair of hundred-pound weights, he opened his eyes. At first he thought he was gazing at a flat white surface. Then as his mind crept past the veil of unconsciousness he realized he really was gazing at a flat white surface.
It was a ceiling.
A strange sound said, “He’s coming around.”
“Takes more than three cracked ribs, a brain concussion and a gallon of seawater to do this character in.” There was no mistaking the laconic voice.
“My worst fears,” Pitt managed to mutter. “I’ve gone to hell and met the devil.”
“See how he talks about his best and only friend,” said Al Giordino to the doctor in naval uniform.
“He’s in good physical shape,” said the doctor. “He should mend pretty quickly.”
“Pardon the mundane question,” said Pitt, “but where am I?”
“Welcome to the U.S. Naval Hospital at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba,” the doctor answered. “You and Mr. Giordino were fished out of the water by one of our recovery craft.”
Pitt focused his eyes on Giordino. “Are you all right?”
“He has a bruise the size of a cantaloupe on his abdomen, but he’ll survive,” the doctor said, smiling. “By the way, I understand he saved your life.”
Pitt cleared the mist from his mind and tried to recall. “The steward from the
“Pounded you under the boat with an oar,” Giordino explained. “I slipped over the side, swam underwater until I grabbed your arm, dragged you to the surface. The steward would have beat on me too except for the timely arrival of a Navy helicopter whose paramedics jumped into the water and helped sling us on board.”
“And Loren?”
Giordino averted his gaze. “She’s listed as missing.”
“Missing, hell!” Pitt snarled. He grimaced from the sudden pain in his chest as he rose to his elbows. “We both know she was alive and sitting in the lifeboat.”
A solemn look clouded Giordino’s face. “Her name didn’t appear on a list of survivors given out by the ship’s captain.”
“A Bougainville ship!” Pitt blurted as his memory came flooding back. “The Oriental steward who tried to brain us pointed toward the—”
“Yes, the
“Stewards are supposed to remember passengers’ names. He knew you as Charlie Gruber in cabin thirty- four.”
“No, he rightly accused me of meddling in Bougainville affairs, and his last words were ‘Bon voyage, Dirk Pitt.’ “
Giordino gave a puzzled shrug. “Beats hell out of me how he knew you. But why would a Bougainville man work as a steward on a Russian cruise ship?”
“I can’t begin to guess.”
“And lie about Loren’s rescue?”
Pitt merely gave an imperceptible shake of his head.
“Then she’s being held prisoner by the Bougainvilles,” said Giordino as if suddenly enlightened. “But for what reason?”
“You keep asking questions I can’t answer,” Pitt said irritably. “Where is the
“Headed toward Miami to land the survivors.”
“How long have I been unconscious?”
“About thirty-two hours,” replied the doctor.
“Still time,” said Pitt. “The
He raised himself to a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room began to seesaw back and forth.
The doctor moved forward and steadied him by both arms. “I hope you don’t think you’re rushing off somewhere.”
“I intend to be standing on the dock when the
A stern medical-profession look grew on the doctor’s face. “You’re staying in this bed for the next four days. You can’t travel around with those fractured ribs, and we don’t know how serious your concussion is.”
“Sorry, Doc,” Giordino said, “but you’ve both been overruled.”
Pitt stared at him stonily. “Who’s to stop me?”
“Admiral Sandecker, for one. Secretary of State Doug Oates for another,” Giordino answered as de-tachedly as though he were reading aloud the stock market quotes for the day. “Orders came down for you to fly to Washington the minute you came around. We may be in big trouble. I have a hunch we dipped into the wrong cookie jar when we discovered Congressman Moran and Senator Larimer imprisoned on a Soviet vessel.”
“They can wait until I search the
“My job. You go to the capital while I go to Miami and play customs inspector. It’s all been arranged.”
Pacified to a small degree, Pitt relaxed on the bed. “What about Moran?”
“He couldn’t wait to cut out,” Giordino said angrily. “He demanded the Navy drop everything and fly him home the minute he was brought ashore. I had a minor confrontation with him in the hospital corridor after his routine examination. Came within a millimeter of cramming his hook nose down his gullet. The bastard didn’t demonstrate the slightest concern about Loren, and he seemed downright delighted when I told him of Larimer’s death.”
“He has a talent for deserting those who help him,” Pitt said disgustedly.
An orderly rolled in a wheelchair and together with Giordino eased Pitt into it. A groan escaped his lips as a
