“You know, one who offers himself for a service of his own free will,” Pitt defined stonily. He turned to Giordino. “Were you formally invited to the party, Al?”
“Not unless my invitation was lost in the mail.”
Pitt stared defiantly into Jordan’s eyes as he spoke. “That’s the old ball game.” Then he turned to Sandecker. “Sorry, Admiral.”
“Shall we go?” said Giordino.
“Yes, let’s.”
“You can’t walk out,” Kern said with deadly seriousness. “You’re under contract to the government.”
“I’m not under contract to play secret agent.” Pitt’s voice was calm, quite unperturbed. “And unless there’s been a revolution since we’ve returned from the bottom of the sea, this is still a free country.”
“One moment, please,” said Jordan, wisely accepting Pitt’s viewpoint.
Jordan held an incredible range of power, and he was used to holding the whip hand. But he was also very astute and knew when to drift with the current, even if it flowed upstream. He stared at Pitt with curious interest. He saw no hatred, no arrogance, only a weary man who had been pushed too far. He had studied the file on NUMA’s Special Projects Director. Pitt’s background read like an adventure tale. His accomplishments were celebrated and honored. Jordan was smart enough not to antagonize a man he was damned lucky to have on the team.
“Mr. Pitt, if you will be patient a few more minutes I will tell you what you need to know. Some details will remain classified. I don’t think it wise you and certain people present at this table should have full knowledge of the situation. I don’t care a damn myself, but it is for your protection. Do you understand’?”
Pitt nodded. “I’m listening.”
“Japan has the bomb,” the chief of the National Security Service revealed. “How long they’ve had it or how many they’ve built is unknown. Given their advanced nuclear technology, Japan has had the capability to build warheads for over a decade. And despite their highly touted adherence to the nonproliferation treaty, someone or some group within their power structure decided they needed a deterrent force for its blackmail value. What little we know comes after the fact. A Japanese ship carrying Murmoto automobiles and two or more nuclear devices detonated in the middle of the Pacific, taking a Norwegian passenger-cargo liner and the British survey ship and their crews with her. Why were nuclear bombs on a Jap ship’? They were smuggling them into American ports. For what purpose? Probably nuclear extortion. Japan may have the bomb, but she doesn’t have a missile force or the long-range bombers to deliver it. So what would we do in their shoes to protect a financial power structure that reaches into every pocket of every country of the world? We smuggle nuclear weapons into any nation or combination of nations such as Europe that pose a threat to our economic empire and hide them in strategic locations. Then, if a particular country, say the U.S., gets mad after our Japanese leaders attempt to dictate policy to the White House and Congress and the business community, the Americans retaliate by refusing to pay back hundreds of billions of dollars loaned to their Treasury by our Japanese banks. They also threaten boycotts and trade barriers on all Japanese goods. Extreme measures that Senator Diaz and Congresswoman Loren Smith are proposing over at the Capitol as we speak. And maybe, just maybe, if the President gets riled up enough, he orders his superior military forces to blockade the Japanese islands, cutting off all our oil and vital raw materials, shutting down all our production. Follow me so far?”
Pitt nodded. “I’m with you.”
“This backlash scenario is not farfetched, especially when the American people will someday realize they work one month out of the year to pay off debts owed to foreign, for the most part Japanese, creditors. Are the Japs worried? Not when they have the power to push buttons and blow up any city in the world in time for the six o’clock news. Why are we here? To stop them by finding where the bombs are hidden. And stop them before they discover we’re onto them. That’s where Team Buick comes in. Stacy is an operative with the National Security Agency. Timothy is a nuclear scientist who specializes in radioactivity detection, Team Honda, led by James and Roy, agents, will concentrate on discovering and the command center that controls the detonations. Is this frightening nightmare? Absolutely. The lives of five hundred million people in nations that compete with Japan depend on what we around this table can accomplish in the next few weeks. In a wisdom bred more of ignorance, our State Department does not allow us covert observation of friendly nations. As the front line of this nation’s early warning system, we are forced to run in the shadows and die in obscurity. The alarm bells are about to be rung, and believe it or not, Mr. Pitt, this MAIT team is the last resort before a full-scale disaster. Do you get the picture?”
“Yes…” Pitt said slowly. “Thank you, Mr. Jordan. I get the picture.”
“Now will you officially join the team?”
Pitt rose, and to the astonishment of everyone present except Giordino and Sandecker, he said, “I’ll think it over.”
And then he left the room.
As he walked down the steps into the alley beside the squalid old building, Pitt turned and gazed up at the dingy walls and boarded windows. He shook his head in wonderment, then looked down at the security guard in the ragged clothes sprawled on the steps and muttered to himself, “So that’s the eyes and ears of the great republic.”
Jordan and Sandecker remained in the conference room after the others had filed out.
The crusty little admiral looked at Jordan and smiled faintly. “Do you mind my cigar?”
Jordan made a look of distaste. “A little late in asking, aren’t you, Jim?”
“Nasty habit.” Sandecker nodded. “But I don’t mind blowing smoke on someone, especially when they hard- ass my people. And that’s exactly what you were doing, Ray, hard-assing Pitt and Giordino.”
“You know damn well we’re in a state of crisis,” said Jordan seriously. “We don’t have time to cater to prima donnas.”
Sandecker’s face clouded. He pointed to Pitt’s packet that was on the top of the stack before Jordan. “You didn’t do your homework, or you’d know that Dirk Pitt is a bigger patriot than you and I put together. Few men have accomplished more for their country. There are few of his breed left. He still whistles ‘Yankee Doodle’ in the shower and believes a handshake is a contract and man’s word is his bond. He can also be devious as the devil if he thinks he’s helping preserve the Stars and Stripes, the American family, and baseball.”
“If he knows the urgency of the situation,” said Jordan, puzzled, “why did he stall and cut out?”
Sandecker looked at him, then looked at the organization chart on the backlit screen where Kern had written in “Tea Stutz.”
“You badly underestimated Dirk,” he said almost sadly. “You don’t know, you couldn’t know, he’s probably brewing up scheme to reinforce your operation this minute.”
22
PITT DID NOT GO directly to the old aircraft hangar on the edge of Washington’s International Airport that he called home. He gave Giordino a set of instructions and sent him off in a cab.
He walked up Constitution Avenue until he came to a Japanese restaurant. He asked for a quiet booth in the corner, sat down, and ordered. Between the clear clam soup and a medley of sashimi raw fish, he left the table and walked to a pay phone outside the rest rooms.
He took a small address book from his wallet and flipped through the phone numbers until he found the one he was looking for, Dr. Percival Nash (Payload Percy), Chevy Chase, Maryland. Nash was Pitt’s uncle on his mother’s side. The family character, Nash often bragged how he used to spike Dirk’s baby formula with sherry. Pitt inserted the change and dialed the number under the name.
He waited patiently through six rings, hoping Nash was in. He was, answering half a second before Pitt was about to hang up.
“Dr. Nash here,” came a youthful resonant voice (he was crowding eighty-two).
“Uncle Percy, this is Dirk.”
“Oh, my goodness, Dirk. About time I heard your voice. You haven’t called your old uncle in five
