Текст книги "Treasure"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

"None of these areas has been relocated or drilled?" Pitt asked.

"There has been drilling, yes, but no significant strikes to date.

Geologists claim there's a ninety percent probability of finding five hundred million barrels of crude petroleum under Israel alone.

Unfortunately, the ancient sites have been lost and covered over through the centuries due to land upheavals and earthquakes."

"Then the main goal is to find a massive oil bonanza in Israel."

"You have to admit it would solve a multitude of problems. "

"Yes, I guess it would."

The Senator and Pitt sat in silence for the next minute, staring into the fire. If Yaeger and his computer banks didn't pick up a lead, the chances were, at best, hopeless. Pitt was suddenly angered that the power brokers in the te House and Congress were more interested in oil and gold than in the art and literature that could fill in the missing gaps of history.

It was, he thought, a sad commentary on the affairs of state.

The silence was broken by the ring of the telephone. The Senator walked over to a desk and picked up the receiver. He said nothing, merely listened for a moment. Then he hung up.

"I doubt if I'll find the lost Library in Colorado," Pitt said dryly.

"Everyone concerned would be surprised if you did," the Senator came back. "My staff has arranged a briefing for you by the leading authority on the subject. Dr. Bertram Rothberg, a professor of classical history at the University of Colorado, has made the study of the Alexandria Library his life's work. He'll fill you in on background data that could help your search."

"Why do I have to go to him? Seems to me it would be more practical to bring him to Washington."

"You met with Admiral Sandecker?"

"Yes. "

"Then you know it's vital to distance yourself and Al Giordino from the discovery of the Soviet submarine. That phone call a minute ago was from an FBI agent who is talking a KGB agent who is talking you."

"Nice to know I'm popular."

"You're to make no move that would cause suspicion."

Pitt nodded approvingly. "Fine and dandy, but suppose the Russians get wise to the mission? They have as much to gain by laying their hands on the Library data as we do."

"The possibility exists but is extremely remote," the Senator said guardedly. "We've taken every precaution to keep the wax tablets secret."

"Next question."

"Shoot."

"I'm under surveillance," said Pitt. "What's to stop the KGB from following me to Dr. Rothberg's doorstep?"

"Nothing," the Senator answered. "We have every intention of sitting on the sidelines and cheering them on."

"So we put on a show of status quo."

"Exactly."

"Why me?"

"Because of your L-29 Cord."

"My Cord?"

"The classic car you had restored in Denver. The man you hired called here last week and said to tell you the job is finished and she looks beautiful."

"So I travel to Colorado under a spotlight to pick up my collector car, get in a little ski time on the slopes, and party with Dr. Sharp."

"Exactly," the Senator repeated. "You're to check into the Hotel Breckenridge. A message will be waiting explaining where and when you'll make contact with Dr. Rothberg."

"Remind me never to trade horses with you."

The Senator laughed. "You've been involved, with some pretty devious schemes yourself."

Pitt finished the bourbon, stood, and placed his glass on the mantel.

"Mind if I borrow the family lodge?"

"I'd prefer you stay away from it."

"But my boots and skis are stored in the garage."

"You can rent your equipment."

"That's ridiculous."

"Not so ridiculous," the Senator said in an even voice, when you consider that the instant you open the front door, you'll be shot."

"You sure you want to get out here, buddy?" the cabdriver inquired as he stopped beside what looked like an abandoned hangar on one corner of Washington's International Airport.

"This is the place," replied Pitt.

The driver glanced warily around at the deserted unlit area. This had all the earmarks of a mugging, he thought. He reached under the front seat for a length of pipe he hid for such an occasion. He kept an apprehensive eye on the rearview mirror as Pitt pulled a wallet from his inside coat pocket. The driver relaxed slightly. His fare wasn't acting like a mugger.

"What do I owe you?"

"I got eight-sixty on the meter," the driver replied.

Pitt paid the fare plus tip and exited the cab, waiting for the driver to open the trunk and remove the luggage.

"Hell of a place for a drop," the driver muttered.

"Someone is meeting me."

Pitt stood and watched the cab's taillights dim in the distance before he turned off the hangar's alarm system with a pocket transmitter and entered through a side door. He pressed a code on the transmitter and the interior became bathed in bright fluorescent light.

The hangar was Pitts home. The main floor was lined with a glittering collection of classic and restored automobiles. There were also an old Pullman railroad car and a Ford tri motor airplane. The most bizarre oddity was a cast-iron bathtub with an outboard motor attached to it.

He walked toward his living quarters, which stretched across an upper level against the far wall. Reached by an ornate iron spiral staircase, the door at the top opened onto a living room flanked by a large bedroom and a study on one side and a dining area and kitchen on the other.

He unpacked and entered a shower stall, turning up the hot water and aiming the nozzle against a tiled wall. He lay on his back with his feet stretched upward just below the faucets so he could control the spray temperature with his toes. Then he promptly dozed off.

Forty-five minutes later, Pitt slipped on a robe and turned on the TV

set. He was about to reheat a pot of Texas chili when the buzzer on the intercom sounded. He pressed the door speaker button, half-expecting Al Giordino to answer.

"Yes?"

"Greenland catering," a feminine voice answered.

He laughed and pressed a switch that unlocked the side door. He stepped onto the balcony and stared down.

Lily walked in carrying a large picnic basket. She stopped and gazed in astonishment for several moments, her eyes dazzled by the light reflecting off the sea of chrome and highly polished lacquer paint.

"Admiral Sandecker tried to describe your place to me," she said admiringly, "but he didn't do it justice."

Pitt came down the stairs to meet her. He took the picnic basket and nearly dropped it. "This thing weighs a ton. What's in it?"

"Our late dinner. I stopped off at a delicatessen and picked up a few goodies."

"Smells like a tasty menu."

"We begin with smoked salmon followed by wild mushroom soup, spinach salad with pheasant and walnuts, linguine in oyster sauce and white wine, all washed down with a bottle of Principessa Gavi. for dessert we have coffee chocolate trifle. "

Pitt looked down at Lily and smiled in genuine admiration. Her face was alive and her eyes sparkling. There was a vibrancy he had not noticed before. Her hair was brushed long and straight. She wore a tight-fitting tank dress with a revealing back and black sequins that flashed as she walked. Free of the heavy coat she had worn since Greenland, her breasts loomed larger and her hips more slender than he had pictured them in his imagination. Her legs were long and angled provocatively, and she moved with a sensual vivacity.

After they entered his living room, Pitt dropped the food basket in a chair and reached out and took her hand. "We can eat later," he said softly.

In automatic shyness she dropped her gaze downward, then slowly, as if drawn by an irresistible force, her eyes slowly rose to meet his. Pitts green eyes were so piercing that her legs grew weak and her hands trembled. She began to flush.

This was stupid, Lily thought. She had carried the seduction, down to the right wine, the dress and the alluring black lace bra and panties beneath. And now she was swept by confusion and doubt. She didn't dream things would move so quickly.

Without a word Pitt peeled the straps from Lily's shoulders, allowing the sequined dress to fall in a pool of shimmering light around her high heels. He slipped his hands around her bare waist and under her knees, lifting her body in one flowing motion.

As he carried her into the bedroom she buried her face against his chest. "I feel like a brazen harlot," she whispered.

Pitt tenderly laid her on the bed and looked down. The sight of her body made the fire burn within him.

"Better," he said in a husky voice, "that you act like one."

Yazid entered the dining hall of his villa. He paused and gave a brief nod at the long table covered with plates, serving dishes, eating utensils and goblets, all cast in bronze.

"I trust my friends enjoyed their dinner."

Mohammed alHakim, a scholarly mullah who was Yazid's shadow, pushed back his chair and stood. "Excellent as always, Akhmad. But we missed your enlightened presence."

"Allah does not reveal his wishes to me when my stomach is full," Yazid said with a faint smile. He looked around the room at the five men who had risen to their feet and were acknowledging his authority with varied degrees of respect.

No two were dressed alike. Colonel Naguib Bashir, leader of a clandestine organization of pro-Yazid officers, had worn a loose flowing djellaba with long sleeves and hood to conceal his identity since leaving Cairo. A turban sat like a grotesque lump on the head of alHakim, and his frail body was covered from shoulders to feet in a drab robe of black cotton worn smooth. Mussa Moheidin, a journalist who was Yazid's chief propagandist, was dressed casually in slacks and a sports shirt open at the neck, while the young Turk of the group, Khaled Fawzy, the ramrod of the revolutionary council, wore battle fatigues.

Only Suleiman Ammar was impeccably dressed in a Wlored safari suit.

"You must all be wondering why I called this emergency meeting," Yazid announced, so I won't waste time. Allah has provided me with a plan to rid ourselves of President Hasan and his den of corrupt thieves in one master stroke. Now please be seated and finish your coffee."

He walked over to one wall and pushed a switch. A large colored map slowly dropped toward the floor. Amniar recognized it as a standard Egyptian school map of South America, A blowup of the coastal city of Punta del Este, Uruguay, was circled in red. Taped to the lower half of the map was an enlarged photo of a luxury cruise ship.

The men around the table sat down again, their faces expressionless.

Their interest was hooked. They waited patiently to hear the revelation Allah had bestowed on their religious leader.

Only Ammar veiled his skepticism. He was too much the realist to believe in pious concoctions.

"In six days," Yazid began, "the international economic summit meetings, brought on by the world monetary crisis, will be held in the resort city of Punta del Este, former scene of the Inter-American Economic and Social Council conference which proclaimed the Alliance for Progress.

The debtor nations, except Egypt, have banded together to repudiate all loans and erase foreign debt. This act will force hundreds of banks in the United States and Europe to fail. Western bankers and their national financial experts have called for round-the-clock talks in a last-ditch attempt to stall the coming economic catastrophe. Our imperialist bootlicking President is the only holdout. Hasan is scheduled to attend the talks and undermine-tine our Islamic brothers and third World friends by begging the Western money changers for more loans to keep his eroding grip on Egypt. This we will not permit. Bis millah, we will take advantage of this moment to establish a true Islamic government for our people."

"I say we kill the tyrant and be done with it," Khaled Fawzy said harshly. He was young and arrogant and tactless. Already his impatience had resulted in a failed coup by his student revolutionaries that had cost thirty lives. His dark eyes darted back and forth around the table. "One well-placed ground-to air missile as Hasan's plane takes off for Uruguay, and we will be rid of his corrupt regime for good."

"And open the door for Defense Minister Abu Hamid to set himself up as dictator before we are ready," finished Mussa Moheidin. The famous Egyptian writer was in his mid-sixties. He was a witty, urbane and articulate man, with a slow and gracious manner. Moheidin was the only man at the table Ammar truly respected.

Yazid turned to Bashir. "Is that a valid prediction, Colonel?"

Bashir nodded. A vain and shallow man, he was quick to display his narrow vision of military affairs. "Mussa is right. Abu Hamid dangles the prospect of his support for you, using the excuse that he is waiting for you to produce a mandate from the people. This is merely a stalling tactic. Hamid is ambitious. He is banking on an opportunity to use the army to set himself up as President."

"All too true," said Fawzy. "One of his close aides is a member of our movement. He revealed that Haniid plans to install himself as President and consolidate his position by marrying Hala Kamil because of her popularity with the people. "

Yazid smiled. "He has built a castle of sand. Hala Kamil will not be available for the marriage ceremony."

"Is that a certainty?" asked Ammar.

"Yes," Yazid answered smoothly. "Allah has willed that she not live beyond the next sun."

"Please share your revelation, Akhmad," begged alHakim. Unlike the other dark-skinned men around him, alHakim had the face of a man who had spent half his life in a dungeon. His pale skin seemed almost transparent. Yet the eyes, which were magnified by thick-lensed glasses, were set in unshakable determination, Yazid nodded. "I have been informed by my well-placed sources in Mexico that because of an unexpected heavy invasion of tourists there is a shortage of luxury hotel rooms and palatial residences in Punta del Este. To keep their nation from losing the summit talks and the international limelight, Uruguayan officials have arranged for the foreign leaders and their statesmen to be hosted on board chartered luxury cruise ships moored in the port. Hasan and the Egyptian delegation will be staying on a British liner called the Lady Flamborough. President De Lo nzo of Mexico and his staff will also be on board.

Yazid paused and looked from one man to the next. Then he said, "AHah came to me in a vision and commanded me to seize the ship."

"Praise be to Allah!" Fawzy burst out.

The other men glanced at each other, incredulous. Then they turned their attention back to Yazid, expectantly, without voicing a question.

"I see by the look in your eyes, my friends, you doubt my vision."

"Never," said alHakim solemnly. "But perhaps you misinterpreted Allah's command."

"No, it was quite clear. The ship with President Hasan and his ministers must be seized."

"for what purpose?" asked Mussa Moheidin.

"To seal off Hasan and prevent his return to Cairo while our forces sweep into power."

"Abu Hamid wig call out the army to foil any overthrow other than his,"

cautioned Colonel Bashir. "I know this for a fact. "

"Haniid cannot stop a tidal wave of revolutionary fervor," said Yazid.

"Civil unrest is at a peak. The masses are fed up with harsh austerity brought on by payment demands on foreign loans. He and Hasan are cutting their own throats by not denouncing the godless moneylenders.

Egypt can only be saved by embracing the purity of Islamic law."

Khaled Fawzy leaped to his feet and raised a fist. "You have only to give me the order, Akhmad, and I will have people in the streets."

Yazid paused, breathing heavily with religious zeal. Then he said, "The people will lead. I will follow."

The expression on alHakim's face was grave. "I must confessI have dark misgivings."

"You are a coward!" Fawzy snapped in rash defiance.

"Mo ed alHakim is wiser than you," said Moheidin patiently. "I know his mind. He does not wish a repeat of the Achille Lauro fiasco in nineteen eighty-five, when Palestinians commandeered the ltahan crew liner and murdered an old Jew invalid in a wheelchair."

Bashir spoke up. "Terrorist slaughter will not help our cause. "

"You wish to go against the will of Allah?" said Yazid, annoyed.

Everyone began talking at once. The room went sour with vehemence as they argued back and forth.

Only Ammar remained detached. They're idiots, he thought, goddamned idiots. He tuned out of the debate and stared at the photo of the cruise ship. The wheels inside his head began to shift through the gears.

"We are not only Egyptians," argued Bashir, "we are Arabs. The other Arab nations will Turn against us if we murder our officials and any of theirs who get in the way. They won't see it as a gift from Allah, but rather as a political terrorist plot."

Moheidin gestured toward Fawzy. "Khaled made a point. Better to kill Hasan on home territory than launch a bloodbath on board a ship holding the leader of Mexico and his delegation as well."

"We cannot condone an act of mass terrorism," said alHakim. "The negative consequences for our new government would be disastrous."

"You are all worms who belong in Hasan's camp," Fawzy spat. "I say attack the ship and show the world our power."

Nobody paid any attention to the militant fanatic who was viciously anti-Jew and anti-Christian.

"Don't you see, Akhmad," pleaded Bashir, "security in Punta del Este will be impossible to penetrate? Uruguayan patrol boats will be thick as locusts. Every ship housing sumnut leaders will be heavily guarded.

You're talking a suicide assault by an army of commandos. It simply can't be done."

"We will have help from a source that must remain confidential," said Yazid. He turned and studied Ammar. "You, Suleiman-You're our expert on undercover operations. If a team of our best fighters can be smuggled on board the Lady Flamborough without detection, can the ship be taken and held until we can form a republic in the name of Islam?"

"Yes," replied Ammar, without taking his eyes off the cruise ship's photo. The voice was quiet, but it carried total conviction. "Six days is cutting it slim, but the ship can be carried with ten experienced fighting men and five experienced seamen, with no bloodshed providing we have the element of suprise."

Yazid's eyes gleamed. "Ah, I knew I could count on you."

"Impossible," Bashir roared. "You could never smuggle that many men into Uniguay without arousing suspicion. And even if through some miracyou captured the ship and subdued the crew, every special assault team in the West would be swarming over your hide inside of twenty-four hours. Threats to kill the hostages won't stop them. You'd "

"I can take and hold the Lady Flamborough for two weeks."

Bashir shook his head. "You're lost in a dream world."

"How is that possible?" asked Moheidin. "I'm interested in learning how you expect to outwit an army of highly trained international security forces without a pitched battle."

"I don't intend to fight."

"This is nonsense!" Yazid said, shocked.

"Not really," said Ammar. "It's all in knowing the trick."

"Trick?"

"Precisely." Ammar smiled benignly. "You see, I plan on making the Lady Flamborough, her crew and passengers, an crew disappear.

"My visit is strictly unofficial," Julius Schiller advised Hala Kamil as they stepped into the log-beamed sitting room of Senator Pitts ski lodge. "My aides are covering for me, saying I'm fishing in Key West."

"I understand," said Hala. "I'm grateful for the chance to talk to someone other than the cook and Secret Service guards."

She greeted him dressed fashionably in an Icelandic brown wool sweater-jacket with matching pants, looking even younger than Schiller remembered.

He looked out of place at a ski resort in a business suit, polished wing-tip shoes, and carrying an attached case. "Is there anything I can arrange to make your safety more bearable?"

"No, thank you. Nothing can relieve the frustration of inactivity when there is so much I must do."

"A few more days and it will be over," Schiller said consolingly.

"I hardly expected to see you here, Julius."

"Something has come up that concerns Egypt. Our President thought it prudent you be consulted on a recent event."

Hala curled her legs under her and sipped at the tea. "Should I be flattered?"

"Let's say he'd be grateful for your cooperation."

"Regarding what?"

Schiller opened the attache case, gave Hala a bound folder and sat back with his tea. He watched as the soft features of her angelic face slowly tightened as she realized the scope of what she read, Finally she finished the last page and closed the folder. She gave Schiller a penetrating stare.

"Is the public aware of this?"

He nodded. "The discovery of the ship will be announced this afternoon.

But we're holding off any reference to the Alexandria Library treasures."

Hala gazed out the window. "Our loss of the Library sixteen centuries ago would compare to your President suddenly ordering the burning of the Washington archives, the Smithsonian Institution and the National Art Gallery."

Schiller nodded. "A fair comparison."

"Is there hope the ancient books can be recovered?"

"We don't know yet. The wax tables from the ship only provided a few tantalizing clues. The hiding place could be anywhere between Iceland and South Africa."

"But you do intend to search," she said, her interest growing.

"The discovery project is underway."

"Who else knows about this?"

"Only the President, myself and a few trusted members of our government, and now you."

"Why have you included me and not President Hasan?"

Schiller got up and walked across the room. Then he turned back to Hala. "Your nation's leader may not be in control much longer. We feel the information is too far-reaching to fall into the wrong hands."

"Akhmad Yazid."

"Frankly, yes."

"Your government will have to deal with him sooner or later," said Hala.

"If the Library treasures and their valuable geological data can be located, Yazid will demand they be returned to Egypt."

"We understand," said Schiller. "That's the purpose behind our meeting here in Breckinridge-The President wishes you to announce the imminent discovery in your address to the United Nations."

Hala looked at Schiller thoughtfully for a moment. Then her eyes turned and anger came into her voice.

"How can I say the discovery is just around the corner when a search may take years and never be successful? I find it most distasteful that the President and his advisers insist on creating a lie and using me to speak it. Is this another one of your stupid Middle East foreign policy games, Julius? A last-ditch gamble to keep President Hasan in power and erode Akhmad Yazid's influence? Am I the tool to mislead the Egyptian people into believing rich mineral deposits are about to be found in their country that will Turn around our depressed economy and eliminate the terrible poverty?"

Schiller sat silently and made no denials.

"You have come to the wrong woman, Julius. I'll see my government fall, and face death from Yazid's executioners, before I deceive my people with false hope."

"Noble sentiments," Schiller said quietly. "I admire your principles; however, I firmly believe the plan is sound."

"The risk is too great. If the President fails to provide the Library's great knowledge, he will be inviting a political disaster. Yazid will take advantage with a propaganda campaign that will broaden his power base and make him stronger than your experts on Egypt can ever conceive.

for the tenth time in as many years, United States foreign policy experts will look like amateurish clowns in the eyes of the world."

"Mistakes have been made," Schiller admitted.

"If only you hadn't interfered in our affairs."

"I didn't come here to debate Middle eastern policy, Hala. I came to ask your help."

She shook her head and turned away. "I'm sorry. I can't go on record with a lie."

Schiller looked at her with compassion in his eyes. He didn't push her, but thought it better to back off.

"I'll tell the President of your response," he said, picking up his attache case and making for the doorway. "He'll be most disappointed."

"Wait!"

He turned expectantly.

Hala rose and came to him. "Prove to me that your people have a positive lead to the location of the Library artifacts and not a foggy clue, and I'll do as the White House wishes."

"You'll make the announcement?"

"Yes.

"Four days until your address is not much time."

"Those are my terms," Hala said bluntly. Schiller nodded gravely

"Accepted."

Then he turned and walked out the door.

Muhammad Ismail watched Schiller's limousine come off the private road leading to Senator Pitts lodge and Turn onto Highway 9 toward the ski town of Breckenridge. He did not see who was seated in the rear seat, and he did not care.

The sight of the official car, men patrolling the grounds who spoke into radio transmitters at regular intervals, and the two armed guards inside a Dodge van at the road's enumce were all he needed to confirm the information purchased by Yazid's agents in Washington.

Ismail leaned casually against a large Mercedes-Benz diesel sedan, shielding a man sitting inside peeling out an open window through a pair of binoculars. A rack on the roof held several sets of skis. lsmail was dressed in a white ski suit. A matching ski mask hid his perpetually scowling face.

"Seen enough?" he asked while seemingly adjusting the ski rack.

"Another minute," answered the observer. He was staring at the lodge, which was partially visible through the trees. All that could be seen around the binoculars was a heavy black beard and a mass of uncombed hair.

"Make it quick. I'm freezing out here just standing around."

"Bear with me another minute."

"How does it look?" asked Ismail.

"No more than a five-man detail. Three in the house. Two in the van.

Only one man patrols around the grounds at a time, not a second more than thirty minutes. They don't dally. The cold gets to them too. They walk the same trail through the snow. No sign of TV cameras, but they probably have one mounted in the van that is monitored inside the house."

"We'll move in two groups," said Ismail. "One takes the house, the other kills the guard patrolling outside and destroys the van from the road, where they least expect an attack."

The observer dropped the glasses. "Do you plan to move in tonight, Muhammad?"

"No," answered ismail. "Tomorrow, when the American pigs are stuffing their mouths with their morning meal."

"A daylight raid will be dangerous."

"We will not sneak around in the dark like women."

"But our only escape route to the airport is through the center of town," the observer protested. "The streets will be crowded with traffic and hundreds of skiers. Suleiman Ammar would not risk such an adventure."

lsmail suddenly spun and slapped the observer with his gloved hand. "I am in charge here!" he snapped. "Suleiman is an overrated jackal. Do not speak his name in my presence."

The observer did not cower. His dark eyes flashed with hostility. "You'll kill us all," he said quietly.

"So be it," Ismail hissed, his voice as cold as the snow. "If we die so Hala Kamil can die, the price will be cheap."

"Magnificent," said Pitt.

"Gorgeous, simply gorgeous," Lily murmured.

Giordino nodded in agreement. "A real winner."

They were standing in an antique and classic automobile restoration shop, and their admiring stares were directed toward a 1930 L-29 Cord town car, a model with an open front for the chauffeur. The body was painted burgundy while the fenders were a buff that was matched by the leather-covered roof over the passenger's compartment. Elegantly styled, long and graceful, the car had front-wheel drive that helped to give it a low silhouette. The original coachmaker had stretched the chassis until it measured nearly five-and-a-half meters from front to rear bumper. Almost half the length was hood, beginning with a race-car-type grill and ending with a sharply raked windshield.

It was big and sleek, a thing of beauty that belonged to an era fondly revered by older generations but unknown to those who followed.

The man who had found Pitts car stored in an old garage, hidden under forty years of trash, and had restored it from a mangled hulk, was proud of his handiwork. Robert Esbenson, a tall man with a pixie face and limpid blue eyes, gave the hood a final, loving wipe with a dust cloth and turned the car over to Pitt.

"I hate to see this one go."

"You've done a remarkable job," said Pitt.

"Are you going to ship it home?"

"Not just yet. I'd like to drive it for a few days."

Esbenson nodded. "Okay, let me adjust the carburetor and distributor for our high altitude. Then, when you return to the shop, I'll have it detailed and arrange for an auto transporter to ship it to Washington."

"Can I ride in it?" Lily asked anxiously.

"All the way to Breckenridge," Pitt replied. He turned to Giordino.

"Coming with us, Al?"

"Why not? We can leave the rental car outside in the parking lot."

They switched the luggage, and ten minutes later Pitt turned the Cord onto Interstate 70 and aimed the long hood toward the foothills leading into the snow-peaked Rocky Mountains.

Lily and Al sat warmly in the luxurious passenger compartment separated from Pitt by the divider window. Pitt did not pull out the transformable top that protected the chauffeur's seat, but sat in the open bundled up in a heavy sheepskin coat, savoring the cold air on his face.

for the moment his mind was on his driving, scanning the instruments to make sure the sixty-year-old car was performing as it was designed to do. He held to the right lane, allowing most of the traffic to pass and gawk.

Pitt felt exhilarated and content behind the wheel, listening to the smooth purr of the eight-cylinder engine and the mellow tone of the exhaust. It was as though he had control over a living thing.

if he had had any inkling of the mess he was driving into, he would have turned around and headed straight back to Denver.

Darkness had fallen over the Continental Divide when the Cord rolled into the legendary Colorado mining town turned ski resort. Pitt drove up the main street, whose old buildings retained their historic western flavor. The sidewalks were crowded with people coming from the slopes, carrying their skis and poles over one shoulder.