Текст книги "Treasure"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

"I endure the same inconvenience."

"We both have our own cross to bear," Topiltzin said in a bored tone.

"Do not get careless so close to success."

"I don't intend to. None of my people would dare disturb my privacy.

Whenever I'm alone, they think I'm communicating with the gods."

The other man smiled. "The routine sounds familiar."

"Shall we get down to business?" said Topiltzin.

"All right, what's the status?"

"The arrangements are sealed. Everyone will be in his place at the right moment. I paid out over ten million pesos in bribes to set up the rendezvous. Once the fools on the take did their job, they were sacrificed, not only to guarantee their silence but also as a warning to those who are waiting to carry out our instructions. "

"My congratulations. You're very thorough."

"I leave the cleverness to you."

There was a friendly silence after this remark, which lasted several moments while both men rested on their thoughts. At last the caller smiled craftily and produced a small brandy snifter from beneath a fold of his gown. "Your health."

Topiltzin gave a satiric laugh and raised his champagne glass. "To a successful venture."

The ethereal visitor paused. "A successful venture," he repeated, and then added, "with no snags." After an even longer pause he said pensively, "It will be interesting to see how our efforts alter the fumm."

The roar of the engines lessened as the uinnarked Beechcraft jet lifted away from Buckley Field outside Denver and rose toward its crusing altitude. The snowcapped rockies fell away behind as the aircraft set its nose across the great plains.

"The President sends his best wishes for a speedy recovery," said Dale Nichols. "He was quite angered when briefed on your ordeal '

"Madder than hell is a better description," Schiller cut in.

"Let's say he wasn't happy," Nichols continued. "He asked me to express his apologies for not providing stronger security measures and promised he will do everything within his power to ensure your safety while you remain in the United States."

"Tell him I'm grateful," Hala replied, "and please beg him for me to give every consideration to the families of the men who died saving my life."

"They'll be well taken care of," Nichols assured her.

Hala was lying propped in a bed, wearing a white velour sweatsuit striped in jade with a knit polo collar. Her right ankle was in a plaster cast. She looked at Nichols, then toward Julius Schiller and Senator Pitt, who were all seated opposite her bed. "I'm honored that three such distinguished gentlemen took time from their busy schedules to fly to Colorado and accompany me back to New York."

"If we can do anything-"

"You've done much more than any foreigner on your soil could expect."

"You have the lives of a cat," said Senator Pitt.

Her lips parted in a slight smile. "I owe two of them to your son. He has a capacity for appearing in the right place when you least expect him."

"I saw Dirk's old car. It's a miracle you all survived."

"A truly beautiful machine," Hala sighed. "A pity it was destroyed. "

Nichols cleared his throat. "If we may touch on the subject of your address to the U.N. tomorrow . . ."

"Have your people turned up any solid data leading to the Alexandria missing artifacts?" Hala asked sharply.

Nichols glanced at the Senator and Schiller with the look of a man who suddenly stepped in quicksand. The Senator threw him a rope and gave the reply.

"We haven't had time to launch a massive search," he said honestly. "We know little more than we did four days ago."

Nichols began hesitantly. "The President . . . he hoped . . ."

"I'll save you time, Mr. Nichols." Hala's eyes turned to Schiller. "You may rest easy, Juhus, my speech will include a brief report on the inuninent discovery of the Alexandria Library antiquities."

"I'm glad to hear you've changed your mind."

"Considering recent events, I owe your government that much."

Nichols was visibly relieved. "Your announcement will give President Hasan a sharp political advantage over Akhmad Yazid, and a golden opportunity to boost Egyptian nationalism over religious fulldamentalism."

"Don't expect too much," said the Senator. "We're only filling cracks on a crumbling fort."

Schiller's lips parted in a cold smile. "I'd give a month's salary to see Yazid's face when he realizes he's been had."

"I'm afraid he'll really come after Hala with a vengeance," said Schiller.

"I don't think so," said Nichols. "If the FBI can link a chain from the dead terrorists to Yazid and then to the assassin responsible for the plane crash with the death of sixty people, many moderate Egyptians who do not condone terrorism will withdraw their support from his movement.

With an internationally publicized terrorist mission laid on his doorstep, he'd have to think twice before ordering another attempt on Ms. Kainil's life."

"Mr. Nichols is correct on one point," said Hala. "Most Egyptians are Sunni Moslems who do not follow the bloody revolutionary dnimbeat of the Iranian Shiites. They prefer an evolutionary approach that slowly changes the people's loyalty from a democratic government to a religious leadership. They will not accept Yazid's bloodlust methods." Hala paused a moment. "I disagree on the second point. Yazid won't rest until I'm dead. He is too fanatical to give up. He's probably planning another attempt on my life this minute."

"She may be right; we must keep a sharp intelligence eye on Yazid,"

cautioned the Senator.

"What are your plans after your U.N. address?" asked Schiller.

"This morning, before we left the hospital, I was given a letter from President Hasan by an attache from our embassy in Washington. President Hasan wishes me to meet with him."

"Once you leave our boundaries we can't guarantee your protection,"

Nichols warned her.

"I understand," she replied. "But there is little cause for concern.

Since President Sadat's assassination, Egyptian security people have become quite efficient."

"May I ask where this meeting will be held?" queried Schiller. "Or is it none of my business?"

"No secret; in fact it will be covered by the world news media," Hala answered nonchalantly. "President Hasan and I will confer during the coming economic meetings in Punta del Este, Uruguay."

The mangled and bullet-holed Cord sat forlornly in the middle of the shop floor. benson slowly circled the car and shook his head sadly.

"This is the first time I've ever had to restore a classic car two days after I finished it."

"We had a bad day," Giordino explained. He was wearing a neck brace, one arm was in a sling, and his nicked ear was heavily bandaged.

"It's a wonder any of you are standing here."

Except for six stitches, mostly hidden by his hair, Pitt was unmarked.

He patted the buckled chrome radiator shell as if the car was an injured pet.

"Lucky for us they used to build them to last," he said quietly.

Lily limped painfully from the shop office. Her left cheek was bruised and the opposite eye was blackened.

"I have Hiram Yaeger on the phone," she announced.

Pitt nodded. He put a hand on benson's shoulder. "Make her even better than she was before."

"We're looking at six months and heavy bucks," said benson.

"Time is no problem and neither is money." Pitt paused and broke into a grin. "The government is going to foot the bill this time around." He turned, walked into the office and picked up the phone. "Hiram, you got something for me?"

"Just a status report," Yaeger replied from Washington. "I've eliminated the Baltic Sea and the coastline of Norway."

"And nothing showed."

"Nothing worth celebrating. No matching of geologic contours or geographic descriptions from the Serapis log. The barbarians Rufinus mentioned don't come close to fitting the early Vikings. He wrote of people who resembled Scydiians, but with darker skins."

"That bothered me too," Pitt agreed. "The Scythians came from Central Asia. Not damned likely they'd have been fairskinned and blond."

"I see no sense in continuing the computer search around Norway into the northern waters of Russia."

"I agree. What about Iceland? The Vikings didn't settle there for another five hundred years. Maybe Rufinus meant Eskimos."

"No go," said Yaeger. "I checked. Eskimos never migrated to Iceland.

Rufinus also threw in the mystery of the 'great sea of dwarflike pines.'

He couldn't have found them on Iceland. And don't forget, you're talking about a six-hundred-mile voyage across some of the worst seas in the world. Historical marine records are quite precise: Roman ship captains rarely sailed out of sight of land for more than two days. The voyage from the nearest European land mass would have taken at least four and a half days under ideal conditions. "

"So where do we go from here?"

"I'll run the West African coast by again. We might have missed something. Dark-skinned Africans and a warmer climate seem more logical than the cold northern countries, especially to men from the Mediterranean."

"You still have to explain how the Serapis came to be in Greenland."

"A projection of wind and currents could give us a clue."

"I'm flying back to Washington tonight," said Pitt. "I'll look in on you tomorrow."

"Maybe I'll have something," said Yaeger, but his tone did not sound optimistic.

Pitt hung up and stepped from the office. Lily looked at him with an expression of hope. Then she read the disappointment in his eyes.

"No good news?" she asked.

He shrugged negatively. "Seems we haven't left square one."

She took his arm. "Yaeger will come through," she said encouragingly.

"He can't work miracles."

Giordino held up a watch on his good arm. "We don't have much time to make our flight. We'd better get rolling."

Pitt walked over, shook benson's hand and smiled. "Make her well again.

She saved our lives."

benson looked at him. "Only if you promise me you'll keep her away from flying bullets and ski slopes."

"Done."

After they left for the airport, benson opened a rear door of the Cord.

The door handle came off in his hand.

"God," he said mournfully, "what a mess."

A loud roar of applause erupted in the public galleries and swept over the delegates on the main floor below as Hala refused all assistance and slowly made her way to the podium on crutches. She stood behind the podium, poised and serene, speaking in a strong, convincing voice. Her theatrics were low-key and subtle. She moved the audience with an emotional appeal to stop the useless killing of innocent people in the name of religion. Only when she called for a censure of governments that turned a blind eye toward terrorist organizations did a few delegates shift in their seats and stare into space.

An undercurrent of murmurs trailed her news of the forthcoming Alexandria Library discovery as the immense potential took time to sink in. Then Akhmad Yazid came in for a scathing attack, as she accused him directly of the attempts on her life.

Hala concluded by firmly stating she would not be driven out of her position as SecretaryGeneral by threats of future harm, but would remain until her fellow delegates asked for her resignation.

The response was a standing ovation that became thunder ous as she stood off to one side of the podium and displayed the cast on her ankle.

"She's some lady," said the President admiringiy. "What I wouldn't give to have her sit in my cabinet." He pressed the off button on a remote control and the television screen went black.

"An excellent speech," said Senator Pitt. "She tore Yazid apart-and made a good pitch on the Library search project."

The President nodded. "Yes, she came through for us on both counts."

"You know, of course, she's leaving for Uruguay to confer with President Hasan."

"Dale Nichols briefed me on the conversation you had with her on the plane," the President acknowledged. He was seated behind his desk in the Oval Office. "How do we stand on the search?"

"NUMA!s computer facility is working on a location," answered the Senator.

"Are they close?"

The Senator shook his head. "No closer now to a breakthrough than they were four days ago."

I.Can't we speed up the process? Bring in a think tank, university people, other government agencies?"

Senator Pitt looked doubtful. "NUMA has the finest computer library in the world on oceans, lakes and rivers. If they can't find the destination of the Egyptian fleet, no one can."

"What about archaeological and historical records?" the President suggested. "Maybe something's been uncovered in the past that could offer a clue."

"Might be worth a try. I know a good man at Penn State University who's a triple-A researcher. He can have my people digging the archives here and in Europe by this time tomorrow."

"Good, give him a crack at it."

"Now that the news media and Hala have spread the word," said the Senator, "half the governments and most of the fortune hunters of the world will be on the hunt for the Library collection."

"I considered that probability going in," the President said.

"But propping up President Hasan's government takes top priority. If we make the discovery first and then pretend to back down after Hasan makes a dramatic show of demanding the artifacts be returned to Egypt, his domestic popularity will take a big jump, and make him a hero in the eyes of the Egyptian people."

"While stalling off the threat of a takeover by Yazid and his followers," added the Senator. "The only problem is Yazid himself. The man is extremely unpredictable. Our best Middle East experts can't read him. He's liable to pull a rabbit out of the hat and steal the scene."

The President looked at him steadily. "I see no problem in cutting him out of the limelight when the artifacts are turned over to President Hasan."

"I'm on your side, Mr. President, but it's dangerous to underestimate Yazid."

"He's far from perfect."

"Yes, but unlike the Ayatollah Khomeini, Akhmad Yazid is a brilliant intellect. He's what the advertising agencies call a good concept man."

"In political areas perhaps, but hardly in assassinations."

The Senator shrugged and ssighed knowingly. "His plans were, no doubt, screwed up by his henchmen. As President, you know better than anyone how easily an aide or adviser can botch a simple project."

The President smiled back without humor. He leaned back in his chair and toyed with a pen. "We know damned little about Yazid, where he came from, what makes him tick."

"He claims to have spent the first thirty years of his life wandering the Sinai desert talking to Allah."

"So he's lifted a page from Jesus Christ. What else do we have on him?"

"You might ask Dale Nichols," answered the Senator. "I understand he's working with the CIA on building a biographical and psychological profile."

"Let's see if they've come up with anything." The President pressed a button on his intercom. "Dale, can you come in for a minute?"

"Be right there," came Nichols's voice over the speaker.

Neither of the men in the Oval Office spoke during the fifteen seconds Nichols took to walk from his office. He knocked, then opened the door and stepped in.

"We were discussing Akhmad Yazid," the President informed him. "Have Brogan's people turned up any data on his background?"

"I talked to Martin only an hour ago," replied Nichols. "He said his analysts should have a file put together in another day or two."

"I want to see it the minute it's completed," said the President.

"Not to change the subject," said Senator Pitt, "but shouldn't someone brief President Hasan on what we've got in mind in case the Library collection can be pinpointed in the next few weeks?"

The President nodded. "Definitely." He stared directly at the Senator.

"Think you could sneak off for forty-eight hours and do the honors, George?"

"You want me to meet with Hasan in Uruguay." It was more a statement than question.

"Do you mind?"

"This is really a matter for Doug Oates over at the State Department. He and Joe Arnold from Treasury are already in Kingston holding preliminary meetings with foreign economic leaders. Do you think it wise to go behind his back?"

"Ordinarily, no. But you're better informed on the search project.

You've also met with President Hasan on four different occasions, and you're close to Hala Kamil. Simply put, you're the best man for the job."

The Senator lifted his hands in resignation. "No heavy votes coming up in the Senate. My staff can cover for me. if you arrange for a government plane, I can leave here early Tuesday and arrive the following afternoon."

"Thank you, George, you're a good scout." The President paused, and then sprang the trap. "There is one other thing."

"There always is." The Senator sighed.

"I'd like you to inform President Hasan 'm private, under the strictest secrecy, that I will fully cooperate with him in the event he decides to remove Yazid."

The Senator's voice was shocked. "Since when does the White House deal in political assassination? I implore you, Mr. President, do not lower your office into the slime with Yazid and other terrorists."

"If someone had had the foresight to take Khomeini for a ride twelve years ago, the Middle East would be a far more peaceful place."

"King George might have said the same about George Washington and the colonies in 1778."

"Come now, George, we could spend all day making comparisons. The final decision is up to Hasan. He has to give the go-ahead."

"A bad idea," saidd the Senator resolutely. "I have grave doubts about such an offer. If this leaked out it could shatter your Presidency."

"I respect your advice and honesty. That's why you're the only man I can trust to deliver the message."

The Senator caved in. "I'll do as you ask and gladly brief Hasan on the Library proposal, but don't expect me to sell him on Yazid's murder even if it's deserved."

"I'll see that Hasan's staff is alerted to your arrival," said Nichols, stepping in diplomatically.

The President rose from behind his desk, signaling the end of the conference. He shook hands with the Senator.

"I'm grateful, old friend. I'll look forward to your report Wednesday afternoon. We'll have an early supper together."

"See you then, Mr. President."

"Have a good flight."

As Senator Pitt left the Oval Office he had a dire sense that the President might very well be dining alone Wednesday evening.

The Lady Flamborough slipped smoothly into the tiny harbor of Punta del Este just minutes before the sun fell over the western interior of the mainland. A soft breeze drifted in from the south that barely fluttered the Union Jack on her stern.

She was a beautiful cruise ship, trim and handsomely designed, with a streamlined superstructure. She broke with the traditional British black hull and more common white on her upper works. She was painted entirely in a soft slate blue with a sharply raked funnel banded in royal purple and burgundy.

One of the new breed of sleek, small cruise ships, the Lady Flamborough looked more like a posh motor yacht. Her trim 101-meter-long hull contained the most sumptuous luxuries afloat. With only fifty large suites, she carried just one hundred passengers, who were catered to by an equal number of crew members.

On this voyage, however, from her home port in San Juan, Puerto Rico, she sailed without passengers.

"Two degrees port," said the dark-skinned pilot.

"Two degrees port," acknowledged the helmsman.

The pilot stood in loose khaki shirt and shorts and kept a calculating eye on the finger of land that sheltered the bay until it slipped behind the Lady Flamborough's stern.

"Begin coming around to starboard and hold steady at zero eight zero."

The helmsman dutifully repeated the command and the ship very slowly swung on its new course.

The harbor was crowded with yachts and other cruise ships riving flocks of colorful pointed and swallowtail pennants. Some vessels were chartered as floating hotels for the economic conference, others were filled with their usual complement of vacationing passengers.

Half a kilometer from the mooring site the pilot ordered the engines on

"dead stop." The luxurious ship slipped through the calm water on her momentum, eating up the distance and gradually easing to a halt.

Satisfied, the pilot spoke into a portable transmitter. "We're in position. Slow aft and drop the hook."

The order was relayed to the bow, and the anchor payed out as the ship very slightly moved astern. When the flukes dug into the harbor silt, the slack was taken up and the order was given to ring the engines to

"off."

Captain Oliver Collins, a slim man standing straight as a plumb line in an impeccably tailored white uniform, nodded at the pilot in respect and offered his hand.

"Neatly done as always, Mr. Campos." Captain Collins had known the pilot for almost twenty years, yet he never referred to anyone, even his closest friends, by his Christian name.

"If her length stretched another thirty meters I couldn't squeeze her in." Harry Campos smiled, revealing an array of tobacco-stained teeth.

His accent was more hish than Spanish. "Sorry we can't slip her into a berth, Captain, but I was told to moor you in the harbor."

"for security reasons, I should imagine," said Collins.

Campos lit the stub of a cigar. "The bigwig meetings have the whole island turned upside down. You'd think there was a sniper behind every palm the way security police are acting."

Collins stared through the bridge windows at the popular playground of South America. "I'll not complain. This ship will be hosting the presidents of Mexico and Egypt during the conference.

"That a fact?" muttered Campos. "No wonder they wanted to keep your vessel offshore."

"May I offer you a drink in my cabin, or better yet, considering the hour, would you do the honor of dining with me?"

Campos shook his head. "My thanks for the invite, Captain." He paused and motioned at the mass of ships filling the harbor. "But she's a busy time. Maybe a rain check for your next layover."

Campos filled out his document for payment and handed it to Captain Collins, who signed. Campos looked through the aft bridge windows at the immaculate decks of the ship.

"One of these days I'll take a holiday and sail with you as a passenger."

"Let me know," said Collins. "I'll see the company covers all your expenses."

"A mighty kind offer. If I tell my wife, she'll never let up till I take advantage of it."

"A pleasure, Mr. Campos. any time you say the word."

The pilot boat came alongside and Campos jumped onto the deck from the boarding ladder. He gave a final wave as the boat pulled away and headed out to sea to pilot the next incoming vessel.

"Most enjoyable voyage I ever sailed." This from Collins's first officer, Nhchael Finney. "A frill crew and no passengers. for six days I thought I'd died and gone to heaven."

Company orders required ship's officers to spend almost as much time entertaining the passengers as sailing the ship, a duty Finney hated with a passion. A fine seaman, he stayed away from the main dining salon as much as possible, preferring to eat with his fellow officers, or making constant inspections of the ship.

Finney didn't exactly look the part of a party mixer. He was big, with a barrel chest that fought to explode from the tight confines of his uniform.

"I don't imagine you missed the joy of mingling and small talk," said Collins sarcastically.

Finney made a disagreeable face. "Wouldn't be so bad if they didn't ask the same stupid questions all the time."

"Courtesy and respect when dealing with passengers, Mr. Finney," Collins admonished. "It goes with the waters. Mind your manners in the next few days. We'll be entertaining some rather important foreign leaders and statesmen."

Finney did not reply. He gazed at the modern high-rise

"Everytime I see the old town," he said wistfully, "they ve added another hotel."

"Yes, you're from Uruguay."

"Born just west in Montevideo. My father was a sales rep for a Belfast machinery company."

"You must enjoy coming home," said Collins.

"Not really. I signed aboard a Panamanian ore carrier when I was sixteen. Mum and dad are gone. Nobody left I grew up with." He paused and pointed through the bridge window at an approaching boat. "Here come the bloody customs and immigration inspectors."

"Since we have no passengers, and the crew won't be going ashore," said Collins, "the vessel should be cleared with a rubber stamp."

"The health inspectors are the worst nuisance."

"Notify the purser, Mr. Finney. Then show them to my cabin."

"Begging your pardon, sir, but isn't that a bit much? I mean, greeting mere customs inspectors in the Captain's cabin."

"Perhaps, but I want everything to run smoothly with the bureaucracy while we're in harbor. You never know when we might require a favor."

"Aye, sir."

It was dusk as the customs and immigration officials brought their boat alongside the Lady Flamborough and mounted the boarding ladder. The ship's lights suddenly blazed on and illuminated her upper decks and superstructure. Moored amid the lights of the city and the other cruise ships, she sparkled like a diamond in a jewelry box.

The Uniguayan officials, led by Finney, approached the open doorway to the Captain's cabin. Collins studied the five men including his first officer. He was a man who missed very little, and he quickly noticed something odd about one of them. One man had on a wide-brimmed straw hat pulled low over his eyes and was wearing a jumpsuit, while the rest were dressed properly enough in the casual uniforms worn by most officials throughout the Caribbean islands.

The fellow who stood out walked without looking up, keeping his eyes on the feet of the man in front of him. When they reached the dciorway, Finney politely stood aside and allowed them to enter first.

Collins stepped forward. "Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome aboard the Lady Flamborough. I'm Captain Oliver Collins."

The visiting officials stood strangely silent and Collins and Finney exchanged curious glances. Then the man in the jumpsuit stepped forward and slowly peeled it off, revealing a white uniform with gold braid that was an exact copy of the one Collins wore. Next he removed the straw hat and replaced it with a cap that matched the uniform.

The normally calm Collins was momentarily caught off balance. He felt as though he was staring into a mirror. The stranger could easily have passed for a twin brother.

"Who are you?" Collins demanded. "What's going on here?"

"No name is necessary," said Suleiman Aziz Ammar with a disamiing smile.

"I am taking command of your ship."

Surprise is the key for any successful clandestine operation. And the surprise takeover of the Lady Flamborough was total. Except for Captain Collins, First Officer Finney and a stunned purser, who were bound, gagged and closely guarded in Finney's cabin, none of the other officers or crew had the vaguest idea their ship had been hijacked.

Ammar cut his timing to a fine edge. The bona fide Uruguayan customs inspectors showed up only twelve minutes later. He greeted them as if they were old acquaintances in his makeup and nearperfect disguise as Collins. The men he had hand-picked to play the roles of Finney and the purser kept to the shadows. They were both experienced ship's officers and bore a remarkable resemblance to their counterparts. Few crew members would have noticed the facial differences outside of three meters.

The Uruguayan officials cleared the vessel and were soon on their way.

Ammar called Collins's second and third officers to the captain's cabin.

This would be his first and most crucial test. If he passed their inspection without arousing suspicion, they would become invaluable to him as innocent accomplices to carry out the complicated plot in the next twenty-four hours.

Making himself up to look like Dale Lemk, the pilot of Nebula Flight 106, was not a difficult process. Animar had easily casta plaster mold from Lemk's face after he'd murdered him. Disguising himself to pass as the captain of the Lady Flamborough was another matter. He was forced to work from only eight photographs of Collins obtained on short notice by one of his agents in Britain. He also had to inject himself with a compound that raised his voice to an identical level with recordings of Collins's voice.

He hired a skilled artist to sculpt a likeness of Collins's face from the photos. Male and female molds were cast from the sculpture. Next, a natural latex, dyed to match Captain Collins's skin coloring, was pressed between the molds and set aside until gelation occurred, and then baked. He trimmed and carefully fitted the latex mask, using a resin-wax mixture to match minor changes in facial structure.

Then Ammar applied foamed ear and nose prosthetics and added makeup.

Finally, a correctly dyed, barbered and parted hairpiece, contact lenses to match the color of Collins's eyes, tooth caps, and Animar became the spitting image of the cruise liner's Captain.

Ammar did not have the time to study Oliver Collins's personality profile in depth or study the Captain's mannerisms. He just managed to take a cram course on shipboard duties and memorize the names and faces of the ship's officers. He had no choice but to bluff it out, relying correctly on the assumption the crew did not have the slightest reason to be skeptical. As soon as the two officers stepped into the Captain's cabin, Ammar immediately acted to tip the scales in his favor.

"Pardon me, gentlemen, for sounding and looking a bit under the weather, but I've picked up a case of the flu."

"Shall I send for the ship's doctor?" asked Second Officer Herbert Parker, physically fit, suntanned, with a smooth boyish face that seemed as if it saw a razor only on Saturday evenings.

A near-stake, thought Ammar. A doctor familiar with Collins would have spotted the masquerade in a flash.

"He's already given me enough pills to choke an elephant. I feel fit enough to muddle through my duties."

The third officer, a Scot with the unlikely name of Isaac Jones, pushed aside a shag of red hair from his high forehead. "Anything we can do, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Jones, there is," answered Ammar. "Our VIP passengers will be arriving tomorrow afternoon. You will be in charge of the welcoming party. We don't often have the honor of entertaining two presidents, and I should think the company will expect us to carry out a firstrate ceremony."