Текст книги "Treasure"

Автор книги: Clive Cussler

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 32 страниц)

PART IV

October 27, 1991

Washington D.C.

Dale Nichols and Martin Brogan stood waiting on the White House steps as the President stepped from his helicopter and walked swiftly across the lawn.

"You have something for me?" the President asked expectantly as he shook hands.

Nichols could not contain his excitement. "We've just received a report from General Dodge. His Special Operations Forces have retaken the Lady Flamborough intact in Southern Chile. Senator Pitt, Hala Kamil and Presidents De Lorenzo and Hasan were rescued in good condition."

The President was weary from a series of nonstop conferences with the Canadian Prime Minister in Ottawa, but he brightened like a streetlight.

"Thank God. That is good news. Were there any casualties?"

"Two SOF men were wounded, neither seriously, but three NUMA people were shot up pretty badly," reported Brogan.

"NUMA people were on the scene?"

"Dirk Pitt was responsible for tracking down the cruise ship. He and three others kept the hijackers from escaping along with their hostages."

"So he helped save his own father."

"He certainly deserves a major share of the credit."

The President rubbed his hands together happily. "It's al most noon, gentlemen. Why don't we celebrate with a bottle of wine over lunch, and you can give me a full report."

Secretary of State Douglas Oates, Alan Mercier, the President's National Security Adviser, and Julius Schiller also joined the group for lunch.

After dessert, Mercier passed around copies of the transcribed report from General Dodge.

The President toyed with his fork as he read the transcript. Then he looked up, a mixture of surprise and triumph on his face.

"Topiltzin!"

"He's in it up to his ears," said Brogan. "Topiltzin provided the Mexican terrorist crew and die vessel for the switch with the cruise ship."

"So he did conspire with his brother on the Lady Flamborough hijacking,"

the President said confidentially.

Nichols nodded. "The facts add up that way, but it won't be easy to prove."

"any idea as to the identity of the mastermind behind the operation?"

"We have a make," replied Brogan briefly. This is a condensed file on the man." He paused to hand the President another folder. "He did a remarkable job of disguising himself to look like the Captain of the ship during the capture, and then he changed to a mask. Later, Dirk Pitt met face to face with him during a truce before the fighting. The name he gave was Suleiman Aziz Ammar."

"Seems odd this Ammar got lax and dropped his name," mused Schiller.

"Must be an alias."

Brogan shook his head. "The name is real enough. We have a comprehensive packet on him. So does Interpel. Ammar must have figured Pitt was as good as dead, and had nothing to lose by identifying himself."

The President's eyes narrowed. "According to your file he's suspected of being directly or indirectly involved with over fifty murders of prominent government officials. Is this possible?"

"Suleiman Aziz Ammar is rated at the very top of his profession."

"A diehard terrorist."

"Assassin," Brogan corrected the President. "Ammar specializes only in political assassination. Cold-blooded as they come. Big on disguise and detailed planning. As the words of the song go, 'Nobody does it better." Half his hits were so clean they were written off as accidents.

He's a Muslim, but he's taken on jobs for the French and Germans and even the Israelis. Gets top dollar. He's amassed a considerable fortune for his successful operations in and around the Mediterranean."

"Was he captured?"

"No, sir," Brogan admitted. "He was not among the dead or wounded."

"The man escaped?" the President asked sharply.

"If he still lives, Ammar cannot get far," Brogan assured him. "Pitt he pumped at least three bullets into him. An extensive manhunt has been activated. There is no escape from the island. He should be found in a few hours."

"He'll be a major intelligence coup if he can be persuaded to talk,"

said Nichols.

"General Dodge has already alerted his field commander, Colonel Morton Hollis, to take every precaution in capturing Animar alive. But the Colonel thinks there is good reason to believe Ammar will kill himself when cornered. "

Nichols shrugged resignedly. "Hollis is probably right."

"There were no other survivors among the hijackers?" the President asked Brogan.

"Eight we can interrogate. But they appear to be only Ammar's hired mercenaries and not radical Yazid followers."

"We'll need their confessions to prove Ammar was working for Yazid and Topiltzin," said the President without optimism.

Schiller did not feel there was a setback. "Look on the bright side, Mr. President. The ship and hostages have been rescued without injury.

President Hasan knows damn well Yazid wanted him dead and was behind the hijacking. He'll go after Yazid now with a vengeance."

The President looked at him, and then his eyes traveled from face to face. "Is that the way you gentlemen see it?"

"Julius has a good grasp of Hasan," said Mercier. "He can be real nasty if he's crossed."

Doug Oates nodded in agreement. "Barring unforeseen developments, I think Julius's projection is right on the money. Hasan may not go so far as to risk riots and ignite a revolution by arresting Yazid and trying him for treason. But he'll certainly take off the gloves and do everything short of murder to destroy Yazid's credibility."

"There will be a backlash against Yazid," Brogan predicted. "Egypt's Muslim fundamentalist moderates do not condone terrorist tactics.

They'll Turn their backs on Yazid while the country's parliament gives President Hasan overwhelming support. Also, in my best rose-colored view, the military will climb down out of its ivory tower and reaffirm its loyalty to Hasan."

The President took a final swallow of wine and set the glass on the table. "I must confess, I like what I hear."

"The crisis in Egypt is far from over," warned Secretary Oates. "Yazid may be pushed out of the limelight for a while, but in President Hasan's absence the Moslem Brotherhood of fundamentalist fanatics has formed an alliance with the Liberal and Socialist Labor parties. Together, they'll work to undemiine Hasan's nile, to bring Egypt under Islamic ties with the United States and scuttle Israeli peace agreements."

The President tilted his head at Schiller. "Do you subscribe to Doug's doomsday canvas, Julius?"

Schiller nodded grimly. "I do."

"Martin?"

Brogan's solemn expression told it all. "The inevitable has only been stalled off. Hasan's government must eventually fall. The military's support will be here today and gone tomorrow. My best brains at Langley project a fairly bloodless coup eighteen to twenty-four months from now."

"I recommend we take a hands-off, wait-and-see attitude, Mr. President,"

said Oates. "And study our options in dealing with another Muslim government."

"You're suggesting an isolationist approach," said the President.

"Maybe it's time we took that stance," suggested Schiller. "Nothing of substance your predecessors attempted in the last twenty years worked."

"The Russians will lose too," added Nichols. "And our big consolation is in keeping Paul Capesterre, also known as Akhmad Yazid, from creating another Iranian disaster. He would have worked to destroy our Middle East interests at any cost.

"I do not entirely agree with your overall picture," said Brogan. "But in the time we have left we still have the opportunity to cultivate the next man to rule Egypt."

A questioning frown crossed the President's face. "What do you have in mind?"

"Egypt's Defense Minister, Abu Hamid."

"You think he'll seize the government?'

"When the time is ripe, yes," Brogan explained patiently. "He has the power of the military in his pocket, and he's shrewdly sought strong support from the moderate Muslim fundamentalists. In my opinion, Abu Hamid is a shoo-in."

"We could do much worse," murmured Oates with a thin smile. "He hasn't been above accepting favors and tapping some of the billions of dollars we've poured into Egypt. Abu Hamid would not be the type to kick a gift horse in the mouth. Oh, sure, he'd make the required noises condemning Israel and cursing the U.S., for the sake of the religious fanatics, but underneath the rhetoric he'd keep a friendly line of communications open."

"The fact that he's on close terms with Hala Kamfl won't hurt us either," Nichols said flatly.

The President was silent, staring into the glass of zinfandel as if it was a crystal ball. Then he raised the glass.

"To a continued friendly union with Egypt."

"Hear, hear," said Mercier and Brogan in unison.

"To Egypt," murmured Oates.

"And Mexico," added Schiller.

The President glanced at his watch and rose, followed by his advisers.

"Sorry to cut this short, but I have a meeting with a group of Treasury people. Congratulate everyone involved in rescuing the hostages for me." He turned to Oates. "I want to meet with you and Senator Pitt the minute he returns."

"To discuss any words he had with President Hasan during their ordeal?"

"I'd be more interested in hearing what he learned from President De Lorenzo on the crisis south of our border. Egypt is of secondary importance compared to Mexico. We can safely assume Akhmad Yazid has been benched for the rest of the season, but Topiltzin is a far worse threat. Concentrate on him, gentlemen. God help us if we can't stabilize the upheaval in Mexico."

Slowly, reluctantly, Pitt rose from the black depths of a sound sleep to the brightly lit surface of consciousness only to find it was accompanied by stiff, aching pain. He tried to go back and reenter the comforting void, but his eyes blinked open, and it was too late. The first thing he focused on was a smiling red face.

"Well, well, he's back among the living," said First Officer Finney cheerfully. "I'll go and inform the Captain."

As Finney passed through the door, Pitt moved his eyes without moving his head and found a little baldheaded sitting in a chair beside the bed. The ship's doctor, Pitt recognized, but the name escaped him.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, but I can't recollect your,

"Henry Webster," he second-guessed Pitt, smiling warmly. "And if you're wondering where you are, you're in the finest suite on board the Flamborough, which is currently under tow by the Sounder for Punta Arenas."

"How long have I been unconscious?"

"While you weremaking your report to Colonel Hollis, I was tending to your wounds. Soon afterward, I put you under heavy sedation. You've been out for about twelve hours."

"No wonder I'm starving."

"I'll see our chef personally sends down one of his specialties."

"How are Giordino and Findley?"

"Most admirable of you to inquire of your friends before yourself.

Giordino is a very durable man. I took four bullets from him, none in critical areas. He should be ready to party by New Year's Eve.

Findley's wounds were far more serious. Bullets entered his right side and lodged in a lung and kidney. I did what I could for him on the ship.

He and Giordino were airlifted to Punta Arenas and flown to Washington soon after I put you out. Findley will be operated on by bullet-wound specialists at the Walter Reed Medical Center. If there are no complications, he should pull through in fine shape. By the way, your friend Rudi Gunn felt they needed him more than you did, so he accompanied them home."

Before Pitt could make a reply, a digital thermometer was slipped in and out of his mouth.

Dr. Webster studied the reading and nodded. "As for you, Mr.

Pitt-you'll mend nicely. How are you feeling?"

"I don't think I'm up to entering a triathlon, but except for a throb in my head and a stinging sensation in my neck, I'll manage."

"You're a lucky man. None of the bullets struck a bone, internal organ or artery. I stitched up your leg and neck, or, more accurately, your trapezius muscle. Also your cheek. Plastic surgery should hide the scar, unless of course your women find it adds to your sex appeal. The smack on your head caused a concussion. X-rays showed no sign of a hairline fracture. My prognosis is that you'll be swimming the English Channel and playing the violin within months."

Pitt laughed. Almost immediately he tensed as the pain struck from every side. Webster's look became one of quick concern.

"I am sorry. My bedside manner tends to get a bit too jolly, I'm afraid."

Pin relaxed and the agony soon subsided. He loved English phrasing and humor. They were a class act, he thought. He smiled grimly and stared at Webster with unconcealed respect. He knew the doctor had down played his skill and labors out of modesty.

"If that hurt," said Pitt, "I can't wait to get your bill."

It was Webster's turn to laugh. "Careful, I wouldn't want you to ruin my beautiful needlework."

Pitt gingerly eased himself to a sitting position and held out his hand.

"I'm grateful for what you did for the four of us."

Webster rose and shook Pitts outstretched hand. "An honor doctoring you, Mr. Pitt. I'll take my leave now. It seems you're the man of the hour. I think you have some distinguished visitors gathering outside."

"Goodbye, Doc, and thank you."

Webster gave a willk and a nod. Then he walked over to the door, opened it and motioned everyone inside.

Senator Pitt entered followed by Hala, Colonel Hollis and Captain Collins. The men shook hands, but Hala leaned down and lightly kissed Pitt.

"I hope you've found our ship's service satisfactory," said Captain Collins jovially.

"No man ever recuperated in a fancier hospital," Pitt replied. "I'm only sorry I can't bask in such luxury for another month."

"Unfortunately, your presence is required up north by tomorrow," said Hollis.

"Oh, no," Pitt moaned.

"Oh, yes," said the Senator, holding up his watch. "The Sounder will be towing us into dock at Punta Arenas in another ninety minutes. An Air Force transport is waiting to fly you and Ms. Kaniil and me to Washington."

Pitt made a helpless gesture with both hands. "So much for my luxury cruise."

Next came the usual round of solicitous questions concerning his condition. After a few minutes Hollis turned the conversation to his current problem.

"Would you know Ammar if you saw him again?" he asked Pitt.

"I could pick him out of a lineup easily enough. Didn't you find him? I gave you a detailed description of his height, weight and looks before Doc Webster knocked me out."

Hollis handed him a small stack of photos. "Here are pictures taken and processed by the ship's photographer of the hijackers' bodies, including those taken prisoner. Do you see Suleiman Aziz Ammar among them?"

Pitt slowly sifted through the photographs, studying the closeup features of the dead. They had seemed faceless during the battle, he recalled. He wondered with morbid curiosity which ones were dead by his hands. Finally he looked up and shook his head.

"He's not in here among the living or the dead."

"You're sure?" asked Hollis. "The wounds and deathlike expressions can badly alter facial features."

"I stood closer to him than I am to you under conditions that aren't easily forgotten. Believe me, Colonel, when I say Ammar isn't among those pictures."

Hollis pulled a larger photo from an envelope and passed it to Pitt without comment.

After a few seconds, Pitt gave Hollis a questioning look. "What do you want me to say?"

"Is that Suleiman Aziz Ammar?"

Pitt handed the photograph back. "You know damn well it is, or you wouldn't magically produce a picture taken of him at a different time in a different place."

"I think what Colonel Hollis is holding back," said Dirk's father, "is that Anunar or his remains have yet to be found."

"Then his men must have hidden his body," Pitt said firmly. "I didn't miss. He took a shot in the shoulder and two in the face. I saw one of his men drag him to cover after he fell. No way he's running around."

"It's possible his body was buried," admitted Hollis. "An extensive air and land search failed to detect any sign of him on the island."

"So the fox hasn't been run to ground," Pitt said softly to himself.

The Senator looked at him. "What was that?"

"Something Ammar said about a coyote and a fox when we met," Pitt replied pensively. Then he looked around at his audience. "I bet he's eluded the net. Anyone care to give me odds?"

Hollis gave Pitt a dark look instead. "You better hope he's deader than a barracuda in the desert, because if he isn't, the name of Dirk Pitt will head his next hit list."

Hala swept gracefully to the head of Pitts bed, wearing a gold silk dressing gown with a modernized hieroglyphic design. She placed her hand lightly around his shoulder.

"Dirk is very weak," she said in an even voice. "He needs a good meal and rest until it comes time to debark the ship. I suggest we leave him alone for the next hour."

Hollis slipped the photos back in the envelope and rose. "I'll have to say my goodbyes. A helicopter is waiting to take me back to Santa Inez to continue the search for Ammar."

"Give my best to Major Dillenger."

"I shall." Hollis seemed uneasy for a moment; then he approached the bed and shook hands. "I apologize, Dirk, to you and your friends. I sadly underrated you all. Anytime you want to transfer from NUMA to Special Operations Forces, I'll be the first to sign a recommendation."

"I wouldn't fit in too well." Pitt grinned. "I have this allergy to taking orders."

"Yes, so you've demonstrated," Hollis said, smiling faintly.

The Senator walked over and squeezed Pitts hand. "See you on deck."

"I'll bid my farewell there also," said Captain Collins.

Hala said nothing. She herded the men from the room. Then she slowly closed the door and turned the lock. She walked back until she stood beside the bed. The folds of the gown plunged and there was something in the casual way it draped her body that convinced Pitt she was naked beneath.

She proved it by loosening the sash and shrugging the gown from her shoulders. He heard the whisper of the silk as it slid down her soft flesh. She posed like a bronze statue, breasts thrust out, hands flattened against her thighs, one leg slightly in front of the otherShe reached down and pulled back the bedcovers.

"I owe you something," she said huskily.

Pitt caught his reflection in the mirrors on the closet doors. He wore only white gauze. top of his head and the side of his face were swathed in bandages, as was one side of his neck and the wounded leg. He hadn't shaved in a week and the whites of his eyes were red. In his mind he looked like a derelict any self-respecting bag lady would re-ject.

"I'm a sorry excuse for Don Juan," he murmured

"You're handsome in my eyes," Hala whispered as she gently lay beside him and gently entwine her fingers through the hairs of his chest. "We must hurry. We have less than an hour."

Pitt let out a long sigh. He would catch hell from Doc Webster if he overexerted and pulled out his stitches. Abject surrender. Why is it, he wondered, men plan more covert schemes than an intelligence agency to seduce women, only to have them Turn on under crazy circumstances when you least expect it? He was more convinced than ever that James Bond really didn't have it all that great.

When Ammar awoke, he saw only blackness. His shoulder felt as though a piece of coal were burning inside his flesh. He tried to lift his hands to his face but one hand exploded with pain. Then he remembered bullets slamming into his wrist and shoulder. He raised his good hand to touch his eyes but the fingertips felt only a tightly bound cloth that wrapped around his head, covering his face from forehead to chin.

He knew his eyes were beyond saving. Not for him a life of blindness, he thought. He groped around for a weapon, anything to kill himself.

All he touched was a damp, flat rock surface.

Ammar became desperate, unable to repress the fear of helplessness. He struggled to his feet, stumbled and fell.

Then two hands gripped his shoulders.

"Do not move or make a cry, Suleiman Aziz," came the whispered words of Ibn. "The Americans are searching for us ."

Ammar clutched Ibn's hands for assurance. He tried to speak, but could no longer utter coherent words. Only animallike guttural sounds came through the blood-caked wrapping supporting his shattered jaw.

"We are in a small chamber inside one of the mine tunnels."

Ibn spoke softly into his ear. "They came very close, but I had time to build a wall that concealed our hiding place."

Ammar nodded and desperately tried to make himself understood.

It was as though Ibn could reach through the pitch ess and read Ammar's thoughts. "You wish to die, Suleiman Aziz? No, you will not die. We will go together but not one minute before Allah decides."

Ammar slumped in despair. He had never felt so disoriented, so completely out of control. The pain was unbearable, and the thought of living out his days in a maximum-security jail cell, blind and mutilated, devastated him. All instinct for self–preservation had deserted him. He could not stand being dependent on anyone for his hourly existence-not even Ibn.

"Rest, my brother," said Ibn gently. "You will need all your strength when it comes time for us to escape the island."

Annnar collapsed and rolled to his side. His shoulders came against the tunnel's uneven floor. It was wet, and the moisture seeped through his clothing, but he was suffering too much pain to notice the added discomfort.

He became more and more despondent. His failure had become a horror. He saw Akhmad Yazid standing over him, smirking; then a curtain slowly formed and parted deep in the recesses of Ammar's mind. A faint glow appeared, a glow that bloomed and then burst in a blinding flash, and in that one chilling moment he glimpsed the future.

He would survive through revenge.

Mentally he spoke the word over and over until at last his self-discipline returned.

The first decision he came to grips with was who should die at his own hands, Yazid or Pitt? He could not act alone. He was no longer physically capable of assassinating both men himself. Already a plan was forming. He would have to trust Ibn to share in the revenge.

Ammar anguished over the decision, but in the end he had no choice.

Ibn would draw the coyote, while Ammar's final act would be to slay the viper.

Pitt refused to fly home on a stretcher. He sat in a comfortable executive chair, leg propped on the seat of a facing chair, and stared out the window at the snowcapped spires of the Andes. Far off to the right he could see the green plateaus that marked the beginning of the Brazilian highlands. Two hours later a distant gray haze advertised the crowded city of Caracas, and then he was gazing at the horizon line where the turquoise of the Caribbean met a cobalt-blue sky. from 12,000

meters the wind-mased water looked like a flat sheet of crepe paper.

The Air Force VIP transport jet was cramped-Pitt could not stand to his full height-but quite luxurious. He felt as though he were sitting inside a rich kid's high-priced toy.

His father was not in a talkative mood. The Senator spent most of the flight working out of a briefcase, making notes for his briefing to the President.

What little conversation took place was one-sided. When Pitt asked how he happened to be on the Lady Flamborough at Punta del Este, the Senator didn't bother to look up when he responded.

"A Presidential mission," he said tersely, closing off any further questions on the subject.

Hala also kept to herself and attended to business. She had the aircraft's in-flight telephone in constant use, firing off in structions to her aides at the United Nations building in New York. Her only acknowledgment of Pitts presence was a brief smile when their eyes happened to meet.

How quickly they forget, Pitt thought idly.

He turned his mind to the search for the Alexandria Library treasures.

He considered cutting in on Hala's phone monopoly for a progress report from Yaeger. But he drowned his curiosity with a dry martini, courtesy of the aircraft steward, instead, deciding to wait and learn whatever there was to learn at first hand from Lily and Yaeger.

What river had Venator sailed before burying the priceless objects? it could be any one of a thousand that course into the Atlantic between the Saint Lawrence in Canada to the Rfo de la Plata of Argentina. No, not quite. Yaeger theorized the Serapes had taken on water and made repairs off what was to become New Jersey. The unknown river had to be south, much further south than the rivers that flow into Chesapeake Bay.

Could Venator have led his fleet into the Gulf of Mexico and up the Mississippi? Today's stream must be far different from what it was sixteen hundred years ago. Perhaps he had sailed into the OTinoco in Venezuela, which could be navigated for two hundred miles. Or maybe the Amazon?

He let his mind wander through the irony of it all. If Junius Venator's voyage to the Americas was absolutely proved by the discovery of the buried Library artifacts, history books needed to be revised and new chapters written.

Poor Leif Eriksson and Christopher Columbus would be relegated to footnotes.

Pitt was still daydreaming when he was interrupted by the steward telling him to fasten his seat belt.

It was dusk and the aircraft had dipped its nose and was dropping into the long glide toward Andrews Air Force Base. The twinkling sprawl of Washington slid past, and Pitt soon found himself hobbling down the steps on a cane hastily bent from an aluminum tube and presented by the grateful crew of the Lady Flamborough. He set foot on the concrete at almost exactly the same spot as on his arrival from Greenland.

Hala came down and bid him goodbye. She was continuing on with the plane to New York.

"You've become a treasured memory, Dirk Pitt."

"We never did make our dinner date."

"The next time you're in Cairo, it's on me."

The Senator overheard and came over. "Cairo, Ms. Kamil. Not New York?"

Hala gave him a smile worthy of the beautiful Aphrodite. "I am resigning as SecretaryGeneral and returning home. Democracy is dying in Egypt. I can do more to keep it alive by working in the midst of my people."

"What of Yazid?"

"President Hasan has vowed to place him under house arrest."

A frown crossed Senator Pitts face. "Be careful. Yazid is still a dangerous man."

"if not Yazid, there is always another maniac waiting in the wings." Her soft dark eyes belied the fear that rode in her heart. She gave him a daughterly hug. "tell your President Egypt will not become a nation of insane fanatics."

"I'll pass along your words."

She turned back to Pitt. She was on the brink of falling in love with him but fought her feelings with every bit of will she possessed. Her legs felt weak as she took both his hands and stared upward into his ageless face. for an instant, in her mind's eye, she saw herself entwilled with his body, caressing his muscled skin, and then just as quickly she erased the thought. She had found brief fulfillment with him, long denied, but she knew she could never divide her love for one man with that for Egypt.

Her life belonged to those who had no life except misery and poverty.

She kissed him tenderly.

"Do not forget me."

Before Pitt could answer, Hala had turned and hurried up the steps into the aircraft. He stood looking at the empty entrance for a long moment.

The Senator read his thoughts and interrupted them. "They've sent an ambulance to take you to the hospital."

"Hospital?" Pitt said vacantly, still watching as the door closed. The jet engines whistled as the pilot increased the rpm and began to taxi toward the main strip.

Pitt tore the bandages from around his head and face and threw them into the jet's exhaust, where they were caught and sent swirling through the air like airborne snakes.

Only when the plane was airborne did he make his reply. "I'm not going to no damned hospital."

"Over doing it a bit, don't you ?" think?" the Senator said with paternal concern, full knowing it was a waste of breath to preach to his independent-minded son.

"How are you getting to the White House?" asked Pitt. The Senator nodded toward a waiting helicopter about a hundred meters away. "the President arranged my transportation."

"Mind dropping me at NUMA?"

His father looked at him slyly. "You're speaking figuratively, of course."

Pitt grinned. "You never let me forget which side of the family my sadistic sense of humor came from."

The Senator slapped his arm around Pitts waist. "Come on, you crazy nut, let me help you over to the helicopter."

The tension built like a twisting knot in his stomach as Pitt stood in the elevator, watching the numbers rise toward NUMAs computer complex.

Lily was standing in the foyer as the doors parted and he stepped out.

She wore a big smile that froze when she saw the , bedraggled look, the long scab on his cheek, the hump of the bandage beneath a knit fisherman's turtleneck sweater borrowed from his father, the dragging leg and cane. Then she bravely broke out the smile again.

"Welcome home, sailor."

She stepped forward and threw her arms around his neck. He winced and groaned under his breath. She jumped back.

"Oh, I'm sorry."

Pin clutched her. "Don't be." Then he mashed his lips against hers. His beard scraped against her skin and he smelled of gin-and delightfully masculine.

"There's something to be said for men who only come home once a week,"

she said finally.

"And for women who wait," he said, stepping back. He glanced around.

"What have you and Hiram found out since I left?"

"I'll let Hiram tell you," she answered airily, taking him by the hand and leading him across the computer installation.

Yaeger charged out of his office. Without a word of greeting or sympathy for Pitts wounds, he came straight to the heart of the breakthrough.

"We've found it!" he announced grandly.

"The river?" Pitt asked anxiously.

"Not only the river, but I think I can put you within two square miles of the artifacts' cavern."

+"Where?"

"Texas. A little border town called Roma."

Yaeger had the smug, complacent look of a Tyrannosaurus rex that had just dined on a brontosaurus. "Nwned for seven hills, just like the capital of Italy. Pretty low, insignificant hills, I admit. But there are also reports of Roman artifacts supposedly having been dug up in the area. Scoffed at by accredited archaeologists, of course, but what do they know?"