Trojan Odyssey (43 page)

“A very mysterious lady. As far as we know she has never set foot on Basse-Terre or Grande-Terre.”

Summer brushed her hair that was becoming stringy from the dampness. “Ms. Eliade must have caretakers if she maintains an elegant home on Branwyn Island.”

“Satellite photos show an airfield, a few buildings and an odd circle of tall columns and an elegant house,” said Moreau. “It's claimed that fishermen or tourists who tried to land on the island were later found dead. They usually washed up at a beach on Basse-Terre many miles away.”

“What about police investigations?”

Moreau slowly shook his head as he switched on his headlights in the growing dusk. “They found no evidence of foul play and could never prove the victims had actually set foot on the island.”

“Couldn't local forensic experts determine how the victims died?”

Moreau gave a quick laugh. “The bodies were usually examined by a local doctor, or even a dentist, who happened to be available when and where they came ashore. Due to decomposition any results were speculation. Most all were written off as drownings.” Then he added, “And yet, rumors circulated that the victims' hearts had been cut out.”

“Sounds morbid,” muttered Summer.

“More like distorted rumors,” said Dirk.

“All the more reason to stay a safe distance offshore.”

“Not possible if we intend to do a subbottom survey of the harbor.”

“Just keep a sharp eye out,” said Moreau. “I'll give you my cell phone number. If you spot trouble, call me immediately. I'll have a police patrol boat on its way within ten minutes.”

Moreau continued down the road for another two miles before turning into the driveway leading to the hotel, and stopped at the entrance. A porter hurried out and opened the car door for Summer. Dirk came around to the rear of the car and opened the trunk so the porter could take their luggage and bags of dive gear into the hotel and up to their suites.

“You're within walking distance of a variety of restaurants, shops and entertainment clubs,” said Moreau. “I'll pick you up at nine o'clock tomorrow morning and take you to the dock, where I've chartered a boat for your search. The subbottom profiler, underwater metal detecter and jet probe that Commander Rudi Gunn airfreighted from Florida is on board and ready for operation. I also had a small compresser mounted on the deck to run your excavation dredge and jet probe.”

“You were very thorough,” Dirk complimented him.

“We're grateful for your help and courtesy,” said Summer as he gallantly kissed her hand.

“And thank you for the interesting ride from the airport,” added Dirk, shaking Moreau's hand.

“Not entirely of my doing,” Moreau said with a little smile. Then his face clouded. “Please be cautious. There is something going on here that is beyond our grasp. I don't want you to end up like the others.”

Dirk and Summer stood in the entrance to the hotel lobby and watched Moreau drive through the front gate. “What do you think of all this?” asked Summer.

“I don't have the vaguest idea,” Dirk said slowly. “But I'd give my right arm if Dad and Al were here.”

T
HE RECEPTION COMMITTEE
was far different than before when Pitt and Giordino exited the jet. No beautiful congresswoman and no elegant classic car. The plane was surrounded by a uniformed security force from a nearby Army base. The cars involved were one black Lincoln Town Car, a turquoise NUMA Navigator and a white unmarked van.

Rudi Gunn was standing beside the Navigator as Pitt and Giordino dropped down the steps and touched the ground. “I wonder if I'm ever going to see a shower and a steak dinner,” moaned Giordino, thinking Sandecker had sent Gunn to transport them to NUMA headquarters.

“We have nobody to blame but ourselves for getting into this mess,” Pitt sighed.

“Spare me the pitiful groans,” said Gunn, smiling. “You'll be glad to know the admiral doesn't want you guys around until tomorrow afternoon. A meeting is set up at the White House at two. You'll be debriefed by the president's advisors.”

The Lowenhardts deplaned and came over to Pitt and Giordino. Hilda stood on her toes and kissed Pitt on both cheeks, as Claus pumped Giordino's hand. “How can we ever thank you?” she said, her voice choking with emotion.

“We owe you more than we can ever repay,” Claus said, beaming, as he caught sight of the buildings of Washington.

Pitt put an arm around his shoulder. “You'll be well looked after and I've been assured that your children will be protected and flown here as soon as possible.”

“I promise that your people will have our wholehearted cooperation. We'll gladly share our total knowledge of nitrogen fuel cell technology with your scientists.” He turned. “Right, Hilda?”

“Yes, Claus,” she said, smiling. “Our discovery will be a gift to the entire world.”

They said their goodbyes as the Lowenhardts were escorted to the Lincoln by an FBI agent for the trip to a safe house in Washington.

Pitt, Giordino and Gunn then watched as Flidais was hustled from the plane by two burly FBI agents, handcuffed to a stretcher and shoved into the van. She glanced at Pitt with a look of absolute loathing. He grinned and waved before the doors were closed. “I'll send cookies to your cell.”

Then he and Giordino climbed into the NUMA Navigator, with Gunn acting as chauffeur. Gunn drove across the tarmac to a guard gate, showed his pass and was waved through. He made a left turn onto a tree-lined street and headed for the nearest bridge over the Potomac.

“Now maybe we can settle down and be left alone for a while,” Giordino said wistfully, slouching down in the rear seat and half closing his eyes, ignoring the scenic green, fully leafed trees as they marched past. “I could have been home four days ago, wining and dining a lovely lady, but no, you insisted we stay and infiltrate Specter's sanctum sanctorum.”

“I don't recall having to beg you,” Pitt said without apology.

“You caught me in a moment of madness.”

“Don't kid yourself. If our information is acted upon quickly, we will have helped save the U.S. and Europe from some very nasty weather.”

“Who's to stop Odyssey from opening the tunnels?” said Giordino. “The Nicaraguan government, a U.S. Special Forces team, an empty appeal from the United Nations? The European diplomats will talk themselves into a coma while their countries turn into ice cubes. None will have the guts to bring down the curtain on Odyssey before it's too late to act.”

Pitt knew Giordino wasn't far off the mark. “You're probably right, but it's out of our hands now. We gave the warning. We can do no more.”

Gunn swung over the bridge toward Alexandria, where Giordino had his condominium. “You certainly made the admiral a happy man. He's the man of the hour at the White House. Your discovery is still under wraps for obvious reasons, but as soon as the president's security advisors come up with a plan to stop Specter and Odyssey's rotten operation, all hell will break loose. Once they get wind of it, the news media will go wild and NUMA will reap the harvest.”

“All well and good,” muttered Giordino indifferently. “You taking me home first?”

“Since you're the closest,” said Gunn. “Then I'll head up the Mount Vernon Highway and drop Dirk off at his hangar.”

A few minutes later, a weary Giordino pulled his bags from the rear of the Navigator and trudged up the stairs to his building that had once been a warehouse built during the Civil War and later remodeled into luxury condos. He turned and gave a slight wave before disappearing inside.

After a short drive along the Potomac River, Gunn passed through the gate of Ronald Reagan National Airport and drove along a dirt road to Pitt's old hangar that stood several hundred yards off the end of the runways. Built in the early nineteen thirties to house the aircraft of a long-vanished airline, Pitt had managed to have it declared a historic landmark after buying and refurbishing it as a place to store and maintain his classic car and aircraft collection.

“You picking me up for the meeting?” Pitt asked as he exited the car.

Gunn shook his head and cracked a smile. “I'm not on the guest list. The Secret Service will send a car for you.”

Pitt turned and pressed a series of codes into his exotic security system as the Navigator drove up the road, trailing a wisp of dust behind the rear bumper. He opened the door that looked weatherworn with cracked and peeling paint and stepped inside.

The sight never failed to excite him. It was something out of a luxury car dealer's elegant showroom. The entire interior walls, rounded roof and floor were painted a bright white, which enhanced the dazzling display of vivid colors on a fleet of thirty classic automobiles. Besides the Marmon V-16, there was a 1929 Duesenberg, a 1932 Stutz, a 1929 L-29 Cord and a 1936 Pierce-Arrow with a matching factory trailer. Parked together in a row were a 1936 Ford hot rod, Dirk's Meteor sports car and a bright red 1953 J2X Allard. Two aircraft sat in the back of the hangar, an early-nineteen-thirties Ford Tri-motor and a World War II Messerschmitt 262 jet. Along one wall stretched a long Pullman car emblazoned with the words
MANHATTAN LIMITED
across its side. The only objects that seemed out of place were the upper cabin of a sailboat mounted on a rubber raft and a bathtub with an outboard motor mounted on one end.

He climbed up the circular iron steps to his apartment that ran along the north end of the hangar, tiredly carrying his gear bag and suitcase on his shoulders. The interior of the apartment looked like the sales floor of a nautical antique shop. Furniture from old sailing ships, paintings of seascapes and models of ships on shelves built into the walls filled the living room. The floor was from the teak deck of a steamship that ran aground off the island of Kauai in Hawaii.

He unpacked his bag and threw the old clothes in a hamper next to his washer/dryer, took off what he was wearing and dropped them in as well. Thankfully, he stepped into the teak-wood shower, turned the water as warm as he could take it and soaped down, vigorously scrubbing his skin until it tingled. When he was through, he toweled off and walked to his bed, settled across the bedspread and instantly fell asleep.

 

D
ARKNESS HAD FALLEN
when Loren Smith let herself into the hangar with her own key. She came up and looked around the apartment for Pitt, having been alerted to his arrival by Rudi Gunn. She found him lying naked across the bed, deep asleep. Her lips spread into a sensual smile as she leaned over and pulled a bedspread over him.

When Pitt awoke six hours after he dropped off, he could see stars through the overhead skylights. His nostrils also detected the aroma of steak on the stove's grill. He saw the bedspread over his body and smiled to himself, knowing Loren had put it there. He rose and pulled on a pair of khaki shorts and a flowered silk shirt, then slipped into a pair of sandals.

Loren looked lovely in a snug pair of white shorts and a striped silk blouse, her arms and legs tanned from sunning on the deck of her apartment. She gave out a small sigh when Pitt reached around her waist with his arms and squeezed as he nuzzled her neck.

“Not now,” she said in mock irritation, “I'm busy.”

“How did you know I was dreaming about a steak for the last five days?”

“I don't have to be a psychic to know that's all you ever eat. Now sit down and mash the potatoes.”

Pitt did as he was told and sat down at his dining table that was cut, stained and polished from an old ship's cargo hatch. He mashed the potatoes in a bowl and spooned them onto two plates as Loren delivered a porterhouse steak sliced in two. Then she set a Caesar salad on the table and sat down to eat while Pitt opened a cold bottle of Martin Ray Chardonnay.

“I hear you and Al had a rough time of it,” she said, cutting her steak.

“A few close scrapes, but nothing that called for medical attention.”

She looked into his eyes, violet meeting green. Her face was soft but her manner was intent. “You're getting too old to get into trouble. It's time you slowed down.”

“Retire and play golf five days a week at a club? I don't think so.”

“You don't have to retire but there are research expeditions you could direct that wouldn't be half as dangerous as some you've been involved with.”

He poured her a glass and sat back and watched as she sipped it down. He studied her glamorous features and hair, her delicate ears, her gracefully sculptured nose, the firm chin and high cheekbones. She could have had any man in Washington, from the president's cabinet members to the senators to the congressmen, the wealthy lobbyists and attorneys, the visiting business moguls and foreign dignitaries, but for twenty years, despite several short affairs, she had never loved anyone but Pitt. She'd stray and return to him time after time. She was older now, there were tiny lines around her eyes, and her figure, though firm from exercise, was less accented by rounded curves. Yet, put her in a room with a bevy of beautiful young women, and every male eye would have locked on Loren. She never had to vie with competition.

“Yes, I could stay at home more,” he said slowly, never taking his eyes away from her face. “But I would have to have a reason.”

As if she hadn't heard, she said, “My term in Congress will be up soon, and you know I've announced that I'm not going to run again.”

“Have you thought about what you're going to do when you're on the beach?”

She shook her head slowly. “I've had several offers to head up various organizations, and at least four lobbyists and three legal firms have asked me to join their ranks. But I'd rather retire, do some traveling, write that book on the inside dealings of Congress I've always wanted to write, and spend more time painting.”

“You missed your calling,” Pitt said, touching her hand from across the table. “Your landscapes are very professional.”

“What about you?” she asked, thinking she knew the answer. “Will you and Al be chasing off again, flirting with death and trying to save the oceans of the world?”

“I can't speak for Al, but for me the wars are over. I'm going to grow a white beard and play with my old cars until they push my wheelchair into the nursing home.”

She laughed. “Somehow I can't picture that.”

“I
was
hoping you might come with me.”

She tensed and stared at him through widening eyes. “What are you saying?”

He took her hand and gripped it tightly. “What I'm saying, Loren Smith, is that I think the time has come for me to beg for your hand in marriage.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You wouldn't…you couldn't be joking,” she said, her voice choking.

“I'm deadly serious,” he said, seeing the tears form in her violet eyes. “I love you, I loved you for what seems an eternity, and I want you to be my wife.”

She sat there trembling, the iron maiden of the House of Representatives, the lady who never backed down despite the political pressure, the woman who was as strong as or stronger than any man in Washington. Then she took back her hand and held it with the other over her eyes as she sobbed uncontrollably.

He came around the table and embraced her around the shoulders. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you.”

She looked up, tears flooding her eyes. “You fool, don't you know how long I've waited to hear those words?”

Pitt was bewildered. “When the subject came up before, you always said marriage was out of the question because we were already married to our work.”

“Do you always believe everything a woman tells you?”

Pitt gently raised her to her feet and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Forgive me for being late as well as stupid. But the question still stands. Will you marry me?”

Loren threw her arms around his neck and flooded his face with kisses. “Yes, you fool,” she said in the throes of ecstasy. “Yes, yes, yes!”