Sahara (74 page)

“Spoken like an arrogant politician or bureaucrat who plays God by denying the public the truth under the misguided ploy of national security, not to mention the crap about it not being in the national interest.”

“So you’re going to do it,” Perlmutter said in a stricken voice. “You’re really going to cause a national upheaval in the name of truth.”

“Like the men and women in Congress and the White House, Julien, you underestimate the American public. They will take the disclosure in stride, and Lincoln’s image will shine brighter than ever. Sorry, my friend, I won’t be talked out of going through with it.”

Perlmutter saw it was no use. He clasped his hands on his global stomach and sighed. “All right, we’ll rewrite the last chapter of the Civil War and stand in front of a firing squad together.”

Pitt stood over the grotesque figure, studied the ungainly long arms and legs, the serene, weary face. When he spoke, it was in a soft, barely audible voice.

“After sitting cooped up in here for a hundred and thirty years, I think it’s time old Honest Abe came home.”

64

June 20, 1996

Washington, D.C.

The news of Lincoln’s discovery and the Stanton hoax electrified the world as the body was reverently removed from the ironclad and flown back to Washington. In every school of the country, children memorized and recited the Gettysburg Address as their grandparents had.

The nation’s capital pulled out all stops on celebrations and ceremonies. Five living Presidents stood in the Capitol rotunda and paid homage at the open casket of their long-dead predecessor. The speeches seemingly went on forever, the politicians climbing over each other to quote Lincoln if not Carl Sandburg.

The sixteenth President’s mortal remains would not go to the cemetery in Springfield. By presidential order a tomb was cut into the floor of his memorial immediately below his famous white marble statue. No one, not even the congressional representatives from Illinois, considered protesting the interment.

A holiday was declared and millions of people across the country watched the festivities in Washington on television. They sat transfixed in awe at actually seeing the face of the man who had led the country through its most difficult times.

Little else was shown from morning until night as regular network programming was temporarily rescheduled. News program anchor persons had a field day describing the event, while other newsworthy stories fell by the wayside.

Congressional leaders, in a rare display of cooperation, voted funds to salvage the
Texas
and transport her from Mali to the Washington Mall, where she would be preserved and placed on permanent display. Her crew was buried in the Confederate Cemetery in Richmond, Virginia, with great pomp and a band playing
Dixie.

Kitty Mannock and her plane returned to Australia where she was glorified and given a riotous down-under welcome. She was entombed in the Military Museum in Canberra. Her faithful Fairchild aircraft, after restoration, was to sit beside Sir Charles Kingsford-Smith’s famous long-distance aircraft, the
Southern Cross.

Except for a few photographers and two reporters, the ceremony honoring the contributions of Hala Kamil and Admiral Sandecker for their efforts in helping halt the spread of the red tides and preventing the projected extinction of life almost went unnoticed. The President, between speeches, presented them with medals of honor awarded by a special act of Congress. Afterward, Hala returned to New York and the United Nations, where a special session was called to pay her homage. She finally succumbed to emotion during the longest-standing ovation ever given by the General Assembly.

Sandecker quietly went back to his NUMA office, worked out in his private gym, and began planning a new undersea project as if every day was the same.

Though they would not win, Dr. Darcy Chapman and Rudi Gunn were named as candidates for a joint Nobel Prize. They ignored the hoopla and returned together to the South Atlantic to analyze the effects of the mammoth red tide on the sea life. Dr. Frank Hopper joined them after being smuggled from the hospital and carried on board the research ship. He swore he’d recover faster back in the saddle, studying the toxicity of the red tides.

Hiram Yaeger received a fat bonus from NUMA and an extra ten-day paid vacation. He took his family to Disney World. While they enjoyed the attractions, he attended a seminar on archival computer systems.

General Hugo Bock, after seeing that the survivors and relatives of the dead from the now legendary battle of Fort Foureau received commendation medals and generous financial benefits, decided to resign from the UN Tactical Team at the height of his reputation. He retired to a small village in the Bavarian Alps.

As Pitt predicted, Colonel Levant was promoted to General, presented with a United Nations peace-keeping medal, and was named to succeed General Bock.

After recovering from his wounds at his family manor in Cornwall, Captain Pembroke-Smythe was promoted to Major and returned to his former regiment. He was received by the Queen, who presented him with the Distinguished Service Order (DSO). He is currently posted with a special commando unit.

St. Julien Perlmutter, happy that he was wrong at seeing the American public take the reappearance of their most esteemed President and the belated expose of Edwin Stanton’s treason in stride, was feted by numerous historic organizations and honored with enough awards to fill one wall of his house.

Al Giordino tracked down the cute piano player he met on Yves Massarde’s houseboat in the Niger. Fortunately, she was unmarried and for some inexplicable reason, at least to Pitt, she took a liking to Giordino and accepted his invitation to go on a diving trip to the Red Sea.

As for Dirk Pitt and Eva Rojas . . .

65

June 25, 1996

Monterey, California

June marked the height of the tourist season on the Monterey Peninsula. They drove their cars and recreational vehicles bumper-to-bumper over the scenic Seventeen-Mile Drive between Monterey and Carmel. Along Cannery Row, the shoppers were shoulder-to-shoulder as they alternated between buying sprees and dining in the picturesque seafood restaurants overlooking the water. They came to play golf at Pebble Beach, see Big Sur, and take pictures of sunsets off Point Lobos. They wandered through the wineries, stared at the ancient cypress trees, and strolled along the beaches, thrilling to the sights of gliding pelicans, the barking of the seals, and the crashing waves.

Eva’s mother and father were becoming immune to their spectacular surroundings after having lived in the same cottage-style house in Pacific Grove for over thirty-two years. They often took for granted their good fortune at living in such a beautiful part of the California coast. But the blinders always came off when Eva came home. She never failed to see the peninsula through the eyes of a teenager, as if viewing her very own car for the first time.

Whenever she came home she dragged her parents out of their comfortable routine to enjoy the simple beauties of their community. But this trip was a different story. She was in no condition to push them into a bike ride or a swim in the brisk waters rolling in from the Pacific. Nor did she feel in the mood to do anything but mope around the house.

Two days out of the hospital, Eva was confined to a wheelchair, recovering from her injuries suffered at Fort Foureau. The wasted body, drained by her ordeal in the mines at Tebezza, had been rejuvenated by hefty helpings of healthy food that had added an inch on her slim waistline with the addition of too many calories, a condition exercise could not cure until her fractures knitted and the casts came off.

Her body was slowly mending, but her mind was sick from not hearing a word from Pitt. Since she had been airlifted from the ruins of the old Foreign Legion fort to Mauritania, and from there to a hospital in San Francisco, it was as though he had fallen into deep space. A phone call to Admiral Sandecker had only assured her that Pitt was still in the Sahara and had not returned to Washington with Giordino.

“Why don’t you come golfing with me this morning?” her father asked her. “Do you good to get out of the house.”

She looked up into his twinkling gray eyes and smiled at the way his gray hair never stayed combed. “I don’t think I’m in shape to hit the ball,” she grinned.

“I thought you might like to ride in the cart with me.”

She thought it over for a while, and then nodded. “Why not?” She held up her good arm and wiggled the toes on her right foot. “But only if I get to drive.”

Her mother fussed over her as she helped load Eva into the family Chrysler. “Now you see she doesn’t hurt herself,” she admonished Eva’s father.

“I promise to bring her back in the same condition I found her,” he joked.

Mr. Rojas teed off on the fourth hole of the Pacific Grove Municipal Golf Course along fairways that stretched around the Point Pinos Lighthouse. He watched his ball drop into a sandtrap, shook his head, and dropped the club in its bag.

“Not enough muscle,” he muttered in frustration.

Eva sat behind the wheel of the cart and gestured to a bench perched on a lookout over the sea. “Would you mind, Dad, if I sat out the next five holes. It’s such a beautiful day, , I’d just like to sit and look at the ocean.”

“Why sure, honey. I’ll pick you up on my way back to the clubhouse.”

After he helped her settle as comfortably as possible on the bench, he waved and drove the cart on down the fairway toward the green with three of his golfing buddies following in another cart.

There was a light mist hanging just over the water, but she could see the sweeping shore of the bay as it curved into the town of Monterey and then swept in a near straight line northward. The sea was calm and the waves moved like burrowing animals under the great fields of kelp. She inhaled the air, pungent with drying seaweed draped on the rocky shore, and watched a sea otter’s antics as it cavorted around the kelp.

Eva looked up suddenly as a squawking sea gull glided overhead. She slowly turned her head to follow its flight and suddenly found her eyes locked on a man standing slightly to the side and behind the bench.

“You and I and the Bay of Monterey,” he said softly.

Pitt stood smiling in delight and immense affection as Eva stared at him for a long moment in uncomprehending joy and disbelief. Then he was beside her and she was in his arms.

“Oh Dirk, Dirk! I wasn’t sure you’d come. I thought we might be finished—”

She broke off as he kissed her and looked down at the gleaming Dresden blue eyes now misting with tears that crept down her reddened cheeks.

“I should have contacted you,” he said. “My life has been chaos until two days ago.”

“You’re forgiven,” she said joyously. “But how in the world did you know I was here?”

“Your mother. Nice lady. She sent me here. I rented a golf cart and drove around the course until I saw this poor little lonely waif with a parcel of broken bones staring sadly at the sea.”

“You’re a nut,” she said happily, kissing him again.

He slid his arms under Eva and carefully picked her up. “I wish we had time to watch the waves roll in, but we have to be on our way. My God, but all this plaster makes you heavy.”

“Why are we rushing off?”

“We have to pack your things and catch a plane,” he answered as he lowered her into the golf cart.

“Plane, a plane to where?”

“A little fishing village on the west coast of Mexico.”

“You’re taking me to Mexico?” she smiled through the tears.

“To board a boat I’ve chartered.”

“For a cruise?”

“Sort of,” he explained with a grin. “We’re going to sail to a place called Clipperton Island and look for treasure.”

She said to Pitt as he drove the cart into the parking lot by the clubhouse: “I think you are the most sneaky, beguiling, and crafty man I’ve ever known—” She broke off as he stopped beside a strange-looking car with a bright fuchsia paint job. “What is this?” she asked in amazement.

“An automobile.”

“I can see that, but what kind?”

“An Avions Voisin, a gift from my old pal, Zateb Kazim.”

She stared at him blankly. “You had this shipped over from Mali?”

“On an Air Force transport,” he answered casually. “The President owed me big. So I made a simple request.”

“Where are you going to park it if we’re catching a flight?”

“I talked your mother into storing it in her garage until the Pebble Beach Concours in August.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re incorrigible.”

Pitt held her face gently between his hands, smiled down at her, and said, “That’s why I’m so much fun.”

CLIVE CUSSLER’s life nearly parallels that of his hero, Dirk Pitt®. Whether searching for lost aircraft or leading expeditions to find famous shipwrecks, he has garnered an amazing record of success. With his NUMA crew of volunteers, Cussler has discovered more than sixty lost ships of historic significance. Like Pitt, Cussler collects classic automobiles. His collection features more than eighty-five examples of custom coachwork and is one of the finest to be found anywhere. Cussler divides his time between the deserts of Arizona and the mountains of Colorado.