Trojan Odyssey (41 page)

“To the nearest bathroom,” Pitt answered nonchalantly.

The woman didn't know whether to stop the elevator or scream. Confused, she fell back on her womanly instinct and opened her mouth to scream. Pitt showed no hesitation in ramming his right fist into her jaw. She went down like a sack of wet flour. Giordino grabbed her under the arms before she hit the floor and pulled her into a corner, where she was out of sight when the doors opened.

“Why didn't you simply gag her?” asked Hilda, shocked at seeing Pitt brutally strike the woman.

“Because she would have bitten my hand, and I didn't feel in a chivalrous mood to let her do it.”

Agonizingly, with apparently infinite slowness, the elevator rose the final few feet of its ascent and reached the stop on the tenth floor leading to the roof. After it eased smoothly to a halt, the doors spread apart and they exited.

Right into a group of four uniformed security guards who had been standing out of sight behind a large air-conditioning unit.

 

T
HE ATMOSPHERE WAS
one of calm if not an equal level of anxiety in Sandecker's penthouse apartment at the Watergate in Washington. He paced the floor under a trail of blue smoke from one of his mammoth, specially wrapped cigars. Some men might have acted as gentlemen with ladies present rather than enshrouding them with tobacco fumes, but not the admiral. They either accepted his noxious habit or he didn't entertain them. And, despite this liability, single ladies of Washington passed over his doorstep with surprising frequency.

Considered a prestigious catch because he was an unmarried widower with a daughter and three grandchildren who lived in Hong Kong, Sandecker was besieged with dinner invitations. Either fortuitously or unluckily, depending upon how one looked at it, he was constantly introduced to single ladies looking for a husband or a relationship. Amazingly, the admiral was a master at juggling five ladies at the same time, one of the reasons he was a fitness nut.

His lady of the evening, Congresswoman Bertha Garcia, who stepped into the office of her late husband, Marcus, was sitting on the balcony, drinking a glass of fine port while viewing the lights of the capital. Stylishly attired in a short black cocktail dress after attending a party with the admiral, she gazed with amusement at Sandecker's nervousness.

“Why don't you sit down, Jim, before you wear out the carpet?”

He stopped and came over to her, placing a hand against her cheek. “Forgive me for ignoring you, but I've got a situation with two of my people down in Nicaragua.” He sat down heavily beside her. “What if I told you that our east coast and Europe were going to suffer severe winters the likes of which we've never seen.”

“We can always survive a bad year.”

“I'm talking centuries.”

She set her glass on a patio table. “Certainly not with global warming.”

“With global warming,” he said firmly.

The phone rang and he marched in and picked it up from his penthouse office desk.

“Yes?”

“Rudi, Admiral,” came Gunn's voice. “Still no word.”

“Have they made entry?”

“We've heard nothing since they left on a jet ski across the lake from Granada.”

“I don't like it,” Sandecker muttered. “We should have heard from them by now.”

“We should leave jobs like this to the intelligence agencies,” said Gunn.

“I agree, but there was no stopping Dirk and Al.”

“They'll make it,” Gunn said reassuringly. “They always do.”

“Yes,” Sandecker said heavily. “But someday the law of averages will catch up and their luck will run out.”

T
HE GUARDS WERE
as surprised to see the group exit the elevator as Pitt was to see them. Three wore the blue jumpsuits of security guards, the fourth was a woman dressed in green. Pitt guessed she was of a higher rank than the men. Unlike the others, she carried no assault rifle. Her only weapon was a small automatic pistol in a belt holster on her hip. Pitt quickly took the initiative. He walked up to the woman.

“Are you in charge here?” he asked, in a voice calm and authoritative.

The woman, taken back momentarily, stared at him. “I'm in charge. What are you doing here?”

Relieved that she spoke English, he motioned to the Lowenhardts. “We found these two wandering around the fourth floor. Nobody seemed to know how they came to be there. We were told to turn them over to the guards on the roof. That's you.”

The woman studied the Lowenhardts, who were looking at Pitt with growing shock and fear in their eyes.

“I know these people. They are scientists who work on the project. They're supposed to be confined to their quarters.”

“There was a disturbance, a vehicle caught fire. They must have escaped during the commotion.”

The female guard, looking confused, did not question how the Lowenhardts came to be in the headquarters building. “Who told you to bring them to the roof?”

Pitt shrugged. “A lady in a lavender jumpsuit.”

The three guards, with their assault rifles held at the ready, appeared to relax. They seemed to buy the story, even if their superior was doubtful. “What are your work positions?” she demanded.

Giordino took a few steps toward the helicopter, turned his head away and looked as if he was admiring it. Pitt stared directly into the woman's eyes. “We work in the tunnels. Our supervisor sent us topside for two days' rest.” Out of the corner of one eye he saw Giordino slowly, imperceptibly, move behind the guards.

The story worked before. He hoped it would work again. It did. The woman nodded.

“That doesn't explain why you were in headquarters this time of night.”

“We've been ordered back down tomorrow and were instructed to come here and pick up our passes.”

He missed on that one. “What passes? I know of no passes issued to tunnel workers. Your identification badges should suffice.”

“I only do what I'm told,” he said, acting irritated. “Do you want to take charge of these prisoners or not?”

Before she could reply, Giordino had his big gun in one hand. In one lightning motion, he lashed the barrel against one guard's head and then swung it hard against the head of the second guard. The third removed his hands from his rifle when he saw the gaping muzzle of Giordino's .50 caliber automatic aimed between his eyes.

“That's much better,” Pitt said quietly. He turned to Giordino and smiled. “A credible piece of work.”

Giordino returned a slight grin. “I thought so.”

“Take their guns.”

The woman's hand crept toward her holstered pistol.

Pitt said, “I wouldn't if I were you.”

The female guard's face was a mask of wrath, but she was smart enough to know the odds were against her. She raised her hands as Giordino removed her gun. “Who are you?” she hissed.

“I wish people would stop asking me that.” Pitt pointed at the guard still standing. “Remove your uniform. Quickly!”

The guard quickly unzipped the front of his jumpsuit and stepped out of it. Pitt did the same with his black suit. Then he slipped into the blue one.

“Down on the roof next to your men,” Pitt ordered the woman and the half-naked guard.

“What are you up to?” Giordino inquired casually.

“Like the airlines, I hate taking off with a half-empty aircraft.”

Without further probing, Giordino knew what Pitt had on his mind. He stood in front and over his prisoners so they could see his gun muzzle swing from head to head. He looked at the Lowenhardts. “Time to board,” he said firmly.

Obediently and without complaint, the two elderly people climbed into the helicopter, as Pitt walked toward the elevator. A few seconds later, the door closed and he was gone.

 

I
NSIDE AN OFFICE
penthouse on the tenth floor below the roof stretched a magnificent flow of rooms. The lavender suite, as it was appropriately named, was decorated as if swept by a tidal wave of the same color. The enormous ceilings were trimmed around the edges in lavender, with large domes painted in scenes depicting strange religious rituals and dances performed by women in flowing dresses under backgrounds of scenic forests surrounding lakes and mythical mountains. The vast wall-to-wall carpet was lavender flecked with gold, its thickness almost ankle-deep. The furniture was carved from white marble shaped like throne chairs often displayed on a Grecian vase. They were padded with thick lavender cushions. The chandeliers were coated with a deep iridescent lavender, their crystals surrounding the lights dyed to match. The walls were done in the same universal color, but in a rich velvet. High massive curtains were cut and draped from the same material. Sensual, exotic, decadent, a true dream fantasy, the effect stunned the eye of the viewer far beyond any sight they might have ever imagined.

Two women were seated on a long marble couch, reclined luxuriously in massively thick cushions. An ornately sculptured glass table stood between them with a bucket containing a vintage champagne whose bottle bore a custom lavender label. One of the women was attired in a golden gown, the other was dressed in purple. Their long red hair matched precisely, as if they used the same bottle of dye and same hairstylist. If they had not moved, an observer might have thought they were part of the outrageous decor.

The lady in purple sipped her champagne from a tulip-stemmed glass and said in a voice devoid of inflection: “Our timetable is on schedule. Ten million units of Macha will be ready for retail sale by the first snowfall. After that, our friends in China will have their assembly lines operating at full production. Their new factories will go on line by the end of summer and production will soar to two million units a month.”

“Are distribution channels in place?” asked the lady in gold, who was devastatingly beautiful.

“Warehouses either constructed or rented throughout Europe and the northeastern United States are already receiving shipments from China's cargo fleet.”

“We were fortunate that Druantia was able to step into her father's shoes and increase our desperate need for platinum.”

“Without it we could never have met the demand.”

“Have you arrived at a time to open the tunnels?”

The lady in purple nodded. “September tenth is the date calculated by our scientists. They estimated that it will take sixty days to bring down the temperature of the Gulf Stream to where it will cause extreme cold in the northern latitudes.”

The lady in gold smiled and poured another glass of champagne. “Then everything is in place.”

The other nodded and raised her glass. “To you, Epona, who will soon become the most powerful woman in the history of the world.”

“And to you, Flidais, who made it happen.”

 

P
ITT SURMISED CORRECTLY
that the main office suite would be on the top floor below the roof. The secretaries and office workers had left hours earlier and the halls were empty when he stepped from the elevator. Wearing the blue coveralls of a security guard, he had no problem walking past two other guards, who paid him scant attention as he passed into the anteroom of the main suite. He found it unguarded so he very quietly pushed open the door and stepped inside, eased the door closed, turned and froze in astonishment, overwhelmed by the tidal wave of the decor.

He heard voices in the next room and slipped between a wall and lavender curtains draped over an arched doorway that were pulled back by gold sashes. He saw the two women lounging in luxury on the couch and scanned the ostentatious suite that would have, in his mind, made the fanciest brothel look like a shack by a railroad track. The occupants were alone. He stepped past the drapes and stood in the middle of the doorway, admiring the beauty of the two women as they continued conversing without turning and finding an intruder in their midst.

“Will you be leaving soon?” Flidais asked Epona.

“In a few days. I have to take care of a little damage control in Washington. A congressional committee is investigating our newly acquired mining operations in Montana. The state's politicians are upset because we're taking all of the iridium ore for our own use and leaving none for sale to U.S. commercial enterprises or their government.” Epona leaned back comfortably in the thick pillows. “And you, my dear friend, what is on your agenda?”

“I've hired an international investigation company to track down the two men who penetrated our security and roamed the tunnels before escaping through the lighthouse ventilator.”

“Any idea of their identities?”

“I suspect they were members of the National Underwater and Marine Agency. The same ones I escaped from after they destroyed our yacht.”

“You think our efforts for secrecy have been compromised?”

Flidais shook her head. “I don't think so. At least not yet. Our agents have reported no activity by U.S. intelligence agencies to investigate the tunnels. There has been a strange silence. It's as if those devils from NUMA disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“We need not be unduly concerned. It's too late for the Americans to stop our operation. And besides, it's doubtful they've discovered the tunnel's true purpose. Only eight more days and they'll be open and pumping the South Equatorial Current into the Pacific.”

“I'm hoping the reason for their silence is that they haven't put two and two together and found a threat.”

“That would explain their inaction.”

“On the other hand,” Epona said, thoughtfully, “one would think they'd seek retaliation for the murder of a member of their crew.”

“An execution that was a matter of necessity,” Flidais assured her.

“I disagree,” said Pitt. “Cold-blooded murder is never a matter of necessity.”

 

T
HERE WAS A
stunned moment in time, the champagne glass held between Epona's manicured fingers fell silently to the thick carpet. Both heads whirled around, their long hair snapping around like whips. The long-lashed eyes flashed from surprise to irritation at being interrupted by an unauthorized intrusion by one of their own security personnel. Then came surprise at seeing Pitt's Colt aimed in their direction.

Pitt caught the flick of Epona's eyes toward a small golden remote on the carpet under the glass table. Her foot began slipping toward it. “Not a smart move, dear heart,” he said casually.

The foot stopped, her toe inches from one of the buttons. Then she slowly withdrew her foot.

In that instant Flidais recognized Pitt. “You!” she said sharply.

“Hello, Rita, or whatever you call yourself.” His eyes swept the room. “You seem to have come up in the world.”

The amber-brown eyes glared at him in cold anger. “How did you get in here?”

“Don't you like my designer jumpsuit?” he said, as if modeling at a fashion show. “It's amazing the doors they open.”

“Flidais, who is this man?” Epona asked, studying Pitt as one would a specimen in a zoo.

“My name is Dirk Pitt. Your friend and I met off the east coast of Nicaragua. As I recall, she wore a yellow bikini and owned an elegant yacht.”

“Which you destroyed,” Flidais hissed like a flared cobra.

“I don't recall you giving us a choice.”

“What do you want?” inquired Epona, staring at him through jade eyes flecked with gold.

“I think it only fair that Flidais—is that what you call her?—answer for her crimes.”

“May I ask what you have in mind?” she asked, staring at him enigmatically.

This woman was a class act, Pitt decided, nothing fazed her, not even the muzzle of his gun. “I'm taking her on a little flight north.”

“Just like that.”

Pitt nodded. “Just like that.”

“And if I refuse,” Flidais snarled contemptuously.

“Let's just say you won't enjoy the consequences.”

“If I don't do as you say, you'll kill me. Is that it?”

He placed the muzzle of his Colt .45 against the side of her face next to her left eye. “No, I'll simply blow out your eyeballs. You'll live to old age, blind and ugly as sin.”

“You're crude and vulgar, like most men,” said Epona indignantly. “I'd have expected no less from you.”

“It's nice to know I didn't disappoint such an astute and beautiful lady.”

“You need not patronize me, Mr. Pitt.”

“I'm not patronizing you, Epona, I'm tolerating you.” He got to her on that one, he thought, pleased with himself. “Perhaps we'll meet again someday under more enjoyable circumstances.”