Vixen 03

Sandecker watched the altimeter as though mesmerized. It seemed to him the needle made a fractional tic above the one-thousand-foot mark. Was it wishful thinking, or had the instrument really registered an upward reading? Then, slowly, almost infinitesimally, the needle appeared to move.

"Climbing," he reported. His voice had a tremor in it.

Steiger did not answer.

The rate of ascent began to increase. Sandecker remained quiet until he was sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on his brain. There was no more cause for uncertainty. The needle was slowly sweeping past the next indication.

66

The relief of the men in the emergency executive offices was impossible to describe. If polled, they would have unanimously agreed they had never seen any sight half so wonderful in their lives. Even dour General Higgins was gri

The President sagged in his chair and allowed himself the pleasure of lighting a cigar. He nodded down the table at Jarvis through a haze of smoke.

"It would appear. Dale_, that you are clairvoyant."

"A calculated guess, Mr. President," said Jarvis.

Admiral Kemper lifted his phone. "Put me in communication with that NUMA chopper!" he ordered.

"We haven't weathered the storm yet," said Higgins. "Those people up there can't fly around forever."

"We are in voice contact." A crisp a

Kemper spoke into his desk phone while keeping both eyes locked on the progress of the Minerva. "This is Admiral Joseph Kemper of the Joint Chiefs, NUMA copter; please identify yourself."

A voice replied so calmly and clearly it could have come from across the room.

"Jim Sandecker, Joe. What's on your mind?"

The President sat up in his chair. "The director of NUMA?"

Kemper nodded. "You know damn well what's on my mind!" he snapped into the receiver.

"Ah yes, the Quick Death warhead. I assume you're aware of its potential."

"I am."

"And you want to know what I'm going to do with it."

"The thought had occurred to me."

"As soon as we reach five thousand feet," said Sandecker, "the pilot, Colonel Abe Steiger, and I are going to make a beeline for the sea and drop the son of a bitch as far from shore as our fuel will carry us."

"How far do you reckon?" asked Kemper.

There was a pause as Sandecker consulted with Steiger. "Approximately six hundred miles due east of the Delaware coastline."

"How secure is the projectile?"

"Seems snug enough. Might help if we didn't have to rely on instruments and could enjoy the scenery."

"Come again?"

"The parachute canopy is snagged across our windshield. We can only look straight down."

"Can we assist you?" asked Kemper.

"Yes," replied Sandecker. "By notifying all military and commercial flight traffic to stay clear of our path to the sea."

"Consider it done," Kemper said. "I'll also arrange to have a rescue vessel standing by near your estimated splashdown point."

"Negative, Joe. Colonel Steiger and I appreciate the gesture, but it would be a foolish waste of men's lives. You understand."

Kemper did not answer immediately. His eyes took on a look of deep sorrow. Then he said, "Understood. Kemper out."

"Is there no way they can be saved?" Jarvis asked.

Kemper shook his head. "The sad truth is that Admiral Sandecker and Colonel Steiger are committing suicide. When the helicopter runs out of fuel and drops toward the sea, the projectile goes with it. When they both reach one thousand feet, the warhead disperses the Quick Death organism. The rest goes without saying."

"But surely they can cut away the canopy and fly a safe distance before ditching," Jarvis persisted.

"I see Admiral Kemper's point," said Higgins. "The answer is on the viewing screen. The parachute is the helicopter's death shroud. The lines are woven around the base of the rotor and overhang the side opposite the cargo door. Even if the craft were hovering in a stationary position, it would be impossible for a man to climb out on that streamlined fairing far enough to reach the lines with a knife."

"Could they bail out of the helicopter before it goes down?" Jarvis inquired.

General Sayre shook his head. "Unlike conventional aircraft, whirlybirds do not have automatic control systems. They must be flown manually every second. If the crew were to ditch, the craft would fall on top of them."

"The same principle applies to a midair pickup," said Kemper. "We might snatch one of the men, but not both."

"There is nothing we can do?" There was a faint catch in Jarvis's voice.

The President gazed forlornly at the lacquered tabletop for several moments. At last he said, 'Just pray that they carry that vile abhorrence safely past our shores."

"And if they make it?"

"Then we sit helplessly by and watch two brave men die."

The icy water jabbed Pitt back to consciousness. The first minute, eyes blinking back the bright daylight, his mind tried to fathom his condition, to make sense out of why he was floating in a cold, dirty river. Then the pain began to bloom and his head felt like the receiving end of a carpenter's nail.

He felt a vibration in the water, heard a muffled popping sound, and soon a Coast Guard patrol boat slid out of the rising sun and idled in his direction. Two men in wet suits dropped over the side and expertly fitted Pitt into a hoist rig. The signal was given and he was gently hauled on board.

"A bit early in the morning for a swim," said a huge bear of a man with his arm in a sling. "Or are you practicing for the English Cha

Pitt looked around and saw the shattered glass and shredded wood on the boat's bridge. "Where did you come from? The battle of Midway?"

The bear gri

"Dirk Pitt. I'm with NUMA."

Kiebel's eyes narrowed. "How did you come to be on the battleship?"

Pitt looked up at the boat's broken rigging. "I believe I owe you a new radio aerial."

"That was you?"

"Sorry about the hit and run, but there was no time to fill out an accident report."

Kiebel motioned toward a doorway. "Better come inside and get a bandage on your head. It looks as though you took a nasty crack."

It was then that Pitt saw a great pall of smoke rising around a bend in the Potomac. "The Iowa," he said. "What of the Iowa?"

"She blew herself up."

Pitt leaned heavily against the railing.

Kiebel gently put his good arm around Pitt as one of his men brought up a blanket. "Better take it easy and lie down. A doctor will be waiting when we dock."

"It doesn't matter," Pitt said. "Not anymore."

Kiebel steered him into the pilothouse and found Pitt a steaming cup of coffee. "Sorry there's no booze on board. Regulations and all that. A bit early for a shot anyway." Then he turned and spoke through an open doorway to his communications officer. "What's the latest on that helicopter?"