Iceberg

"Yes, I was about to offer you a little something that's guaranteed to relieve discomfort caused by hay fever, headache and indigestion."

"More Yankee humor, Major?"

Pitt let a slight grin touch his face. "Yankee sarcasm," he said.

"The prime reason why we're so often misunderstood by people of other countries. The average American has a sarcastic streak down his back that defies intellicent comprehension." He sat down next to Tamareztov and produced the bottle of vodka. "For example, you before you the fruits of my trip to the corner liquor store."

Tamareztov could only stare incredulously.

A promise made is a promise kept." pit cradled the injured Russian's head and tilted the bottle to the man's lips. "Here, drink some of this."

Tamareztov easily drained a quarter of the bottle before Pitt eased it away. He nodded his head and mumbled his thanks. Then his eyes took on a warm penetrating expression. "Domestic, true Soviet domestic- How in the world did you manage that?" he asked.

Pitt tucked the bottle in Tamareztov's armpit.,it was on sale," he said. Then he rose and turned to leave.

"Major Pitt."

"Yes?"

"Thank You," Tamareztov said simply.

He was white with snow, lying there vacantly staring at the clouds when Pitt found him. His face, calm and serene, had the expression of a man untouched by pain, a man who was happy and content and at last at peace with himself. A medic was bending over, examining him.

"Heart?" Pitt asked softly, somehow afraid he might wake him.

"Considering his age, that's as safe a bet as any, sir." The medic turned and motioned to Hull, who was standing but a few feet away.

"Shall we evacuate him, now, Captain?"

"Leave him lay," Hull said. "It's our job to save the living. This man is dead. As long as there is a chance to keep any one of these people from joining him, our attention must go to them."

"You're right, of course," Pitt said wearily. "This is your show, Captain. Hull's tone softened. "You know this man, sir?"

"I wish I had known him better. His name is Sam Kelly.

The name obviously meant nothing to Hull. 'y don't you let us take you topside, Major. You're in a pretty bad way yourself."."

Pitt reached over "No, I'll stay with Sam here and gently closed Kelly's eyes for the final time and lightly brushed the snowflakes from the old wrinkled face. Then he took a cigar he recognized as Sandecker's special brand from the box and slipped it into Kelly's breast pocket.

Hull stood unmoving for nearly a minute, groping for words. He started to say something but thought better of it and instead simply nodded his head in silent understanding. Then he turned and plunged back to work.

Sandecker closed the file and put it down and leaned forward as if he were about to spring. "If you're asking for my permission, the answer is an unequivocal no!"

"You plac me in an awkward position, Admiral."

The words came from a man who sat facing Sandecker.

He was short and seemed almost as broad as the chair.

He wore a nondescript black suit with a white shirt decorated by a black silk tie. Unconsciously, every so often, he ran his hand over a bald head as if searching for hair that once might have existed, and he peered through gray eyes that never blinked under Sandecker's blazing stare. "I had sincerely hoped we would have no disagreement. However, since that is not to be, I must inform you that my presence here is purely an act of courtesy. I already possess the orders for Major Pitts reassignment."

"By whose authority?" Sandecker asked.

"They were signed by the Secretary of Defense," the other man replied matter-of-factly.

"You wouldn't mind showing me the orders," Sandecker said. He was playing his last pawn and he knew it.

"Very well." His opponent sighed. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a set of papers and handed them to Sandecker.

Silently the admiral read the orders. Then his lips twisted in a wry smile. "I didn't really stand a chance, did I?"

"No, you didn't."

Sandecker looked down at the papers in his hands again and shook his head. "You're asking too much… too much."

"I don't enjoy this sort of thing, but time is a commodity we can't afford. This whole scheme, a naive scheme, spawned by Hermit Limited is totally impractical. I admit it sounds inspiring and all that. Save the world, build a paradise. Who knows, maybe F. James Kelly has the answer for the future. But at the moment, he is the leader of a gang of maniacs who have murdered nearly thirty people. And, exactly ten hours from now, he plans to assassinate two heads of state. Our course is determined by one elementary fact-he must be stopped. And Major Pitt is the only one who is physically capable of recognizing Kelly's hired killers."

Sandecker threw the papers on the desk. "Physically capable. Nothing but goddamned words that have no feeling." He pushed himself from the chair and began pacing the room. "You're asking me to order a man who has been like a son to me, a man who has been beaten within an inch of death, to get up from a hospital bed and track down a gang of vicious killers six thousand miles from here?" Sandecker shook his head.

"You don't know the half of what you're demanding from human flesh and blood. There are limits to a man's courage. Dirk has already done far more than was expected of him."

"Granted that courage is reduced by expenditure.

And I agree that the major has done more than was thought humanly possible. God knows there are few if any of my men who could have pulled that rescue off."

"It could be we're arguing over nothing," Sandecker said. "Pitt may not be in any condition to leave the hospital."

"I'm afraid your fears, or should I say your hopes, are groundless." The bald man checked through a brown folder. "I have here a few observations from my agents, who by the way have been guarding the major."

He paused, reading, then went on. "Excellent physique, constitution like a bull, unique rapport with… ah… the nurses.

Fourteen hours of rest, intensive care and massive vitamin injections plus the finest muscle therapy known by the top doctors in Iceland. He has been stitched, massaged and taped. Fortunately, the only major damage was to his ribs and at that the fractures were minor. All in all, he's a sorry mess, but I can't be particular. I'd take him if they were lowerin him into a coffin."

Sandecker's face was cold and blank. He turned as one of the embassy secretaries poked her head around a door.

"Major Pitt is here, sir."

Sandecker glared at the fat man. Surprise edged into his voice. "You bastard, you knew all along he would do it."

The fat man shrugged and said nothing.

Sandecker stiffened. His eyes looked resentfully into the fat man's. "Okay, send him in." Pitt came through the door and shut it behind him.

He moved stiffly across the room to a vacant sofa and very slowly eased into the soft cushions. His entire face was swathed in bandages, only the slits for his eyes and nose plus the top opening for a patch of black hair gave any indication of life beneath the rolls of white gauze.

Sandecker tried to look behind the bandages. The deep green eyes that were visible never seemed to flicker.

Sandecker sat down behind the desk and clasped his hand behind his head. "Do the doctors at the hospital know where you are?"