Raise the Titanic

    "Oh shit!" Dana gasped.

    Seagram frowned at her irritably. "Now what's your problem?"

    "The broad standing beside the President."

    "That happens to be Ashley Fleming."

    "I know that," Dana whispered, trying to hide behind Seagram's reassuring bulk. "Look at her gown."

    Seagram didn't get it at first, and then it hit him, and it was all he could do to suppress a boisterous laugh. "By God, you're both wearing the same dress!"

    "It's not fu

    "Where did you get yours?"

    "I borrowed it from A

    "That lesbian model across the street?"

    "It was given to her by Claude d'Orsini, the fashion designer."

    Seagram took her by the hand. "If nothing else, it only goes to prove what good taste my wife has."

    Before she could reply, the line joggled forward and they suddenly found themselves standing awkwardly in front of the President.

    "Gene, how nice to see you." The President smiled politely.

    "Thank you for inviting us, Mr. President. You know my wife, Dana."

    The President studied her, his eyes lingering on her cleavage. "Of course. Charming, absolutely charming." Then he leaned over and whispered in her ear.

    Dana's eyes went wide and she flushed scarlet.

    The President straightened and said, "May I introduce my lovely hostess, Miss Ashley Fleming. Ashley, Mr. and Mrs. Gene Seagram."

    "It's a great pleasure to meet you at last, Miss Fleming," Seagram murmured.

    He might as well have been talking to a tree. Ashley Fleming's eyes were cutting apart Dana's dress.

    "It seems apparent, Mrs. Seagram," Ashley said sweetly, "one of us will be searching for a new dress designer first thing in the morning."

    "Oh, I couldn't switch," Dana replied i

    Ashley Fleming's penciled brows raised questioningly. "Jacques Pi

    "He's more widely known as J. C. Pe

    Ashley Fleming's face froze in a mask of indignation as the President went into a coughing spasm. Seagram nodded weakly, grabbed Dana's arm, and quickly hustled her away into the mainstream of the crowd.

    "Did you have to do that?" he growled.

    "I couldn't resist it. That woman is nothing but a glorified hooker." Then Dana's eyes looked up at him in bewilderment. "He propositioned me," she said, unbelieving. "The President of the United States propositioned me."

    "Warren G. Harding and John F. Ke

    "A lecher for a President. It's disgusting."

    "Are you going to take him up on it?" Seagram gri

    "Don't be ridiculous!" she snapped back.

    "May I join the battle?" The request came from a little man with flaming red hair, nattily dressed in a blue di

    "Depends whose side you're on," Seagram said.

    "Knowing your wife's fetish for Women's Lib," the stranger said, "I'd be only too happy to join forces with her husband."

    "You know Dana?"

    "I should. I'm her boss."

    Seagram stared at him in amazement. "Then you must be-"

    "Admiral James Sandecker," Dana cut in, laughing, "Director of the National Underwater and Marine Agency. Admiral, may I introduce my easily flustered husband, Gene."

    "An honor, Admiral." Seagram extended his hand. "I've often looked forward to the opportunity of thanking you in person for that little favor."

    Dana looked puzzled. "You two know each other?"

    Sandecker nodded. "We've talked over the telephone. We've never met face-to-face."

    Dana slipped her hands through the men's arms. "My two favorite people consorting behind my back. What gives?"

    Seagram met Sandecker's eyes. "I once called the Admiral and requested a bit of information. That's all there was to it."

    Sandecker patted Dana's hand and said, "Why don't you make an old man eternally grateful and find him a scotch and water."

    She hesitated a moment, then kissed Sandecker lightly on the cheek and obediently began worming her way through the scattered groups of guests milling around the bar.

    Seagram shook his head in wonder. "You have a way with women. If I had asked her to get me a drink, she'd have spit in my eye."

    "I pay her a salary," Sandecker said. "You don't."

    They made their way out on the balcony and Seagram lit a cigarette while Sandecker puffed to life an immense Churchill cigar. They walked in silence until they were alone beneath a tall column in a secluded corner.

    "Any word on the First Attempt from your end?" Seagram asked quietly.

    "She docked at our Navy's submarine base in the Firth of Clyde at thirteen hundred hours, our time, this afternoon."

    "That's nearly eight hours ago. Why wasn't I notified?"

    "Your instructions were quite clear," Sandecker said coldly. "No communications from my ship until your agent was safely back on U.S. soil."

    "Then how?..."

    "My information came from an old friend in the Navy. He phoned me only a half an hour ago, madder than hell, demanding to know where my skipper got off using naval facilities without permission."

    "There's been a screw-up somewhere," Seagram said flatly. "Your ship was supposed to dock at Oslo and let my man come ashore. Just what in hell is she doing in Scotland?"

    Sandecker gave Seagram a hard stare. "Let's get one thing straight, Mr. Seagram, NUMA is not an arm of the CIA, FBI, or of any other intelligence bureau, and I don't take kindly to risking my people's lives just so you can poke around Communist territory playing espionage games. Our business is oceanographic research. Next time you want to play James Bond, get the Navy or the Coast Guard to do your dirty work. Don't con the President into ordering out one of my ships. Do you read me, Mr. Seagram?"

    "I apologize for your agency's inconvenience, Admiral. I meant nothing derogatory. You must understand my uneasiness."

    "I'd like to understand." There was a slight softening in the admiral's face. "But you'd make things a damned sight simpler if you would take me into your confidence and tell me what it is you're after."

    Seagram turned away. "I'm sorry."

    "I see," Sandecker said.

    "Why do you suppose the First Attempt bypassed Oslo?" Seagram said.

    "My guess is that your agent felt it was too dangerous to catch a civilian plane out of Oslo and decided on a military flight instead. Our nuclear sub base on the Firth of Clyde has the nearest airfield, so he probably ordered the captain of my research vessel to skip Norway and head there."