Deep Six

“One of my aides ran across something that might help you,” she said finally.

“What is it?”

She pulled several stapled sheets of typewritten paper from her attaché case and passed them to Pitt. Then she began explaining in a soft undertone.

“Not much meat, I’m afraid, but there’s an interesting report on the CIA’s phantom navy.”

“Didn’t know they had one,” Pitt said, sca

“Since 1963 they have accumulated a small fleet of ships that few people inside the government know about. And the few who are aware of the fleet won’t admit it exists. Besides surveillance, its primary function is to carry out clandestine operations involving the transporting of men and supplies for the infiltration of agents or guerrillas into unfriendly countries. Originally it was put together to harass Castro after his takeover of Cuba. Several years later, when it became apparent that Castro was too strong to topple, their activities were curtailed, partly because the Cubans threatened to retaliate against American fishing vessels. From that time on the CIA navy expanded its sphere of operations from Central America to the fighting in Vietnam to Africa and the Middle East. Do you follow?”

“I’m with you, but I have no idea where it’s leading.”

“Just be patient,” she said. “Several years ago an attack cargo transport called the Hobson was a part of the Navy’s reserve mothball fleet at Philadelphia. She was decommissioned and sold to a commercial shipping company, a cover for the CIA. They spared no expense in rebuilding her to outwardly resemble a common cargo carrier, while her interior was filled with concealed armament, including a new missile system, highly sophisticated communications and listening gear, and a facility for launching fast patrol and landing boats through swinging bow doors.

“She was ma

“And you found out about all this?”

“I have my sources,” she informed him.

“Does the Hobson have anything to do with the Pilottown?”

“Indirectly,” Loren answered.

“Go on.”

“Three years ago, the Hobson vanished with all hands off the Pacific Coast of Mexico.”

“So?”

“So three months later the CIA found her again.”

“Sounds familiar,” Pitt mused.

“My thought too.” Loren nodded. “A replay of the San Marino and the Belle Chasse.”

“Where was the Hobson discovered?”

Before Loren could answer, the waiter set their plates on the table. The zuppa di pesce, an Italian bouillabaisse, looked sensational.

As soon as the waiter walked out of earshot he nodded to her. “Go on.”

“I don’t know how the CIA tracked the ship down, but they came on her sitting in a dry dock in Sydney, Australia, where she was undergoing a major face-lift.”

“They find who she was registered to?”

“She flew the Philippine flag under the registry of Samar Exporters. A bogus firm that was incorporated only a few weeks earlier in Manila. Her new name was Buras.”

“Buras,” Pitt echoed. “Must be the name of a person. How’s your salad?”

“The dressing is very tasty. And yours?”

“Excellent,” he answered. “An act of sheer stupidity on the part of the pirates to steal a ship belonging to the CIA.”

“A case of a mugger rolling a drunk and finding out the drunk was an undercover detective.”

“What happened next in Sydney?”

“Nothing. The CIA, working with the Australian branch of the British Secret Service, tried to apprehend the owners of the Buras but were never able to find them.”

“No leads, no witnesses?”

“The small Korean crew living on board had been recruited in Singapore. They knew little and could only give a description of the captain, who had vanished.”

Pitt took a swallow of water and examined a page of the report. “Not much of an ID. Korean, medium height, one hundred sixty-five pounds, black hair, gap in front teeth. That narrows it down to about five or ten million men,” he said sarcastically. “Well, at least now I don’t feel so bad. If the CIA can’t pin a make on whoever is sailing around the world hijacking ships, I sure as hell can’t.”

“Has St. Julien Perlmutter called you?”

Pitt shook his head. “Haven’t heard a word. Probably lost heart and deserted the cause.”

“I have to desert the cause too,” Loren said gently. “But only for a little while.”

Pitt looked at her sternly a moment, then relaxed and laughed. “How did a nice girl ever become a politician?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Chauvinist.”

“Seriously, where will you be?”

“A short fact-finding junket on a Russian cruise ship sailing the Caribbean.”

“Of course,” Pitt said. “I’d forgotten you chair the committee for merchant marine transport.”

Loren nodded and patted her mouth with her napkin. “The last cruise ship to fly the Stars and Stripes was taken out of service in 1984. To many people this is a national disgrace. The President feels strongly that we should be represented in ocean commerce as well as naval defense. He’s asking Congress for a budget outlay of ninety million dollars to restore the S.S. United States, which has been laid up at Norfolk for twenty years, and put her back in service to compete with the foreign cruise lines.”

“And you’re going to study the Russian method of lavishing their passengers with vodka and caviar?”

“That,” she said, looking suddenly official, “and the economics of their government-operated cruise ship.”

“When do you sail?”

“Day after tomorrow. I fly to Miami and board the Leonid Andreyev. I’ll be back in five days. What will you do?”

“The admiral has given me time off to pursue the Pilottown investigation.”

“Does any of this information help you?”

“Every bit helps,” he said, straining to focus on a thought that was a distant shadow on the horizon. Then he looked at her. “Have you heard anything through the congressional grapevine?”

“You mean gossip? Like who’s screwing who?”

“Something heavier. Rumors of a missing party high in government or a foreign diplomat.”

Loren shook her head. “No, nothing quite so sinister. The Capitol scene is pretty dull while Congress is in recess. Why? You know of a scandal brewing I don’t?”

“Just asking,” Pitt said noncommittally.

Her hand crept across the table and clasped his. “I have no idea where all this is taking you, but please be careful. Fu Manchu might get wise you’re on his scent and lay in ambush.”

Pitt turned and laughed. “I haven’t read Sax Rohmer since I was a kid. Fu Manchu, the yellow peril. What made you think of him?”

She gave a little shrug. “I don’t really know. A mental association with an old Peter Sellers movie, the Sosan Trading Company and the Korean crew of the Buras, I guess.”

A faraway look came over Pitt’s eyes and then they widened. The thought on the horizon crystallized. He hailed the waiter and paid the bill with a credit card.

“I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls,” he explained briefly. He kissed her lightly on the lips and hurried onto the crowded sidewalk.

32

Pitt quickly drove to the NUMA building and closed himself in his office. He assembled his priorities for several moments and dialed Los Angeles on his private phone line. On the fifth ring a girl answered who couldn’t pronounce her r’s.

“Casio and Associates Investigatahs.”

“I’d like to speak to Mr. Casio, please.”