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  "You were warned."

  Pitt managed a sour grin as he lightly touched the bandage on his head. "One of these times I'm going to volunteer once too often."

  "You're probably the world's luckiest bastard," Sandecker said. "Living through two attempts on your life in the same morning."

  "Which reminds me, how are my two friendly POlicemen?"

  "Under interrogation. But short of Gestapo torture methods. I seriously doubt if we even get so much as a name, rank and serial number out of them. They keep insisting that they're going to be killed anyway, so why should they offer us information."

  "Who is doing the interrogating?"

  "National Intelligence agents on our airbase at Keflavik. The Iceland government is cooperating with us every step of the way-after all, Fyrie was practically their national hero. They're just as interested in finding out what happened to the probe and the Lax as we are."

  Sandecker paused to remove a small bit Of tobacco from his tongue. "If you're wondering why NUMA is mixed up in this instead of sitting on the sidelines and cheering on the National Intelligence Agency and their army of super spies, the answer is, or I should say was, Hunnewell. He corresponded with Fyrie's scientists for months, offering his knowledge toward the ultimate success of the probe. It was Hunnewell who was instrumental in the development of celtinium-279. Only he had a rough idea of what the probe looked like, and only he could have safely disassembled it."

  "That, of course, explains why Hunnewell had to be the first aboard the derelict."

  "Yes, celtinium in its refined state is very unstable.

  Under the right conditions, it can explode with a force equal to a fifty-ton phosphate bomb, but with a pronounced characteristic difference. Celtinium fulminates at a very slow rate, burning everything in its path to ashes. Yet, unlike more common explosives, its expansion pressure is quite low, about the same as a sixtymile-an-hour wind. It could go off and melt but not shatter a pane of glass."

  "Then MY flamethrower theory was a bust. It was the probe that went off and turned the Lax into an instant pyre."

  Sandecker smiled. "You came close."

  “But that means the probe is destroyed."

  Sandecker nodded, his smile rapidly fading. "All of it, the murders, the probe, the killers' search for undersea treasure, it went all for nothing-a terrible, terrible waste."

  "It's possible that the organization behind this affair has the design and plans for the probe in its possession."

  "It is more than possible." He paused, then went on almost absently. "A lot of good it will do them. Hunnewell was the only person on earth with the process for celtinium-279. As he often said, it was basically so simple that he kept it in his head."

  "The fools," pitt murmured. "They murdered their only key to constructing a new probe. But why? Hunnewell couldn't have been a serious threat unless he found something on the derelict that led to the organization's paid mastermind."

  "I haven't the vaguest idea." Sandecker shrugged helplessly. "Anymore than I can guess who the unseen men were who chipped the red dye marker off the iceberg."

  "I wish I knew where in the hell to take the next step," Pitt said.

  "I've taken care of that little matter for you."

  Pitt looked up skeptically. "I hope this isn't another one of your famous favors."

  “You said it yourself, you wanted to see if Iceland's women were coolly beautiful."

  35

  "You're changing the subject." Pitt looked steadily at the admiral. "Here it comes, let me guess, You're going to introduce me to a burly, steelyeyed Icelandic female government official who is going to make me sit up half the night going over the same old tired questions and answers that I've already covered. Sorry, Admiral, I'm not up to it."

  Sandecker's eyes narrowed and he sighed. "Suit yourself. The girl I have in mind isn't burly or steelyeyed or a government official, for that matter. She happens to be the loveliest woman north of the sixty-fourth parallel and, I might add, the wealthiest."

  "Oh, really?" Pitt suddenly came alive. "What's her name?"

  "Kirsti," Sandecker said with a sly smile. "Kirsti Fyrie, Kristjan Fyrie's twin sister."

  Chapter 8

  If Snorri's Restaurant in Reykjavik could be picked up and placed down in any of the epicurean distinguished cities of the world, it would be instantly greeted with respectful acclaim. its one great hall, with open kitchen and earthen ovens only a few feet from the dining area, was designed in the Viking tradition. Richly panneled walls and intricately carved doors and beams rovided the perfect atmosphere for a leisurely yet elegant dinner . The menu selection was created to reward even the most picky gourmet, and along one entire wall stood a buffet table with over two hundred different native dishes.

  Pitt surveyed the crowded dining hall. The tables were filled with laughing, talkative Icelanders and their lovely women. He was standing there, his eyes taking in the scene, his nostrils basking in the rich food smells when the maitre d' came up and spoke in Icelandic. Pitt shook his head and pointed at Admiral Sandecker and Tidi Royal comfortably ensconced at a table near the bar. He made his way over to them.

  Sandecker waved Pitt to a chair opposite Tidi and hailed a passing waiter in the same motion. "You're ten minutes late."

  "Sorry," Pitt said. "I took a walk in the Tjamargardar gardens and did a little sightseeing."

  "Looks like you found yourself a swinging men's shop," Tidi remarked admiringly. Her wise brown eyes roved over his wool turtleneck sweater, belted corduroy jacket and plaid slacks.

  "I grew tired of wearing hand-me-downs," he said, smiling.

  Sandecker looked up at the waiter. "Two more of the same," he said. "What will you have, Dirk?"

  "What are you and Tidi drinking?"

  "Holland gin-schnapps if you prefer. It seems to be big with the natives."

  Pitt twisted his mouth. "No, thanks. I'll stick with my old standby, Cutty rocks."

  The waiter nodded and left.

  "Where is this exciting creature I've heard so much about?" Pitt asked.

  "Miss Fyrie should be along any minute," Sandecker replied.

  "Just before we were attacked, Hunnewell said that Fyrie's sister was a missionary in New Guinea."

  "Yes, little else is known about her. In fact, few people knew she even existed until Fyrie's will named her sole beneficiary.

  Then she appeared at Fyrie Limited one day and took the reins as smoothly as if she had built the empire herself. Don't get any ideas in that bedroom mind of yours. She's shrewd-just as shrewd as her brother was."

  "Then why bother with the introductions. You say hands off, yet I get the distinct impression that I'm supposed to play Prince Charming. Get cozy, but not too cozy. You've chosen the wrong man, Admiral. I'm the first to admit my looks hardly put me in the Rock Hudson-Paul Newman class, but I have a nasty habit when it comes to pursuing skirts-I'm picky. I'm not geared to assault every girl that comes into sight, especially one who is the spitting image of her brother. spent half her life as a missionary, and runs a giant corporation with a mace and chain. Sorry, Admiral, Miss Fyrie hardly sounds like my type."

  "I think it's disgusting," Tidi said disapproving] the eyebrows arched above the huge brown eyes.

  "NUMA is supposed to be dedicated to scientific research of the oceans. None of this talk sounds very scientific to me."

  Sandecker threw her an admonishing stare, a facial display that he was unquestionably a master at projecting. "Secretaries should be seen and not heard. Tidi was saved from fher reprimand by the timely arrival of the waiter with the drinks. He set them on the table with an accomplished motion and then left.

  Sandecker watched until the waiter was several tables away before he turned back to Pitt.

  "Nearly forty percent of NUMA's projects are designed and planned around mining the sea floor. Russia leads us by a wide margin in surface programs, the science of her fishing fleet far surpasses anything we've got. But she lags badly in
deep submersibles-a damned vital piece of equipment for undersea mining. This is our strong point-We want to maintain this advantage. Our Country has the resources, but Fyrie Limited has the technical knowledge. With Kristjan Fyrie we had a good, close working association. No, now that he's only a memory, I don't care to see the results of our efforts lost just when our programs are on the verge of hitting paydirt. I've talked to Miss Fyrie. All of a sudden she's very noncommittal-says she has decided to reevaluate her firm's Programs with our country. "You said she's shrewd," Pitt said. "Maybe she's holding out to the highest bidder. There's nothing in the book that says she has to be as magnanimous as her brother."

  "Dammit," Sandecker said irritably. "Anything is Possible. Maybe she hates Americans."

  "She's not alone."

  "If so, there must be a reason, and we've got to find it."

  "Enter Dirk Pitt, stage left."

  "Precisely, but no hanky-panky. I'm taking you off the Pacific Oceanlab project definitely and putting you on this one-Forget playing secret agent while you're at it. Leave the intrigue and the dead bodies to the National Intelligence Agency.

  36

  You're to act in your official capacity as special projects director for NUMA. No more no less. If you stumble onto any information that might lead to the people who killed Fyrie, Hunnewell and Matajic, you're to pass it on."

  "Pass it on to whom?"

  Sandecker shrugged. "I don't know. The N.S.A didn't see fit to tell me before I left Washin-ton."

  "Great, I'll take out a full-page ad in the local newspaper," Pitt said sourly.

  "I don't recommend it," Sandecker said. He took a long swallow from his glass and mide a wry face. "God, what do they see in this stuff?" He took another swallow from a glass of water. "I have to be in Washington the day after tomorrow. That gives me enough time to smooth the way for you."

  "With-ah-Miss Fyrie?"

  "With Fyrie Limited. I've arranged an exchange program. I'm taking one of their top engineers with me to the States to observe and study our techniques while you're to stay here and report on theirs. Your primary job will be to restore the close relationship we once enjoyed with the Fyrie's management."

  "If this Fyrie broad has been so cool toward you and NUMA. why did she consent to meet us tonight?"

  "Out of courtesy. Dr. Hunnewell and her brother were good friends. His death and the fact that you made a gallant but losing attempt to save his life played on her feminine emotions. In short, she insisted 'On meeting you "She's beginning to sound like a cross between Catherine the Great and Aimee Semple McPherson," Tidi said sarcastically.

  "I can't wait to meet my new boss face to face," Pitt said. Sandecker nodded. "You can in precisely five seconds-she just walked in."

  Pitt turned, and so did every other male head in the restaurant. She stood in the foyer very tall and very blond, like a fantasy of womanly perfection, incredibly beautiful, as if caught in the perfect pose by the lens of a fashion photographer's camera. Her statuesque figure was encased in a long violet-colored dress of velvet with peasant embroidery on the sleeves and hem. Now she caught Sandecker's wave. and she walked over to the table, moving with a graceful flowing motion that possessed all the suppleness of a ballerina and more than the suggestion of a natural athlete. By this time all the women in the restaurant were eyeing her with instinctive envy.

  Pitt pushed back his chair and rose and studied her face as she approached. It was her tan that intrigued him. The delicately clear tanned complexion somehow seemed foreign to an Icelandic woman, even one who spent a good portion of her life in the back country of New Guinea. The total effect was striking. The blond hair, a carefree casual look with a controlled tousled effect, the deep violet eyes tbal matched the color of her dress, she was hardly what Pitt had imagined, to say the least.

  "My dear Miss Fyrie, I'm honored that you could dine with us." Admiral Sandecker took her hand and kissed it. Then he turned to Tidi, who wore a mask of friendliness. "May I introduce my secretary, miss Tidi Royal."

  The two women exchanged polite but typically cool feminine greetings.

  Then Sandecker turned to Pitt. "And this is Major Dirk Pitt, the real driving force behind my agency's projects."

  "So this is the brave gentleman you've told me so much about, Admiral." Her voice came across husky and terribly . sexy. "I am deeply sorry for the tragic loss of Dr. Hunnewell. My brother thought very highly of him."

  "We're sorry too" Pitt said.

  There was a pause while they looked at each other, Kirsti Fyrie with a touch of speculation in her eyes, and with what might have been more than friendly interest.

  Pitt with analytical male appraisal.

  He was the first to break the silence. "If I sit here staring, Miss Fyrie, it's because Admiral Sandecker failed to warn me that the head of Fyrie Limited had such mystic eyes."

  "I have been paid compliments by men before, Major Pitt, but you are the first to describe my eyes as mystic."

  "Purely academic," Pitt said. "The eyes are doors to the secrets a person hides from within."

  "And what deep, dark shadows do you see lurking within my soul?"

  Pitt laughed. "A gentleman never reveals a lady's private thoughts." He offered her a cigarette, but she shook her head.

  "Seriously, our eyes have something in common."

  "Miss Fyrie's eyes are deep blue," Tidi said, yours are green. What could they possibly have in common?"

  "Miss Fyrie's eyes, like mine, have rays that spread from the pupil into the iris," Pitt said. "They're sometimes called flashes." He paused to light a cigarette. "I have it from the best authority, flashes are a sign of psychic powers."

  "Are you clairvoyant?" Kirsti asked.

  "I admit to being a failure," Pitt replied. "I always lose at poker because I have yet to read my opponent's cards or mind.

  How about you, Miss Fyrie, can you see into the future?"

  He saw a fleeting shadow across her eyes.

  "I know my destiny, therefore I can control it."

  Pitts dark, grinning features gave nothing away as he began to enter into the spirit of the eternal chase. He leaned across the table until only a few inches separated their eyes-green stared into violet.

  "I take it you usually expect to get what you want?"

  "Yes!" Her answer came without an instants hesitation.

  37

  Then suppose I told you that under no circumstances would I ever attempt to make love to you?"

  "I know the sort of thing you expect me to say, Major." An expression of defiant determination animated her face. "But If I really desired you and demanded your attention, I would be playing into your hands, Eternally. No, I seldom bother with something I do not want. I shant totally impore your empty rejection."

  Pitt acted as if he were unconscious of any static in the atmosphere. "Why, Miss Fyrie, I hardly figured you for a cop-out artist."

  She looked blank. "A cop-out artist?"

  "That's American for chicken," Tidi said with a razor-sharp tongue coated with several layers of sugar.

  Admiral Sandecker cleared his throat. He was thinking of what might happen if this trend in the conversation were to continue.

  "I see no reason for an old man to sit here and listen to all this lighthearted talk while he's starving.

  Particularly when several square yards of delicious-looking food sits begging for attention only ten feet away."

  "Please allow me to introduce you to our native buffet dishes," Kirsti said. "I trust Major Pitts appetite for food is more regulated than his appetite for sex."

  "Touche!" Pitt laughed. He rose and pulled back Kirsti's chair. "From this moment forward, my every move will be with moderation."

  The varieties of fish seemed endless. Pitt counted over twenty different dishes of salmon and nearly fifteen of cod alone.

  They each returned with their plates heaped with near over-the-rim helpings.

  "I see you've taken a fancy to our cured shark
meat, Major." Kirsti's eyes were smiling.

  "I've heard a great deal about the processing," Pitt said. "And now at last I have a chance to try it."

  The smile in her lovely eyes turned to a flicker of surprise as he ate several slices. "Are you sure you're aware of how we prepare it?"

  "Of course," he answered. "The species of shark found in colder waters can't be eaten fresh, so you slice it in strips and bury it in beach sand for twenty-six days and then cure it in the wind."

  "You're eating it raw, you know?" Kirsti persisted.

  "Is there any other way"' Pitt said as he forked another slice into his mouth. Didn't have an easy time trying to shock him, Miss Fyrie."

  Sandecker cast a distasteful eye at the shark meat. "Dirk's hebby is gourmet cooking. His specialty is fish, and he is an expert on international seafood preparation."

  "Actually, it's quite good," Pitt managed between mouthfuls. "However, I do think the Malaysian version has a better flavor.

  They cure the shark meat wrapped in a seaweed called echidna. This gives it a slightly sweeter taste than the Icelandic delicacy."

  "Americans usually order steak or chicken," Kirsti said. "You are the first I have known who prefers fish."

  "Not entirely," Pitt said. "Like most of my countrymen, my favorite standby is still a good double hamburger with French fries and a chocolate malt."

  Kirsti looked at Pitt and smiled. "I am beginning to think that you are blessed with an iron stomach."

  Pitt shrugged. "I have an uncle who is San Francisco's leading bon vivant. In my own small way I'm trying to follow in his footsteps."