Iceberg dp-3 Page 14

  Pitt unshouldered his airtank harness, tied it to his already unhooked weightbelt, and let them fall together to the bottom. Now he could float comfortably, thanks to the buoyancy of his rubber wet suit.

  He lay quietly, barely breathing, listening for a sound through the dense gray blanket. At first he could hear only the water lapping around his body. Then his ears picked up a faint gravelly voice… a voice singing a flat version of "My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean." Pitt cupped his ears, amplifying the sound, determining the direction.

  He struck out with an easy energy-saving breast stroke fifty feet and then stopped. The offkey signaling had increased in volume. Five minutes later he touched the seaworn hull of The Grimsi and pulled himself on board.

  "Have a nice swim?" Sandecker asked conversationally.

  "Hardly enjoyable and barely profitible." Pitt unzipped the wet suit top, revealing a dense mat of black chest hair. He grinned at the admiral. "Funny thing. I could swear I heard a fog horn."

  "That was no fog horn. That was a former baritone of the Annapolis Glee Club, class of '39."

  "You were never in better voice, Admiral." Pitt looked Sandecker in the eye. "Thanks."

  Sandecker smiled. "Don't thank me, thank Tidi. She had to sit through ten choruses."

  She materialized out of the mist and hugged him.

  "Thank God you're safe." She clung to him, the dampness trickling down her face, her hair falling in matted tendrils.

  "It's nice to know I've been missed."

  She stood back. "Missed? That's putting it mildly. Admiral Sandecker and I were beginning to come unglued."

  "Speak for yourself, Miss Royal," Sandecker said sternly.

  "You didn't fool me for a second, Admiral. You were worried."

  "Concerned is the word," Sandecker corrected. "I take it as a personal insult when any of my men get themselves killed." He turned his gaze to Pitt. "Did you find anything of value?"

  "Two bodies and little else. Somebody went to a hell of a lot of work to remove the plane's identification. Every serial number on every piece of equipment had been removed before the crash. The only markings were two letters scratched on the nose gear's hydraulic cylinder." He gratefully accepted a towel from Tidi.

  "The boxes I sent up. Did you retrieve them?"

  "It wasn't easy," Sandecker said. "They broke surface about forty feet away. Twenty tries later-I haven't cast with a pole in ears-I managed to reel them in."

  "You opened them?" Pitt probed.

  "Yes. They're miniature models of buildings… like dollhouses."

  Pitt straightened. "Dollhouses? You mean threedimensional architectural exhibits?"

  "Call them what you want." Sandecker paused to flip a cigar stub overboard. "Damned fine craftsmanship. The detab on each structure is amazing. They even break away by floors so you can study the interior."

  "Let's take a look."

  "We carried them to the galley," Sandecker said.

  "It's as good a place as any to get you into some dry clothes and a cup of hot coffee into your stomach."

  Tidi had already changed back into her own blouse and slacks. She demurely turned her back as Pitt finished stripping off the wet suit before he donned his colorful mod outfit.

  He smiled while she busied herself over the galley stove. "Did you keep them warm for me?" he asked.

  "Your gay threads?" She turned and stared at him, her face showing the beginning signs of a blush. "Are you kidding? You're at least eight inches taller, and you outweigh me by nearly sixty pounds. I literally swam in the damn things. It was as if I was wearing a tent. The cold air swept up my legs and out my neck and arms like a hurricane."

  "I sincerely hope it didn't cause any critical damage to your vital parts."

  "If you're referring to my future sex life, I fear the worst."

  "My sympathies, Miss Royal." Sandecker didn't sound very convincing. He lifted the boxes onto the table and pulled off the lids. "OK, here they are, including furniture and draperies."

  Pitt looked into the first box. "No indications of water damage."

  "They were watertight," Sandecker offered. "Each packed so carefully the crash left them entirely intact.

  To say the models were simply masterpieces of difficult art would have been a gross understatement.

  The admiral was right. The detail was amazing. Every brick, every windowpane, was precise in scale and placement. Pitt lifted off the roof. He had seen model exhibits before in museums, but never workmanship like this. Nothing had been overlooked. Paintings on the walls were exacting in color and design. The furniture had liny designs printed on the fabric. Telephones on desks had receivers that could be picked up, connected to wires that led into the walls. As a crowning touch, the bathrooms even possessed toilet paper rolls that unraveled to the touch. The first model building consisted of four floors and a basement. Pitt carefully lifted them off one at a time, studied the contents and just as carefully replaced them. Then he inspected the second model.

  "I know this one," Pitt said quietly.

  Sandecker looked up. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive. It's pink. You don't often forget a structure built of pink marble. It was about six years ago when I entered those walls.

  My father was on an economic survey mission for the President, conferring with the heads of finance of Latin American governments. I took a thirty-day leave from the Air Force and acted as his aide and pilot during the trip. Yes, I remember it well, especially this exotic black-eyed little secretary-"

  "Spare us your erotic escapades," Sandecker said impatiently. "Where is it located?"

  "In El Salvador. This model is a perfect scaleddown replica of the Dominican Republic capitol building." He gestured toward the first model. "Judging from the design, the other model also represents the legislative offices of another South or Central American country."

  "Great," Sandecker said unenthusiastically. "We've come up with a character who collects miniature capitols."

  "It doesn't tell us a hell of a lot." Tidi handed Pitt a cup of coffee and he sipped it thoughtfully. "Except that the black jet was doing double duty."

  Sandecker met his stare. "You mean it was delivering these models when it changed course to shoot down you and Hunnewell?"

  "Exactly. One of Rondheim's fishing trawlers probably spotted our helicopter approaching Iceland and diverted the jet by radio so it would be waiting for us when we reached the coast."

  "Why Rondheim? I see nothing tangible that ties him in with any of this?"

  "Any port in a storm." Pitt shrugged. "I admit I'm groping. And, at that, I'm not completely sold on implicating Rondheim myself. He's like the butler in an old movie mystery. Every piece of circumstantial evidence, every finger of doubt, points to him, making him the most obvious suspect. But in the end, our friendly butler turns out to be an undercover policeman and the least obvious character turns out to be the guilty party."

  "Somehow I can't picture Rondheim as an undercover cop." Sandecker crossed the cabin and poured himself another cup of coffee. "But he's just enough of a prick for me to fervently wish that in some form or manner he's behind Fyrie's and Hunnewell's death, so we could zero in on the bastard and nail him to the floor."

  "It wouldn't be easy. He's in a pretty solid position."

  "If you ask me," Tidi interjected, "you two schemers are jealous of Rondheim because of his hold over Miss Fyrie."

  Pitt laughed. "You have to be in love to be jealous."

  Sandecker grinned at her. "Your forked tongue is showing, lady."

  "I'm not being catty out of spite. I like Kirsti Fyrie."

  "I suppose you like Oskar Rondheim too" Pitt said.

  "I wouldn't like that snake if he was General of the Salvation Army," she said. "But you have to give the devil his due. He's got Kirsti and Fyrie Limited tucked neatly in his pocket."

  Why? Answer that!" Pitt said speculatively.

  "How can Kirsti love him if she's terrified of him?"

/>   Tidi shook her head. "I don't know. I still see the pain in her eyes when he squeezed her neck."

  "Maybe she's a masochist and Rondheim's a sadist," Sandecker said.

  "If Rondheim is masterminding these terrible murders, you must turn everything you know over to the proper authorities," Tidi pleaded. "If you persist in pushing this thing too far, both of you might be killed."

  Pitt made a sad face. "It's shameful, Admiral.

  Your own secretary is vastly underestimating her two favorite people." He turned and looked dolefully at Tidi. "How could you?"

  Sandecker sighed. "It's almost impossible to find loyalty in an employee these days."

  "Loyalty!" Tidi looked at them as if they had gone mad. "What other girl would let herself be dragged over half the world in uncomfortable military cargo planes, frozen on smelly old boats in the middle of the North Atlantic, and be subjected to constant male harassment for the meager salary I'm paid. If that isn't loyalty, I'd like to know what you typical inconsiderate men call it?"

  "Crap! that's what I call it," Sandecker said. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked warmly into her eyes. "Believe me, Tidi, I value your friendship and your concern for my welfare very highly, and I'm certain Dirk prizes you just as highly. But you must understand, a close friend and three of my people have been murdered and an attempt made on Dirk here. I'm not the kind of guy who hides under a mattress and calls a cop. By God, this whole bung-twisting mess was pushed on us by persons unknown. When we find out who they are-then and only then-will I stand back and let the law and its enforcers take over. Are you with me?"

  The surprise of Sandecker's sudden display of affection held, then slowly passed from Tidi's face and big tears began to well in her eyes.

  She pressed her head against the admiral's chest. "I feel such a monkey," she murmured. "I'm always shooting off my mouth. Next time it runs away from me, please stuff a gag in it."

  "You can count on it," he said more softly than Pitt had ever heard him. Sandecker held Tidi another minute before he released her. "Okay, let's up anchor and get the hell back to Reykjavik." The old familiar gravel tone was back. "I could use a nice hot toddy."

  Pitt suddenly stiffened, held up a hand for silence, and stepped to the wheelhouse doorway and listened intently. It was very faint, but it was there. Through the blanket of mist it came as a steady drone: the sound of an engine running at very high rpm's.

  Chapter 11

  "Do you hear it, Admiral?"

  "I hear it." Sandecker was at his shoulder. "About three miles, coming fast." He concentrated for a few seconds. "I make it dead ahead."

  Pitt nodded. "Coming straight toward us." He stared unseeing into the fog. "Sounds strange, almost like the whine of an aircraft engine. They must have radar. No helmsman with half a brain would run at full speed in this weather."

  "They know we're here then," Tidi whispered, as though someone beyond the railing would hear.

  "Yes, they know we're here," Pitt acquiesced.

  "Unless I'm much mistaken, they're coming to investigate us. An innocent passing stranger would give us a wide berth the minute our blip showed on his scope.

  This one is hunting for trouble. I suggest we provide them with a little sport."

  "Like three rabbits waiting to play games with a pack of wolves," Sandecker said. "They'll outman us ten to one, and…" he added softly, "they're undoubtedly armed to the teeth. Our best bet is the Sterlings. Once we're under way, our visitors stand as much chance of catching us as a cocker spaniel after a greyhoud in heat."

  "Don't bet on it, Admiral. If they know we're here, they also know what boat we've got and how fast it will go. To even consider boarding us, they'd have to have a craft that could outrace The Grimsi.

  I'm banking on the hunch they've got it."

  "A hydrofoil. Is that it?" Sandecker asked slowly.

  "Exactly," Pitt answered. "Which means their top speed could be anywhere between forty-five and sixty knots."

  "Not good," Sandecker said quietly.

  "Not bad either," Pitt returned. "We've got at least two advantages in our favor." Quickly he outlined his plan. Tidi, sitting on a bench in the wheelhouse, felt her body go numb, knew that her face beneath the makeup was paper-white. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She began to tremble until even her voice became unsteady.

  "You… you can't mean what… you say."

  "If I don't," Pitt said, "we're going to have bigger trouble than River City." He paused, looking at the pale, uncomprehending face, the hands twisting nervously at the knotted blouse.

  "But you're planning a cold-blooded murder." For a moment her mouth mumbled soundless words, then she forced herself on. "You just can't kill people without warning. Innocent people you don't even know!"

  "'That will do," Sandecker snapped sharply. "We haven't got time to explain the facts of life to a frightened female." He stared at her, his eyes understanding, but his voice commanding. "Please get below and take cover behind something that'll stop bullets." He turned to Pitt: Use the fire ax and chop the anchor line. Give me a signal when you want full power."

  Pitt herded Tidi down the galley steps. "Never argue with the captain of a ship." He swatted her on the bottom. "And don't fret. If the natives are friendly, you have nothing to worry about."

  He was just lifting the ax into the air when the Sterlings rumbled to life. "Good thing we didn't lay out a damage deposit," he murmured vaguely to himself as the ax sliced cleanly through the rope into the wooden railing as the rope slid noiselessly into the sea and sending the anchor forever to the black sandy bottom.

  The unseen ship was almost upon them now, the roar of its engine died to a muted throb as the helmsman eased back the throttles in preparation for coming alongside The Grimsi.i. From where he lay on the bow, clenching and unclenching his hands around the ax handle, Pitt could hear the hull splash into the waves as the diminishing speed pushed the hydrofoil deeper in the water. He raised himself carefully, narrowing his eyes and trying vainly to pierce the heavy fog for a sign of movement. The area round the bow was in near darkness. Visibility was no more than twenty feet.

  Then a shadowy bulk slowly came into view, showing its port glow. Pitt could barely make out several dim forms standing on the forward deck, a glow behind them that Pitt knew would be the wheelhouse. It was like a specter ship whose crew appeared as dim ghosts.

  The erieform arose menacingly and towered above the Grimsi, the stranger had a length of a hundred feet or better, Pitt guessed. He could see the other men clearly now, leaning over the bulwarks, saying nothing, crouched as if ready to jump. The automatic rifles in their hands told Pitt all he needed to know.

  Coolly and precisely, no more than eight feet from the gun barrels on the specter ship, Pitt made three movements so rapidly they almost seemed simultaneous.

  Swinging the ax head sideways, e brought the flat face down loudly on an iron capstan-the signal to Sandecker. Then in the same swinging motion he hurled the ax through the air and saw the pick part of the head bury itself in the chest of a man who was in the act of jumping down on The Grimsi's deck. They met in midair, a ghastly scream reaching from the man's throat as he and the ax fell against the railing. He hung there for an instant, the bloodless nuckles of one hand clenched over the wooden molding and then dropped into the gray water. Even before the sea closed over the man's head, Pitt had hurled himself on the worn planks of the deck, and the Grimsi leaped ahead like a frightened impala, chased by a storm of shells that swept across the deck and into the wheelhouse before the old boat had vanished into the mist.

  Staying below the gunwale, Pitt crawled aft and across the threshold of the wheelhouse doorway. The floor was littered with glass and wood splinters.

  "Any hits?" Sandecker asked conversationally, his voice hardly audible above the exhaust of the Sterling engines.

  "No holes in me. How about you?"

  "The bastards' aim was above my head. Add to that the fact that I
was able to make myself three feet high, and you have a fortunate combination." He turned and looked thoughtful. "I thought I heard a scream just before all hell broke loose."

  Pitt grinned. "I cannot tell a lie. I did it with my little ax."

  Sandecker shook his head. "Thirty years in the Navy, and that's the first time any crew of mine every had to repel boarders."

  "The problem now is to prevent a repeat performance."

  "It won't be easy. We're running blind. Their goddamned radar knows our every move. Our biggest fear is ramming. With a ten-to-twenty-knot edge they're an odds-on favorite to win at blindman's buff. I can't avoid the inevitable. If their helmsman is hallway on the dime, he'll use his superior speed to pass and then cut a ninety-degree angle and catch us amidships."

  Pitt considered a moment. "Let's hope their helmsman is right-handed."

  Sandecker frowned uncomprehendingly. "You're not getting through."

  "Lefties are a minority. The percentages favor a right-hander. When the hydrofoil begins to close in again-its bow is probably no more than four hundred yards behind our ass end this second-the helmsman will have an instinctive tendency to swing out to his starboard before he cuts in to ram us. This will give us an opportunity to use one of our two advantages."

  Sandecker looked at him. "I can't think of one, much less two."

  "A hydrofoil boat depends on its high speed to sustain its weight.

  The foils travel through the water the same as the wings of an aircraft travel through air. Its greatest asset is speed, but its greatest limitation is maneuverability. In simple English, a hydrofoil can't turn worth a damn."

  "And we can. Is that it?" Sandecker probed.

  "The Grimsi can cut two circles inside their one."

  Sandecker lifted his hands from the spokes of the wheel and flexed his fingers. "Sounds great as far as it goes, except we won't know when they start their arc."