Vixen 03 Read online

  "I could go back with you to Africa."

  He shook his head sadly. "Someday, maybe. Not now. You can do more for our cause here."

  They turned in unison as Frederick Daggat, casually attired in a paisley-print bathrobe, appeared from the living room. "My God, 47

  General Lusana. I thought I recognized your voice." He looked down at the suitcase and his face clouded. "There was no advance word of your arrival. Has there been trouble?"

  Lusana grinned wryly. "The world is not safe for revolutionaries. I thought it expedient to return to the Land of the Free as inconspicuously as possible."

  "But surely the airlines . . . customs . . . someone must have announced your presence."

  Lusana shook his head. "I sat in the pilot's cabin on the flight from Africa. Arrangements were made for me to leave the plane after landing and bypass the Dulles terminal."

  "We have laws that frown on illegal entry."

  "I am a citizen. What difference does it make?"

  Daggat's expression softened. He placed his hands on Lusana's shoulders. "If there is any fuss, my staff will take care of it.

  You're here, and that's all that counts."

  "But why all the subterfuge?" asked Felicia.

  "For good reason." Lusana's voice was very cold. "My intelligence people have uncovered a sensitive piece of information that can prove highly embarrassing to the South African minority government."

  "That's a serious charge," said Daggat.

  "It's a serious threat," retorted Lusana.

  Daggat's eyes registered a mixture of confusion and curiosity. He nodded toward the living room. "Come in and sit down, General. We have much to talk over."

  "Every time I see you it's like looking at an old photograph. You never change."

  Felicia returned Loren's admiring look. "Flattery from another woman is flattery indeed." She idly stirred the ice in her drink.

  "It's amazing how time evaporates. How long has it been-three, maybe four years?"

  "The last inaugural ball."

  "I remember," Felicia said, smiling. "We went to that little dive down by the river afterward and got smashed. You were with a tall, sad-looking dude with spaniel eyes."

  "Congressman Louis Carnady. He was defeated in the next election."

  "Poor Louis." Felicia lit a cigarette. "My date was Hiram Lusana."

  "I know."

  "We parted company only last month in Africa," Felicia said as if Loren had not spoken. "I wonder if my life has been one big downer, chasing after every liberal cause that pops on stage, taking up with any stud who promises to save the human race."

  Loren motioned to the waiter to bring them two more drinks. "You can't blame yourself for believing in people."

  "I haven't got a hell of a lot to show for it. Every crusade I've ever joined, I screwed up."

  "I don't mean to pry, but did you and Lusana have personal differences, or was it political?"

  "Strictly personal," Felicia said. She felt her chest tighten as Loren circled the bait. "I no longer mattered to him. His only love was his fight. I think at first, deep inside him, there was a feeling for me, but as the struggle expanded and his pressures grew, he became distant. I know now that he had taken all he ever wanted from me. It was as though I was as expendable as one of his soldiers on the battlefield."

  Loren saw the tears start to come to Felicia's eyes. "How you must hate him."

  Felicia looked up, surprised. "Hate Hiram? Oh no, you don't understand. I was unfair with him. I let my own desires stand between us. I should have been patient. Perhaps when his war to give majority rule to blacks in South Africa is won, he will look upon me differently."

  "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. I know his history. Lusana uses people like the rest of us use toothpaste. He squeezes every dab and throws away the empties."

  An angered frown crossed Felicia's face. "You only see in Hiram what you want to see. The good outweighs the bad."

  Loren sighed and leaned back as the waiter brought their second round. "It's wrong for old friends to argue after being so long apart," she said softly. "Let's change the subject."

  "I agree," Felicia said, her mood changing. "What about you, Loren? Are there any men in your life?" . "Two, at the moment."

  Felicia laughed. "It's common Washington gossip: one is Phil Sawyer, the President's press secretary. Who's the other?"

  "He's a director at NUMA. His name is Dirk Pitt."

  "You serious about either one of them?"

  "Phil is the sort you marry: loyal, true blue, sets you on a gilded pedestal and wants you to be the mother of his children."

  Felicia made a face. "He sounds perfectly mundane. What about this Pitt?"

  "Dirk? Sheer animal power. He makes no demands; he comes and goes like an alley cat. Dirk can never be truly owned by a woman, and yet he's always there when you need him. The lover who turns you on but won't stand still long enough for you to grow old with."

  "He sounds more my type. Send him my way when the affair crashes." Felicia sipped at her drink. "It must be tricky, maintaining your political purity in front of the voters while seeing a lover on the side."

  Loren's cheeks turned crimson. "It is difficult," sRe admitted. "I never was very good at intrigue."

  "You could say to hell with what people think. Most women do these days."

  "Most women are not members of Congress."

  "The old double standard again. Congressmen can get away with anything as long as it doesn't show up on their expense account."

  "Sad, but true," said Loren. "And in my case, I represent a district that is heavily rural. The voters still believe in the Sears catalogue, Coors' beer, and the Eleven Commandments."

  "What's the eleventh?"

  "Ttiy Congresswoman shalt not screw around if she expects to win the next election."

  "Where do you and Pitt meet?"

  "I can't take the chance of a male's being seen leaving my apartment along with the milkman, so we meet at his place or drive to some little out-of-the-way country inn."

  48

  "You make it sound like a bus-stop romance."

  "As I said, it's difficult."

  "I think I can eliminate all the bullshit for you."

  Loren looked at Felicia quizzically. "How?"

  Felicia fished in her purse and came up with a key. She pressed it into Loren's hand. "Here, take this. The address is taped to the top."

  "What is it for?"

  "A pad I leased over in Arlington. It's yours anytime you get horny."

  "But what about you? I can't expect you to get lost on a moment's notice."

  "You won't be imposing," Felicia said, smiling. "I'm the houseguest of a dude across town. No more protests. Okay?"

  Loren studied the key. "God, I feel like a hooker."

  Felicia reached over and folded Loren's hand over the key. "If just thinking about it gives you a deliciously obscene feeling, wait until you take a shot of the upstairs bedroom."

  37

  "What do you make of it?" asked Daggat. He was seated at his desk. Hiram Lusana stood across the room and leaned over a high-backed chair, his expression anxious.

  Dale Jarvis, director of the National Security Agency, pondered a few moments before answering. He looked up with a friendly, almost fatherly face. His brown hair was streaked with gray and he wore it in a crew cut. He was dressed in a tweed suit and the large red bow tie beneath his Adam's apple drooped as though it were melting.

  "My guess is that this Operation Wild Rose is a game."

  "A game!" Lusana rasped. "That's crap!"

  "Not really," Jarvis said calmly. "Every nation with a sophisticated military establishment has a department whose function is solely to dream up what is generally referred to in the trade as 'feasibility games.' Improbable schemes, ultra crepidam, beyond the depth or grasp of likelihood. Strategic and tactical studies invented to combat unforeseen events. Then shelved against the unlikely day they are dusted off
and put into action."

  "And that's your opinion of Wild Rose?" Lusana asked with a certain acidity.

  "Without knowing all the details, yes," answered Jarvis. "I daresay the South African Defence Ministry has contingency plans for phony insurgent raids on half the nations of the globe."

  "Do you really believe that?"

  "I do," Jarvis said firmly. "Don't quote me, but nestled in some deep, dark crevasse of our own government you'll find some of the wildest scripts ever devised by man and computer: conspiracies to undermine every nation on the globe, including our Western friendlies; measures to plant nuclear bombs in the ghettos in case of mass uprisings by minorities; battle plots to counter invasions from Mexico and Canada. Not one in ten thousand will ever be utilized, but they're there, waiting, just in case."

  "Insurance," said Daggat.

  Jarvis nodded. "Insurance against the unthinkable."

  "You mean that's all there is to it?" Lusana exploded angrily. "You're just going to write off Operation Wild Rose as an idiot's nightmare?"

  "I'm afraid you've taken this thing far too seriously, General." Jarvis sat unmoved by Lusana's outburst. "You've got to face reality. As my grandfather was fond of saying, you've bought yourself a pig in a poke."

  "I refuse to accept that," Lusana said stubbornly.

  Jarvis casually removed his glasses and inserted them in their case. "You are, of course, free to ask for neutral opinions from other intelligence organizations, General, but I think I can safely say that Wild Rose will get pretty much the same reception wherever you present it."

  "I demand you verify De Vaal's intent to set the operation in motion!" Lusana shouted.

  Controlling his rising anger, Jarvis rose, buttoned his jacket, and faced Daggat. "Congressman, if you will excuse me, I must get back to my office."

  "I understand," Daggat said. He came out from behind his desk and took Jarvis by the arm. "Let me show you to the elevator."

  Jarvis nodded at Lusana, diplomatically forcing a friendly expression. "General?"

  Lusana stood trembling, his hands clenched tightly, saying nothing. He turned and stared out a window.

  As soon as they stepped into the elevator foyer, Daggat said to Jarvis, "I apologize for the general's erratic behavior. But you must understand the tremendous strain he has shouldered these past months. And then there was the long flight from Mozambique last night."

  "Jet lag has been known to make men testy." Jarvis arched an eyebrow. "Or could it be he's suffering conscience pangs over his back-door entry."

  Daggat moistened dry lips. "You know?"

  Jarvis smiled amiably. "Routine. Don't worry, Congressman. Our job is to keep tabs on men like the general. The NSA is not in the business of prosecuting civil violations. What Immigration doesn't know in this case won't hurt them. A piece of advice, though. If I were you, I wouldn't let the general hang around Washington too long. Befriending a radical revolutionary might prove embarrassing to a man of your reputation."

  "General Lusana is not a radical."

  Jarvis shrugged, unimpressed. "That remains to be seen."

  The red "down" light flashed above the elevator. Jarvis started to turn. "There is one more thing," said Daggat. "A favor."

  The elevator bell rang and the doors parted. The interior was empty. "If I can," Jarvis said, his eyes shifting from Daggat to his only means of escape.

  "Check out Operation Wild Rose. I'm not asking for a maximum effort from your people," Daggat hastened to add. "Only a few probes that may or may not confirm its validity."

  49

  The doors began to close. Jarvis held them open, one foot in, one foot still on the foyer floor. "I'll instigate an inquiry," he said. "But I warn you, Congressman, you may not like what we find."

  Then the doors clunked shut and he was gone.

  It was ten o'clock when Daggat came awake. He was in his office alone. His staff had long since left for home. He looked at his watch and figured he had dozed for nearly an hour. He rubbed his eyes and stretched as he vaguely heard the outer-office door open and close. He didn't bother to look up, thinking it was the cleaning crew. It was only after he failed to tune in the familiar sounds of wastebaskets being emptied and vacuum cleaners humming that he became aware of a strange presence.

  Felicia Collins leaned languidly against the doorway, saying nothing, just staring at Daggat.

  A thought triggered in the back of his mind and he rose and made an apologetic gesture. "I'm sorry, time slipped away from me. I completely forgot our dinner date."

  "You're forgiven," she said.

  He reached for his coat. "You must be starved."

  "By the fourth martini, all hunger pangs disappeared." She peered around the office. "I figured you and Hiram were probably tied up in conference."

  "I turned him over to the State Department this afternoon. They're giving him the usual lukewarm treatment reserved for fourth-class visit-ing dignitaries." ;

  "Is it safe for him to be out in public?"

  "I saw to it that he's provided with round-the-clock security."

  "Then he's no longer our houseguest."

  "No, he has a suite at the Mayflower, courtesy of the government."

  Felicia stretched her opulent body and flowed into the room. "By the way, I met Loren Smith for lunch. She poured out her love life to me."

  "She took the bait?"

  "If you mean the key to your little hideaway in Arlington, the answer is yes."

  He took her in his arms, his eyes gentle but smug with satisfaction. "You won't be sorry, Felicia. Only good can come from this."

  "Try telling that to Loren Smith," she said, turning away.

  He released her. "Did she mention any names?"

  "I gather she's teasing Phil Sawyer into marriage while she's screwing some guy from NUMA on the side."

  "Did she say who?"

  "His name is Dirk Pitt."

  Daggat's eyes widened. "You did say Dirk Pitt?"

  Felicia nodded.

  Daggat's mind raced to make a connection and then he had it. "Son of a bitch! It's perfect!"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The revered senior senator from California, George Pitt. Didn't it occur to you? Congresswoman Holier-Than-Thou Smith is shacking with the senator's son."

  Felicia shivered as her skin suddenly went cold. "For God's sake, Frederick, drop this stupid scheme of yours before it gets out of hand."

  "I don't think so," Daggat said, smiling a sinister smile. "I do what I think best for the country."

  "You mean you do what you think best for Frederick Daggat."

  He took her by the arm and led her from the office. "When you have time to reconsider, you'll come to find that I was right." He turned off the lights. "Now then, let's grab some dinner, and afterward we'll prepare Loren Smith's love nest for her one and only visit."

  38

  Admiral James Sandecker was a short, feisty character with flaming red hair and plenty of gall. When his retirement from the Navy was forced upon him, he used his considerable congressional influence to connive his way into the job of chief director of the then-fledgling National Underwater and Marine Agency. It was a match that was ordained for success from the start. In seven short years Sandecker had taken an insignificant eighty-person agency and built it into a massive organization of five thousand scientists and employees supported by an annual budget that exceeded four hundred million dollars.

  He was accused by his enemies of being a grandstander, of launching oceanic projects that garnered more publicity than scientific data. His supporters applauded his flair for making the field of oceanography as popular as space science. Whatever his assets or liabilities, Admiral Sandecker was as solidly entrenched at NUMA as J. Edgar Hoover had been at the FBI.

  He drained the last swallow from a bottle of Seven-Up, sucked on the stub of a giant cigar, and looked into the unsmiling faces of Admiral Walter Bass, Colonel Abe Steiger, Al Giordino, and Dirk Pitt.
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  "The part I find hard to swallow," he continued, "is the total lack of interest on the part of the Pentagon. It would seem logical-to me, at any rate-that Colonel Steiger's report on the discovery of Vixen 03 complete with photos would have shocked the hell out of them. And yet the colonel has told us his superiors acted as though the whole episode was best dropped and forgotten."

  "There is a bona fide reason behind their indifference," Bass answered impassively. "Generals O'Keefe and Burgdorf are ignorant of the link between Vixen 03 and the QD project because none is recorded."

  "How can that be?"

  "What was learned after the deaths of Dr. Vetterly and his scientists motivated everyone who knew of QD's ghastly power to bury every scrap of evidence and erase all memories of its existence so that it could not be resurrected ever again."

  "You mean you suppressed an entire defense project under the noses of the Joint Chiefs of Staff?" Sandecker said incredulously.

  "By direct order from President Eisenhower I was to state in my reports to the Joint Chiefs that the experiment had backfired and the formulation of QD had died along with Dr. Vetterly."

  "And they swallowed the story?"

  50

  "They had no reason not to," said Bass. "Besides the President, Secretary of Defense Wilson, and myself and a handful of scientists, no one else knew exactly what Vetterly had discovered. As far as the Joint Chiefs were concerned, the project was simply another low-budget experiment within the ugly realm of chemical-biological warfare. They suffered no qualms; nor did they ask embarrassing questions before writing it off as a failure."

  "What was the purpose of circumventing the armed-forces power structure?"

  "Eisenhower was an old soldier who abhorred mass-kill weapons." Bass seemed to shrivel in his chair while he collected his thoughts. "I am the last surviving member of the Quick Death Team," he continued slowly. "Unhappily, the secret will not die with me, as I had once hoped, because Mr. Pitt, here, accidentally discovered a long-lost source of the disease strain. I did not bare the facts then-nor will I now-to the men who run the Pentagon, for fear that they would consider recovering Vixen 03's cargo and storing it, in the name of national defense, against the day it might be unleashed against a future enemy."