He hauled his suitcase and garment bag up a circular staircase to his apartment, elevated against the far wall of the hangar. His watch read 2:15 PM., but his mind and body felt as though it was closer to midnight. After unpacking his luggage, he decided to spend a few hours working on the Talbot-Lago and take a shower later. He had already donned a pair of old coveralls and his hand was pulling open the drawer of a toolbox, when a loud chime echoed through the hangar. He pulled a cordless phone from a deep pocket.
"Hello."
"Mr. Pitt, please," said a female voice.
"Speaking."
"One moment."
After waiting for nearly two minutes, Pitt cut the connection and began rebuilding the Talbot's distributor. Another five minutes passed before the chime sounded again. He opened the line and said nothing.
"Are you still there, sir?" asked the same voice.
"Yes," Pitt replied indifferently, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear as he kept working with his hands.
"This is Sandra Cabot, Mrs. Jessie LeBaron's personal secretary. Am I talking to Dirk Pitt?"
Pitt took an instant dislike to people who couldn't dial their own phone calls. "You are."
"Mrs. LeBaron wishes to meet with you. Can you come to the house at four o'clock?"
"Pretty fast off the mark, aren't you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry, Miss Cabot, but I have to doctor a sick car. Maybe if Mrs. LeBaron cares to drop by my place, we could talk."
"I'm afraid that won't do. She's holding a formal cocktail party in the greenhouse later in the evening that will be attended by the Secretary of State. She can't possibly break away."
"Some other time then."
There was an icy silence, then Miss Cabot said, "You don't understand."
"You're right, I don't understand."
"Doesn't the name LeBaron mean anything to you?"
"No more than Shagnasty, Quagmire, or Smith," Pitt lied fiendishly.
She seemed lost for a moment. "Mr. LeBaron--"
"We can cut the fun and games," Pitt interrupted. "I'm quite aware of Raymond LeBaron's reputation. And I can save us both time by saying I have nothing to add to the mystery surrounding his disappearance and death. Tell Mrs. LeBaron she has my condolences. That's all I can offer."
Cabot took a deep breath and exhaled. "Please, Mr. Pitt, I know she would be most grateful if you could see her."
Pitt could almost see her speaking the word "please" through clenched teeth. "All right," he said. "I guess I can make it. What's the address?"
The arrogance quickly returned to her tone. "I'll send the chauffeur to pick you up."
"If it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to drive my own car. I get claustrophobic in limousines."
"If you insist," she said stiffly. "You'll find the house at the end of Beacon Drive in Great Falls Estates."
"I'll check a street map."
"By the way, what kind of car do you drive?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"To inform the guard at the gate."
Pitt hesitated and looked across the hangar floor at a car parked by the main door. "An old convertible."
"Old?"
"Yes, a 1951."
"Then would you be so kind to park in the lot by the servants' house. It's to the right as you come up the drive."
"Aren't you ever ashamed of the way you dictate to people?"
"I don't have to be ashamed of anything, Mr. Pitt. We'll expect you at four."
"Will you be through with me before the guests arrive?" asked Pitt, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "I wouldn't want to embarrass anyone by having them see my old junk car littering the grounds."
"Not to worry," she replied testily. "The party doesn't begin until eight. Goodbye."
After Sandra Cabot hung up, Pitt walked over to the convertible, staring at it for several moments. He removed the floorboards under the rear seat and clipped on the cables of a battery charger. Then he returned to the Talbot-Lago and calmly took up where he left off.
At precisely eight-thirty, the security guard at the LeBaron estate's front gate greeted a young couple driving a yellow Ferrari, checked their names on the party list, and waved them through. Next came a Chrysler limousine carrying the President's chief adviser, Daniel Fawcett, and his wife.
The guard was immune to the exotic cars and their celebrity occupants. He raised his hands over his head in a bored stretch and yawned. Then his hands froze in midair and his mouth snapped shut as he found himself staring at the largest car he'd ever seen.
The car was a veritable monster, measuring nearly twenty-two feet from bumper to bumper and weighing well over three tons. The hood and doors were silver-gray and the fenders a metallic maroon. A convertible, its top was completely hidden from view when folded down. The body lines were smooth and elegant in the grand manner, an example of flawless craftsmanship seldom equaled.
"That's some kind of car," the guard finally said. "What is it?"
"A Daimler," replied Pitt.
"Sounds British."
"It is."
The guard shook his head in admiration and looked at his guest list. "Your name, please."
"Pitt."
"I can't seem to find your name. Do you have an invitation?"
"Mrs. LeBaron and I had an earlier appointment."
The guard went into the gatehouse and checked a clipboard. "Yes, sir, your appointment was for four o'clock."
"When I phoned to say I was running late, she said to join the party."
"Well, since she expected you," the guard said, still soaking in the Daimler's lines, "I guess it's all right. Have a good evening."
Pitt nodded a thank-you and eased the immense car silently up the winding drive to the LeBaron residence. The main building sat on a low hill above a tennis court and a swimming pool. The architecture was common to the area, a three-story brick colonial with a series of white columns holding up the roof over a long front porch, the wings extending to each side. To the right a clump of pine trees shielded a carriage house with a garage below, what Pitt assumed were the servants' living quarters. Opposite and to the left of the manor sat a huge glass-enclosed structure, lit by crystal chandeliers hanging from the roof. Exotic flowers and shrubs blossomed around twenty or more dinner tables while a small orchestra played on a stage beneath a waterfall. Pitt was properly impressed. The perfect setting for a party on a brisk October evening. Raymond LeBaron got high marks for originality. He pulled the Daimler up to the front of the greenhouse where a liveried parking valet stood with the awed expression of a carpenter gazing at redwoods.
As he slid from behind the wheel and straightened the jacket of his tuxedo Pitt noticed a crowd beginning to gather behind the transparent wall of the greenhouse, pointing and gesturing at the car. He gave the valet instructions on how to shift the transmission and then passed through the glass doors. The orchestra was playing themes from John Barry scores, light on the brass and heavy on the strings. A woman, elegantly dressed in the latest designer fashion, was standing just inside the entrance, greeting the guests.
He had no doubt she was Jessie LeBaron. Cool composure, the embodiment of grace and style, the living proof women can be beautiful after fifty. She wore a glittery beaded green and silver tunic over a long, slim velvet skirt.