Pitt approached and gave a brief bow. "Good evening," he said, flashing his best gate crasher's smile.
"What is that sensational car?" Jessie asked, peering through the doorway.
"A Daimler powered by a 5.4 liter, straight-eight engine with Hooper coachwork."
She smiled' graciously and extended her hand. "Thank you for coming, Mr. . ." She hesitated, gazing at him curiously. "Forgive me, but I don't seem to recall meeting you before."
"That's because we've never laid eyes on each other," he said, marveling at her throaty voice, almost husky, with a sensual coarseness about it. "My name is Pitt, Dirk Pitt."
Jessie's dark eyes looked at Pitt in a most peculiar way. "You're four and a half hours late, Mr. Pitt. Did you suffer some sort of accidental delay?"
"No accident, Mrs. LeBaron. I planned my arrival most carefully."
"You weren't invited to the party," she said smoothly. "So you'll have to leave."
"A pity," said Pitt mournfully. "I seldom get a chance to wear my tux."
Jessie's face registered scorn. She turned to a prim woman wearing large-lensed glasses and standing slightly to her rear, who Pitt guessed was her secretary, Sandra Cabot.
"Find Angelo and tell him to show this gentleman out."
Pitt's green eyes glinted mischievously. "I seem to have a talent for spreading ill will. Do you wish me to go peacefully or cause a nasty scene?"
"I think peacefully would be best."
"Then why did you ask to meet with me?"
"A matter concerning my husband."
"He was a perfect stranger to me. I can't tell you anything about his death that you don't already know."
"Raymond is not dead," she said adamantly.
"When I saw him in the blimp he gave a damn good imitation of it."
"That wasn't him."
Pitt stared at her skeptically, saying nothing.
"You don't believe me, do you?"
"I don't really care."
"I was hoping you'd help me."
"You have a strange way of asking for favors."
"This a formal charity dinner, Mr. Pitt. You don't fit in. We'll set a time to meet tomorrow."
Pitt decided his anger wasn't important, so he shoved it aside. "What was your husband doing when he disappeared?" he asked abruptly.
"Searching for the El Dorado treasure," she replied, looking nervously around the greenhouse at her guests. "He believed it sank on a ship called the Cyclops."
Before Pitt could make a comment, Cabot returned with Angelo, the Cuban chauffeur.
"Goodbye, Mr. Pitt," said Jessie, dismissing him and greeting a pair of new arrivals.
Pitt shrugged and offered his arm to Angelo. "Let's make it official. You lead me out." Then he turned to Jessie. "One last thing, Mrs. LeBaron. I don't respond to shabby treatment. You needn't bother to contact me again, ever."
Then Pitt allowed Angelo to escort him from the greenhouse to the driveway where the Daimler was waiting. Jessie watched as the great car disappeared into the night. Then she began mingling with her guests.
Douglas Oates, the Secretary of State, looked over from a conversation he was having with presidential adviser Daniel Fawcett as she approached. "Splendid affair, Jessie."
"Yes indeed," echoed Fawcett. "Nobody in Washington puts on a finer spread."
Jessie's eyes flashed and her full lips curved in a warm smile. "Thank you, gentlemen."
Oates nodded toward the doorway. "Was I imagining things, or did I see Dirk Pitt bounced out the door?"
Jessie looked at Oates blankly. "You know him?" she asked, surprised.
"Of course. Pitt is the number two man over at NUMA. He's the guy who raised the Titanic for the Defense Department."
"And saved the President's life in Louisiana," added Fawcett.
Jessie noticeably paled. "I had no idea."
"I hope you didn't make him mad," said Oates.
"Perhaps I was a bit rude," she conceded.
"Aren't you interested in drilling for offshore oil below San Diego?"
"Yes. Seismic surveys indicate a vast untapped field. One of our companies has the inside track for the drilling rights. Why do you ask?"
"Don't you know who heads up the Senate committee for oil exploration on government lands?"
"Certainly, it's. . ." Jessie's voice trailed off and her composure melted away.
"Dirk's father," Oates finished. "Senator George Pitt of California. Without his backing and the blessing of NUMA on environmental issues, you don't stand a prayer of winning the drilling rights."
"It would appear," Fawcett said sardonically, "your inside track just washed out."
<<9>>
Thirty minutes later, Pitt rolled the Daimler into his parking stall in front of the tall, solar-glassed building that housed NUMA headquarters. He signed in at the security desk and took the elevator to the tenth floor. When the doors opened, he stepped into a vast electronic maze, comprising the communications and information network of the marine agency.
Hiram Yaeger looked up from behind a horseshoe-shaped desk, whose surface lay unseen beneath a jungle of computer hardware, and smiled. "Hullo, Dirk. All dressed up and no place to go?"
"The party's hostess decided I was persona non grata and made me walk the plank."
"Anybody I know?"
It was Pitt's turn to smile. He looked down at Yaeger. The computer wizard was a throwback to the hippie days of the early seventies. He wore his blond hair long and tied in a ponytail. His beard was untrimmed and kinky with uncontrolled curls. And his standard uniform for work and play was Levi jacket and pants stuffed into scruffy cowboy boots.
Pitt said, "I can't picture you and Jessie LeBaron traveling in the same social circles."
Yaeger gave out a low whistle. "You got booted from a Jessie LeBaron bash? Man, you're some kind of hero to the downtrodden."
"Are you in the mood for an excavation?"
"On her?"
"On him."
"Her husband? The one who's missing?"
"Raymond LeBaron."
"Another moonlight operation?"
"Whatever you want to call it."
"Dirk," Yaeger said, peering over the rims of his granny glasses, "you are a nosy bastard, but I love you just the same. I'm hired to build a world-class computer network and amass an archive on marine science and history, but every time I belch you turn up, wanting to use my creation for shady purposes. Why do I go along? Okay, I'll tell you why. Larceny flows faster in my veins than yours. Now, how deep do you want me to dig?"
"To the bottom of his past. Where he came from. What was the money base for his empire?"
"Raymond LeBaron was pretty secretive about his private life. He may have covered his trail."
"I realize that, but you've pulled skeletons out of the closet before."
Yaeger nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, the Bougainville shipping family a few months ago. A neat little caper, if I do say so."
"One more thing."
"Lay it on me."
"A ship called the Cyclops. Could you pull her history for me?"
"No sweat. Anything else?"
"That should do it," Pitt answered.
Yaeger stared at him. "What's going down this time, old friend? I can't believe you're going after the LeBarons because you were dumped at a society party. Take me, I've been thrown out of the worst sleaze joints in town. And I just accept it."