It was one of the few times Pitt and Giordino ever witnessed Sandecker redden with chagrin. “The President asked that I be sworn to secrecy,” he said slowly. “I’ve never lied to you, Dirk, but I had no choice but to remain mute.”
Pitt felt sorry for the admiral, he knew it must have been difficult to be evasive with two close friends, but he made no effort to disguise his resentment of Jordan. “Why are we here?” he demanded.
“The President has personally approved of the selection of each individual to the team,” replied Jordan. “You all have a background and expertise that is indispensable for the success of this operation. The admiral and Mr. Giordino will put together a project to search the ocean floor and salvage any evidence from the ship that blew up. For the record, their code is ‘Mercedes.’ “
Pitt’s tired eyes squinted at Jordan steadily. “You only half answered the question.”
Jordan obliged him by saying, “I’m coming to it. You and Mr. Mancuso, who I believe you met, will act as a support team.”
“Support for what?”
“For the phase of the operation that requires an underground or underwater search.”
“When and where?”
“Yet to be determined.”
“And our code name?”
Jordan stared at Kern, who shuffled through a file of papers and then shook his head. “They haven’t been assigned one yet.”
“May the condemned create their own code?” asked Pitt.
Jordan exchanged looks with Kern, and then shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
Pitt smiled at Mancuso. “You have a preference?”
Mancuso lowered the pipe from his lips. “I leave it to you,” he said affably.
“Then we’ll be ‘Team Stutz.’
Jordan cocked his head. “I beg your pardon.”
“I never heard of it,” growled Kern.
“Stutz,” Pitt pronounced distinctly. “One of America’s finest classic automobiles, built from nineteen eleven until nineteen thirty-five in Indianapolis, Indiana.”
“I like it.” Mancuso nodded agreeably.
Kern squinted at Pitt, and his eyes took on a ferrety look. “You don’t strike me as taking this operation seriously.”
Jordan made an acquiescent shrug. “Whatever makes them happy.”
“Okay,” Pitt said steadily, “now that vital item of the agenda is settled, I’m going to get up and walk out of here.” He paused to read the orange dial on his old Doxa dive watch. “I was dragged here against my will. I’ve slept three hours out of the last forty-eight, and only eaten one meal in that time. I have to go to the bathroom. And I still don’t know what’s going down. Your plainclothes security guards and your detachment of marines can stop me, of course, but then I might get hurt and can’t play on the team. Oh, yes, there is one other point that no one has thought toy bring up.”
“What point is that?” asked Kern, his anger rising.
“I don’t recall that Al and I were officially requested to volunteer.”
Kern acted as if he’d swallowed a jalapeno pepper. “What are you talking about, volunteer?”
“You know, one who offers himself for a service of his own free will,” Pitt defined stonily. He turned to Giordino. “Were you formally invited to the party, Al?”
“Not unless my invitation was lost in the mail.”
Pitt stared defiantly into Jordan’s eyes as he spoke. “That’s the old ball game.” Then he turned to Sandecker. “Sorry, Admiral.”
“Shall we go?” said Giordino.
“Yes, let’s.”
“You can’t walk out,” Kern said with deadly seriousness. “You’re under contract to the government.”
“I’m not under contract to play secret agent.” Pitt’s voice was calm, quite unperturbed. “And unless there’s been a revolution since we’ve returned from the bottom of the sea, this is still a free country.”
“One moment, please,” said Jordan, wisely accepting Pitt’s viewpoint.
Jordan held an incredible range of power, and he was used to holding the whip hand. But he was also very astute and knew when to drift with the current, even if it flowed upstream. He stared at Pitt with curious interest. He saw no hatred, no arrogance, only a weary man who had been pushed too far. He had studied the file on NUMA’s Special Projects Director. Pitt’s background read like an adventure tale. His accomplishments were celebrated and honored. Jordan was smart enough not to antagonize a man he was damned lucky to have on the team.
“Mr. Pitt, if you will be patient a few more minutes I will tell you what you need to know. Some details will remain classified. I don’t think it wise you and certain people present at this table should have full knowledge of the situation. I don’t care a damn myself, but it is for your protection. Do you understand’?”
Pitt nodded. “I’m listening.”
“Japan has the bomb,” the chief of the National Security Service revealed. “How long they’ve had it or how many they’ve built is unknown. Given their advanced nuclear technology, Japan has had the capability to build warheads for over a decade. And despite their highly touted adherence to the nonproliferation treaty, someone or some group within their power structure decided they needed a deterrent force for its blackmail value. What little we know comes after the fact. A Japanese ship carrying Murmoto automobiles and two or more nuclear devices detonated in the middle of the Pacific, taking a Norwegian passenger-cargo liner and the British survey ship and their crews with her. Why were nuclear bombs on a Jap ship’? They were smuggling them into American ports. For what purpose? Probably nuclear extortion. Japan may have the bomb, but she doesn’t have a missile force or the long-range bombers to deliver it. So what would we do in their shoes to protect a financial power structure that reaches into every pocket of every country of the world? We smuggle nuclear weapons into any nation or combination of nations such as Europe that pose a threat to our economic empire and hide them in strategic locations. Then, if a particular country, say the U.S., gets mad after our Japanese leaders attempt to dictate policy to the White House and Congress and the business community, the Americans retaliate by refusing to pay back hundreds of billions of dollars loaned to their Treasury by our Japanese banks. They also threaten boycotts and trade barriers on all Japanese goods. Extreme measures that Senator Diaz and Congresswoman Loren Smith are proposing over at the Capitol as we speak. And maybe, just maybe, if the President gets riled up enough, he orders his superior military forces to blockade the Japanese islands, cutting off all our oil and vital raw materials, shutting down all our production. Follow me so far?”
Pitt nodded. “I’m with you.”
“This backlash scenario is not farfetched, especially when the American people will someday realize they work one month out of the year to pay off debts owed to foreign, for the most part Japanese, creditors. Are the Japs worried? Not when they have the power to push buttons and blow up any city in the world in time for the six o’clock news. Why are we here? To stop them by finding where the bombs are hidden. And stop them before they discover we’re onto them. That’s where Team Buick comes in. Stacy is an operative with the National Security Agency. Timothy is a nuclear scientist who specializes in radioactivity detection, Team Honda, led by James and Roy, agents, will concentrate on discovering and the command center that controls the detonations. Is this frightening nightmare? Absolutely. The lives of five hundred million people in nations that compete with Japan depend on what we around this table can accomplish in the next few weeks. In a wisdom bred more of ignorance, our State Department does not allow us covert observation of friendly nations. As the front line of this nation’s early warning system, we are forced to run in the shadows and die in obscurity. The alarm bells are about to be rung, and believe it or not, Mr. Pitt, this MAIT team is the last resort before a full-scale disaster. Do you get the picture?”