"This time," Pitt asked slyly, "do I have the opportunity of volunteering?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
Pitt shrugged helplessly. "I don't know why I always give in so easily to you, Admiral. I'm beginning to think you have me pegged as a first-class pigeon."
A broad grin rode across Sandecker's face. "You said it, not me."
The latch clicked and the cabin door swung open.
Pitt lazily opened one eye in time to see Dr. Hunnewell come in. The overweight doctor did a tightrope act trying to maneuver between Pitts cot and Dover's clothes locker before he finally reached a small chair by a writing desk. Audibly, he sighed in chorus with the but Dr. Hunnewell' chair's creaking protest as he cased his bulk past the seats.
"How in God's name does a titan like Dover get into this thing?" he incredulously asked no one in particular.
"You're late," Pitt yawned. "I expected you hours ago.
"I couldn't go sneaking around corners or slithering through ventilators as if I was on my way to a spy convention. I had to wait for an excuse to talk to you."
"Excuse?"
"Yes. Commander Koski's compliments. Dinner is served."
"Why all the subterfuge?" Pitt asked with a cagey grin. "We have nothing to hide."
"Nothing to hide! Nothing to hide! You lie there like an innocent virgin waiting for her first communion and easy say we have nothing to hide?" Hunnewell shook his head hopelessly. "We'll both be in front of a firing squad when the Coast Guard learns we flimflammed them out of the use of one of their new cutters."
"Helicopters have a nasty habit, they won't fly with air in their fuel tanks," Pitt said sarcastically. "We had to have a base of operations and a place to refuel.
"The Catawaba was the only ship in the area with the necessary facilities. Besides, you sent that phony message from the Coast Guard Commandant-you're on the hook for that one."
"That incredible yarn about the missing Russian trawler. You can't deny that's yours from beginning to end."
Pitt placed his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. "I rather thought everyone enjoyed it."
"I have to hand it to you. That was the slickest con job it's been my misfortune ever to witness."
"I know. There are times when I hate myself."
"Have you considered what may happen when Commander Koski sees through our devious little plan?" Pitt stood up and stretched. "We simply do what any good con man would do."
"And that is?" Hunnewell prompted dubiously.
Pitt smiled. "We siply worry about it when the time comes."
Chapter 2
Of all the oceans, only the Atlantic is totally unpredictable. The Pacific, the Indian, even the Arctic each have their personal idiosyncrasies, but all have one trait in common: they seldom fail to provide a hint of their coming moods. Not so the Atlantic, especially north of the 15th parallel of latitude. In a matter of a few hours a glassy calm sea might be transformed into a foamwhipped cauldron instigated by a Force 12 hurricane, or there are times when the Atlantic's fickle nature works in reverse. Heavy winds, heavy seas during the night may give every indication of an impending storm, yet when the dawn comes, there is nothing to see but an azure n=or beneath an empty sky. And so it was for the men on the Catawaba as the new sun found them cruising comfortably over a peaceful seascape.
Pitt woke slowly, his eyes coming into focus on the rear of a pair of extra-large white shorts, amply filled by Dover, who was bending over a small basin brushing his teeth.
"You've never looked lovelier," Pitt said.
Dover turned around, the toothbrush poised over his bottom left molars. "Huh?"
"I said, good morning!"
Dover merely nodded, mumbled something incoherent through the toothpaste, and turned back to the basin.
Pitt sat up and listened. The hum of engines was still there, and the only other mechanical sound came from the rush of warm air through the ventilator. The motion of the ship seemed so smooth, it was almost imperceptible.
"I don't wish to appear a rude host, Major," Dover said, smiling, "but I suggest you blossom from that sack. We should be within range of your search area in another hour and a half."
Pitt threw off the blankets and stood up. "First things first. How is your establishment classed when it comes to breakfast?"
"A two-star Michelin rating," Dover said cheerfully. "I'll even treat."
Pitt had a fast wash, decided against a shave, and quickly slipped into his flight clothes. He followed Dover into the passageway, wondering how a man as large as the lieutenant could wander around the ship without running his head into low bulkheads at least ten times a day.
They had just finished a breakfast that Pitt figured would have cost at least five dollars in any of the better hotels when a seaman came up and said that Commander Koski wanted to see them in the bridge control room. Dover followed him, with Pitt lagging a few steps behind carrying a cup of coffee. The commander and Hunnewell were crouched over a chart table as they entered the room.
Koski looked up. The outthrust jaw no longer set like the bow of an icebreaker, and the intense blue eyes seemed almost tranquil.
"Good morning, Major. Are you enjoying your stay?"
"The accommodations are a bit cramped, but the food is superb."
The hard but genuine smile came on. "What do you think of our little electronic wonderland?"
Pitt made a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree scan of the control room. It was like something out of a science fiction space movie. From floor to ceiling the four steel bulkheads stood buried behind a mechanical avalanche of computers, television monitors, and instrumented consoles. Endless rows of technically labeled switches and knobs crisscrossed the equipment, garnished by enough colored indicator lights to fin a casino marque Las Vegas.
"Very impressive," Pitt said casually, sipping his coffee. "Air-search radar and surface-search radar scanners. the latest Loran-type navigational equipment of medium, high and ultra-high frequencies, not to mention computerized navigational plotting." Pitt spoke with the nonchalant air of a public relations director employed by the boatyard that laid the Catawaba's keel.
"The Catawaba comes equipped from the factory with more extensive oceanographic, communications, navigational, aerological and plotting equipment than any ship its size in the world. Basically, Commander, your vessel is designed to remain in midocean under any atmospheric conditions as a weather station, to conduct search and rescue operations, and to assist in oceanographic research work. I might add that she is manned by seventeen officers and one hundred sixty enlisted men, and cost between twelve and thirteen million dollars to build at the Northgate Shipyards in Wilmington, Delaware."
Koski, Dover and all the other men in the bridge control room, with the exception of Hunnewell, who remained intent on the chart, froze. If Pitt had been the first Martian to visit earth, he couldn't have possibly been the object of more incredulous apprehensiveness.
"Don't be surprised, gentlemen," Pitt said, feeling the warmth of self-satisfaction. "I make it a habit to do my homework."
"I see," Koski said grimly. It was obvious that he didn't see. "Perhaps you might give us a clue as to why you've studied your lessons so diligently."