Hala embraced him, as did Hasan and De Lorenzo. Then it was Dillenger's Turn, and he went red as a tomato.
"Mind telling me what's going on?" Hollis asked Gunn.
Gunn took grim delight in rubbing it in. "It seems you dropped us off at a very critical point, Colonel. We found almost twenty terrorists at the mine, along with a hidden chopper they planned to use in clearing off the island. You didn't see fit to include us in your communications, so Pitt tried to warn you by sending a runaway train down the mountain into the fjord." Dillenger nodded in understanding.
"The helicopter explains why the Arab hijackers deserted the ship and left the Mexicans to fend for themselves."
"And the chopper was their transportation from the mine," Gunn added.
Hollis asked, "Where are the others?"
"Last I saw of them before Pitt sent me to rescue his father and these people, they were under siege inside the crushing mill building."
"The four of you took on close to forty terrorists?" Dillenger asked incredulously.
"Pitt and the others kept the Arabs from escaping as well as creating a diversion so I could rescue the hostages."
"The odds were better than ten to one against them," stated Hollis.
"They were doing a pretty good job of it when I left," answered Gunn solemnly.
Hollis and Dillenger stared at each other. "We'd better see what we can find," said Hollis.
Senator Pitt came over. "Colonel, Rudi has told me my son is up at the mine. I'd like to tag along with you."
"Sorry, Senator. I can't permit it until the area is secure."
Gunn put his arm around the old man's shoulder. "I'll see to it, Senator. Don't worry about Dirk. He'll outlive us all."
"Thank you, Rudi. I appreciate your kindness."
Hollis was not so confident. "They must have been wiped out," he muttered under his breath to Dillenger.
Dillenger nodded in agreement. "Hopeless to think they could survive against a heavy force of trained terrorists."
Hollis gave the signal and his men began moving like phantoms through the mine buildings. As they neared the crushing mill they began to find the litter of dead awesome. They counted n bodies crumpled in rag-doll positions on the road and ground outside.
The crushing-mill building was riddled with hundreds of bullet holes and showed the splintered results of grenades. Not a single pane of glass was left intact anywhere. Every entry door had been blown into splinters.
Hollis and five men cautiously entered through holes blown in the walls while Dillenger and his team approached from the shattered opening that was once the front main entrance. Small fires burned and smoldered everywhere, but had not yet joined to build a major conflagration.
Two dozen bodies were heaped about the floor, several stacked against the front of the ore crusher. The helicopter stood amazingly clean and pristine with only its tail section in mangled condition.
Three men still lived among the carnage-men who looked so smokeblackened, so bloody, in such awful shape, that Hollis couldn't believe his eyes. One man was lying on the floor, his head resting in the lap of another, whose hand was held in a gore-stained sling. One stood swaying on his feet, blood streaming from wounds on one leg, the base of his neck where it met the shoulder, the top of his head and the side of his face.
Not until Hollis was only a few meters away did he recognize the battered men before him. He was absolutely shocked. He couldn't see how those three pitiful wrecks had kept the faith and won out over fearsome odds.
The Special Operations Forces grouped around in silent admiration. Rudi Gunn smiled from ear to ear. Hollis and Dillenger stood there wordlessly.
Then Pitt painfully straightened to his full height and said, "About time you showed up. We were running out of things to do."
PART IV
October 27, 1991
Washington D.C.
Dale Nichols and Martin Brogan stood waiting on the White House steps as the President stepped from his helicopter and walked swiftly across the lawn.
"You have something for me?" the President asked expectantly as he shook hands.
Nichols could not contain his excitement. "We've just received a report from General Dodge. His Special Operations Forces have retaken the Lady Flamborough intact in Southern Chile. Senator Pitt, Hala Kamil and Presidents De Lorenzo and Hasan were rescued in good condition."
The President was weary from a series of nonstop conferences with the Canadian Prime Minister in Ottawa, but he brightened like a streetlight.
"Thank God. That is good news. Were there any casualties?"
"Two SOF men were wounded, neither seriously, but three NUMA people were shot up pretty badly," reported Brogan.
"NUMA people were on the scene?"
"Dirk Pitt was responsible for tracking down the cruise ship. He and three others kept the hijackers from escaping along with their hostages."
"So he helped save his own father."
"He certainly deserves a major share of the credit."
The President rubbed his hands together happily. "It's al most noon, gentlemen. Why don't we celebrate with a bottle of wine over lunch, and you can give me a full report."
Secretary of State Douglas Oates, Alan Mercier, the President's National Security Adviser, and Julius Schiller also joined the group for lunch.
After dessert, Mercier passed around copies of the transcribed report from General Dodge.
The President toyed with his fork as he read the transcript. Then he looked up, a mixture of surprise and triumph on his face.
"Topiltzin!"
"He's in it up to his ears," said Brogan. "Topiltzin provided the Mexican terrorist crew and die vessel for the switch with the cruise ship."
"So he did conspire with his brother on the Lady Flamborough hijacking,"
the President said confidentially.
Nichols nodded. "The facts add up that way, but it won't be easy to prove."
"any idea as to the identity of the mastermind behind the operation?"
"We have a make," replied Brogan briefly. This is a condensed file on the man." He paused to hand the President another folder. "He did a remarkable job of disguising himself to look like the Captain of the ship during the capture, and then he changed to a mask. Later, Dirk Pitt met face to face with him during a truce before the fighting. The name he gave was Suleiman Aziz Ammar."
"Seems odd this Ammar got lax and dropped his name," mused Schiller.
"Must be an alias."
Brogan shook his head. "The name is real enough. We have a comprehensive packet on him. So does Interpel. Ammar must have figured Pitt was as good as dead, and had nothing to lose by identifying himself."
The President's eyes narrowed. "According to your file he's suspected of being directly or indirectly involved with over fifty murders of prominent government officials. Is this possible?"
"Suleiman Aziz Ammar is rated at the very top of his profession."
"A diehard terrorist."
"Assassin," Brogan corrected the President. "Ammar specializes only in political assassination. Cold-blooded as they come. Big on disguise and detailed planning. As the words of the song go, 'Nobody does it better." Half his hits were so clean they were written off as accidents.