The second QD warhead was not present.
Pitt took a tool kit from his belt and handed the flashlight to Lusana. "Hold this steady while I operate."
"What are you going to do?"
"Deactivate a shell."
"If I am to be blown to smithereens.." said Lusana, "may I know why?"
"No!" Pitt snapped. He hunched down and motioned for the light. His hands circled the cone of the shell as lightly as those of a safecracker fingering a tumbler dial. Locating the locking screws. he carefully undid them with a screwdriver. The threads were frozen with age and they fought his every twist. Time, Pitt thought desperately; he needed time before Fawkes's crew repaired the hoist and returned to the projectilestorage compartment.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, the last of the screws sheared off and the nose cone came loose in his hands. Tenderly, as though it were a sleeping baby, he set it aside and looked inside the warhead.
Then Pitt began to disconnect the explosive charge that was set to split the warhead and release the cluster of bomblets containing the QD organism. There was nothing tricky or particularly hazardous about the procedure. Working on the theory that too much concentration makes the hands tremble, Pitt idly whistled under his breath, thankful that Lusana wasn't plying him with questions.
Pitt cut the wires leading to the radar altimeter and removed the explosive detonator. He paused for a moment and took a small money sack from his coat pocket. Lusana was mildly amused to see that the lettering on the soiled canvas read WHEATON SECURITY BANK.
"I've never admitted this to a soul," Lusana said, "but I once robbed an armored truck."
"Then you should feel right at home," replied Pitt. He lifted the QD bomblets from the warhead and gently deposited them in the money bag.
"Damned clever smuggling method," Lusana said smiling tightly. "Heroin, or diamonds?"
"I'd be interested in knowing that myself," Patrick Fawkes said as he ducked under the door frame into the compartment.
63
Lusana's first reflex was to shoot Fawkes. He spun around in a firing crouch and threw up the Colt, confident he couldn't miss such a massive target, dead certain the captain had the split-second advantage of a first shot.
Lusana barely caught himself in time. Fawkes's hands were empty. He was unarmed.
Slowly lowering the Colt, Lusana looked down at Pitt to see how the other man was taking the situation. As far as he could see, Pitt gave not the slightest reaction. He continued loading the sack as if the intrusion had never occurred.
"Have I the honor of addressing Patrick McKenzie Fawkes?" Pitt finally said without looking up.
"Aye, I'm Fawkes." He moved closer, his expression one of curiosity. "What goes on here?"
"Excuse me for not rising," Pitt said casually, "but I'm deactivating a poison gas warhead."
Perhaps five seconds passed as Lusana and Fawkes digested Pitt's brief explanation, staring at each other blankly and then back down at Pitt.
"You're daft!" Fawkes blurted.
Pitt held up one of the bomblets. "Does this look like your everyday explosive charge?"
"No, it does not," Fawkes admitted.
"Is it some sort of nerve gas?" Lusana asked.
"Worse," Pitt answered. "A plague organism with an ungodly potency. Two shells containing the deadly organism were mixed in with the shipment sent by the arms supplier."
There was the stunned silence of incredulity. Fawkes hunkered down and examined the shell and the bomblet in Pitt's hand. Lusana bent over and stared, too, not sure what he was supposed to be looking at.
The skepticism slowly faded from Fawkes's eyes. "I believe you," he said. "I've seen enough gas shells to recognize one." Then he gazed questioningly into Pitt's face. "Mind telling me who you are and how you came to be here?"
"After we find and deactivate the other shell," Pitt said, brushing him off. "Do you have another proj e ctile-sto rage area?"
Fawkes shook his head. "Except for the three shells we've fired, all of which were of the armor-piercing variety, this is the lot — " He broke off as the realization struck him. "The turret! All guns are loaded and the breeches locked. The other plague projectile must be inside one of the three barrels."
"You fool!" Lusana shouted. "You murdering fool!"
The agony in Fawkes's eyes was apparent. "It's not too late. The guns will not fire except by my order."
"Captain, you and I will find and neutralize the other warhead," Pitt ordered. "Lusana, if you will be so kind as to drop this over the side." He handed Lusana the sack bulging with the QD bomblets.
"Me?" Lusana gasped. "I don't have the idea how to get out of this floating vaguest i coffin. I'll need a guide."
"Keep making your way topside," Pitt said confidently. "Eventually you'll hit daylight. Then throw the sack in the deepest part of the river."
Lusana was about to leave when Fawkes placed a great paw on his shoulder. "We'll settle our business later."
Lusana stared back steadily. "I look forward to it."
And then the leader of the African Army of Revolution melted into the darkness like a shadow.
At two thousand feet Steiger made a slight adjustment in pitch and the Minerva dipped over the Jefferson Memorial and crossed the Tidal Basin on a course along Independence Avenue.
"It's crowded up here," he said, motioning to a bevy of Army helicopters hovering from one end of the Capitol mall to the other like a swarm of mad bees.
Sandecker nodded and said, "Better keep your distance. They're liable to shoot first and ask questions later."
"How long since the Iowa's last shot?"
"Nearly eighteen minutes."
"Maybe that's the end of it, then," said Steiger.
"We won't land until we're sure," Sandecker replied. "How's the fuel?"
"Enough for nearly four more hours' flying time."
Sandecker twisted in his seat to relieve his aching buttocks. "Stay as close as you dare to the National Archives building. If the Iowa cuts loose again, you can bet that's the target."
"I wonder how Pitt made out?"
Sandecker put up an unworried front.
"He knows the score. Pitt is the least of our problems." He turned away and looked out a side window so Steiger couldn't see the lines of worry that creased his face.
"I should have been the one to go in," said Steiger. "This is strictly a military show. A civilian has no business risking his life attempting a job he wasn't trained for."
"And you were, I suppose."
"You must admit my credentials outweigh Parts.''
Sandecker found himself smiling. "Care to bet?"
Steiger caught the admiral's cagey tone. "What are you implying?"
"You've been had, Colonel, pure and simple. 35
"Had? 33
"Pitt carries the rank of major in the Air Force."
Steiger looked over at Sandecker, his eyes squinting. "Are you going to tell me he can fly?"
"Just about every aircraft built, including this helicopter."
"But he claimed…"
"I know what he claimed."
Steiger looked lost. "And you sat back and said nothing?"
"You have a wife and children. Me, I'm too old. Dirk was the logical man to go."
The tenseness went out of Steiger's body and he sagged into his seat. "He better make it," he murmured under his breath. "By God, he better make it."
Pitt would have gladly given the last penny in his savings account to be anyplace but climbing a pitchblack stairway deep inside a ship that at any second might turn into an inferno. His brow was clammy and cold with sweat, as though he were running a fever. Suddenly Fawkes stopped and Pitt ran into him like a blind man against an oak tree.