"How can you be fool enough to accept the word of a criminal?" asked Loren.
"Hiram Lusana grew up in one of the worst slums in the nation," Daggat continued patiently. "His father deserted his mother and nine children when he was eight. I don't expect you to understand what it's like to pimp for your own sisters in order to put food on the table, Congresswoman Smith. I don't expect you even to imagine living in a fifth-floor tenement with newspapers stuffed in the cracks to keep out owing snow, with overflowing toilets because there is no water, with an army of rats waiting to scavenge when the sun goes down. If crime is your only means to exist, then you embrace it with open arms. Yes, Lusana was a criminal. But when his opportunity came to rise above the filth, he snatched it and turned his energies toward fighting the very circumstances that cursed him."
"Then why play God in Africa?" Loren said defiantly. "Why doesn't he fight to improve conditions for blacks in his own country?"
"Because Hiram fervently believes our race must have a firm base to rise from. The Jews look with pride toward Israel; you Anglo-Saxons have a rich British heritage. Our homeland, on the other hand, is still struggling to emerge from a primitive society. It's no secret the blacks who have taken over most of Africa have made an unholy mess of it. Hiram Lusana is our one hope to steer the black race in the right direction. He is our Moses and South Africa is our Promised Land."
"Aren't you overly optimistic?"
Daggat looked at her. "Optimistic?"
"According to the latest military reports from South Africa, their Defence Forces crossed into Mozambique and destroyed the AAR and its headquarters."
"I read the same reports," said Daggat, "and nothing has changed. A temporary setback, perhaps; nothing more. Hiram Lusana is still alive. He will raise a new army, and I intend to do all in my power to aid him."
"Amen, brother," Felicia added.
The three of them were too wrapped up in their own thoughts to notice a car pulling in front of the limousine and then slowing down. At the next stoplight the driver swung the car to the curb and leaped out. Before Daggat's chauffeur could react, the man ran up to the limousine, jerked open the right rear door, and climbed in.
Daggat's mouth dropped open in surprise. Felicia froze, her mouth tensed. Only Loren seemed mildly puzzled
"Who the hell are you?" Daggat demanded. Over the stranger's shoulder he saw the chauffeur reach into the glove compartment for a gun.
"How unobservant of you not to recognize me from my pictures," the man said, laughing.
Felicia tugged at Daggat's sleeve. "It's him," she whispered.
"Him who?" shouted Daggat, visibly upset.
"Pitt. My name is Dirk Pitt."
Loren looked at Pitt intently. She had not seen him for several days and she scarcely associated this man with the one who had made love to her. His eyes were ringed from lack of sleep and his chin was stubbled with be rd. There were creases in his face she had never noticed before, creases of stress and exhaustion. She reached over and squeezed his hand.
"Where did you come from?" Loren asked.
"Coincidence," Pitt replied. "I was coming to see you and happened to be passing by the Capital steps when I noticed you entering this car. As I drove alongside, I spotted Congressman Daggat in the back."
The chauffeur had lowered the window behind him and was holding a small revolver inches from the back of Pitt's head. Daggat relaxed noticeably. He felt in control again.
"Perhaps it's time we met, Mr. Pitt." He made a slight wave of his hand. The chauffeur nodded and lowered the gun.
"My very thoughts," said Pitt, smiling. "In fact, it saves me a trip to your office."
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, I've decided to order some reprints." Pitt produced a small stack of photographs and fanned them in one hand. "I've seen better results, of course. But then, these weren't exactly shot under ideal studio conditions."
Loren knotted one hand against her mouth. "You know about those awful pictures? I tried to keep you out of it."
"Let me see," Pitt said., as if Loren hadn't spoken. He began dropping the photographs in Daggat's lap one by one. "I'll take a dozen of these, and five of those — "
"I do not appreciate your pathetic attempt at humor," Daggat said, interrupting him.
Pitt gave him an innocent look. "I thought as long as you were in the dirty-picture-taking business. you wouldn't mind serving your clients — or should I say 'models.' Naturally, I expect a discount."
"What's your game, Mr. Pitt?" asked Felicia.
"Game?" Pitt looked amused. "There is no game."
"He can politically ruin your father and me, 53 said Loren. "As long as he holds the negatives of the photographs, he can call the shots."
"Come now," Pitt said, smiling at her. "Congressman Daggat is about to retire from the blackmail profession. He has no talent for it anyway. He wouldn't last ten minutes against a tried and true professional."
"Like yourself?" said Daggat menacingly.
"No, like my father. I believe you know of him. Senator George Pitt. When I explained your little operation, he jokingly asked for a set of photos as a memento. You see, he's never seen his fair-haired boy in action before."
"You're insane," Felicia hissed.
" You told your father?" Daggat murmured. He looked slightly dazed. "I don't believe you."
"The moment of truth." Pitt said, the smile still tugging the corners of his mouth. "Does the name Sam Jackson ring a bell with you?"
Daggat sucked in his breath. "He talked.
The bastard talked."
"Sang like a superstar. Hates your guts, by the way. Sam can't wait to testify against you at the House Ethics Committee hearing."
A trace of fear edged Daggat's voice. "You wouldn't dare expose those pictures to an investigation."
"What in hell have I got to lose?" Pitt said. "My father is getting ready to retire next year anyway. Take my case: once those photos are distributed, I'll probably have to beat half the secretaries in town off with a club."
"You egotistical pig," Felicia said. "You don't care about what happens to Loren."
"I care," Pitt said softly. "Being a woman, she'll suffer embarrassment, but that will be a small price to pay so our friend Daggat here can spend a few years making license plates in the slammer. When he gets paroled, he'll need a new vocation, since his party will want no part of him."
Daggat flushed and leaned threateningly toward Pitt. "Bullshit!" he raged.
Pitt fixed Daggat with a stare that would have frozen a shark. "Congress frowns on scum who pull gutter tactics to pass legislation. There was a time not too many years ago when your scheme might have worked, Congressman, but these days there are enough honest people on Capitol Hill who would boot your ass from the city limits if they got wind of this."
Daggat relaxed. He was beaten and he knew it. "What do you want me to do?"
"Destroy the negatives."
"That's all?"
Pitt nodded.
Daggat's face took on a leery expression. "No pound of flesh., Mr. Pitt?"
"We don't all swim in the same sewer, Congressman. I think Loren will agree it's best for all concerned to drop the whole affair." Pitt opened the door and helped Loren out. "Oh, one more thing: I have Sam Jackson's sworn statement of your dealings with him. I trust it will not be necessary to blow the whistle on further shakedowns by you and your girl friend. If I find you've crossed me, I'll come down hard on you, mister. That's a promise."