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Zac looked down at Pitt and smiled with his eyes. “Her name is Amy.”
“Amy.” Pitt repeated. “Never knew a girl by the name of Amy before.” He relaxed and fell back against the stretcher. closing his eyes. The last thing he remembered before the soothing blanket of darkness fully covered him was the sound of a single shot, echoing from somewhere within the depths of the labyrinth.
TALLY
The sky was a brilliant ceiling of blue as far as the eye could see. The summer air was hot and dripping with unseen humidity encouraged by burning waves from the blazing sun. In blinding radiance, tall white buildings stood like small chiseled mountains and reflected the heat onto the black asphalt pavement below; the traffic was heavy, and the sidewalks were crowded with scurrying office workers on lunch break as Pitt pushed aside the wide glass doors and limped stiffly into the air conditioned lobby of the Bureau of Narcotics building.
For a bachelor, he thought, one of the wonderful things about Washington, D.C. is the overabundance of girls. They come in every size, age, and disposition and swarm like chattering locusts throughout every government office in the city, providing the hungry male with all the advantages of a rich kid running amok in a candy store. Pitt selected his most charming. devil-may-care smile and offered it to a trio of giggling secretaries who exited the elevator. They returned his smile, accompanied with the usual combination of cursory and demure glances that women are prone to allow for strange men, and then wiggled past him into the lobby, sneaking an additional peek at him over their shoulders.
A moment later, playing the role of the wounded Warrior to perfection, Pitt leaned heavily on his cane and limped from the elevator onto the thick carpet of the eighth floor. In the center of the anteroom a dozen girls, displaying an unrestricted forest of nyloned legs, sat at a dozen desks and furiously assaulted a dozen typewriters, never once hesitating to look up at him. He moved slowly over to a well-bosomed blond whose desk top contained a small rectangular sign: “Information.” Then for a moment he stared down at her, admiring the view.
“Excuse me.”
She didn’t hear him over the din of the clacking machines.
“Excuse me,” Pitt repeated loudly.
She turned and noticed him. “May I help you?” The voice was cool, the big hazel eyes unfriendly. Pitt admitted to himself that he had to go along with her icy greeting. The white turtleneck sweater, the green California sport coat, the handkerchief casually fluffed from the breast pocket hardly categorized him as an executive or important Washington bureaucrat.
“I would like to see the Director of the Bureau.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, turning back to her typewriter. “The Director is extremely busy and cannot see anyone.”
Contempt and anger began to mount in Pitt. “Inspector Zacynthus made an appointment for me—”
“Inspector Zacynthus’ office is on the fourth floor,” the girl droned mechanically.
A gunshot couldn’t have received more attention than the resounding bang from Pitt’s cane as he slammed it on top of the receptionist’s desk. The typists’
eyes burst wide, and their hands froze above keyboards, sending the anteroom into a sudden dead silence. Her face drained of all color, the large-cheated blond stared up at Pitt. a fear mushrooming inside her.
“OK, dearheart.” Pitt said menacingly. “You get up off your well-rounded little bottom and you go and inform the Director that Major Dirk Pitt is waiting to keep the appointment set by Inspector Zacynthus.”
“Pitt. . . Major Pitt from NUMA,” the blond gasped. “Oh I’m sorry, sir. But I thought—”
“Yes, I know,” Pitt offered. “I’m out of uniform.”
The blond jumped from her desk, snagging a stocking in her haste. “Right this way, Major. They’re expecting you.”
Pitt grinned at her, grinned at the other girls sitting awed in their chairs, felt self-satisfied at the admiring expressions from all twenty-four eyes, the bovine, adoring gaze reserved for celebrities and movie stars. It inflated his male ego.
“Keep typing girls,” he said good-naturedly.
“Mustn’t keep the Bureau waiting for all those letters and reports.”
The blond led him down a long hallway, slowing her pace every so often to allow him to catch up. She halted and rapped on a walnut stained door. “Major Pitt,” she announced, and then stood aside to let him pass through.
Three men rose as he walked into the room. The fourth, Giordino, remained comfortably anchored to a long leather couch.
“I thought I'd never see the day,” he said. “Dirk Pitt hobbling around on a cane.”
“Just practicing for my senile years,” Pitt retorted.
A short, red-haired man with a zeppelin-shaped cigar stashed jauntily between his lips came over and shook Pitt’s, hand. “Welcome back, Dirk. Congratulations on a great job in the Aegean.”
Pitt stared into the griffin-featured face of Admiral James Sandecker, the crusty chief of the National Underwater Marine Agency.”
“Thank you, Admiral. Any word on the Teaser yet?”
