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The echoes had returned from the cliffs on shore and left again when Pitt pushed himself shakily to his feet and stared incredulously at the hydroplane. What had once been a superbly designed boat was now a shambles and burning furiously down to the water's edge. He staggered to the wheelhouse-his sense of balance temporarily crippled by the ringing in his ears from the concussion-as Sandecker slowed The Grimsi and drifted past the fiery wreck.
"See any survivors?" Sandecker asked. He had a thin slice on one cheek that trickled blood.
Pitt shook his head. "They've had it," he said callously. "Even if any of the crew made it to the water alive, they'd die of exposure before we could find them in this soup."
Tidi entered the wheelhouse, one hand nursing a purplish bruise on her forehead, her expression one of total bewilderment.
"What . . . what happened?" was all she could stamner.
"It wasn't the fuel tanks," Sandecker said. "Of that much I'm certain."
"I agree," Pitt said grimly. "They must have had explosives lying above decks that got in the way of my last homemade firebomb."
"Rather careless of them." Sandecker's voice was almost cheerful. "The unexpected move, that's what you said, and you were right. It never occurred to the dumb bastards that cornered mice would fight like tigers."
"At least we evened up the score a bit." Pitt should have felt sick, but his conscience didn't trouble him. Revenge-he and 51
Sandecker had acted out of desire for selfpreservation and revenge. They had made a down payment to avenge Hunnewell and the others, but the final accounting was a long way off. Strange, he thought, how easy it was to kill men you didn't know, whose lives you knew nothing about. "Your concern for life, I fear, will be your defeat," Dr. Jonsson had said.
"I beg you, my friend, do not hesitate when the moment arrives." Pitt felt a grim satisfaction. The moment had arrived and he hadn't hesitated. He'd had no time even to think about the pain and death he was inflicting. He wondered to himself if this subconscious toleration of killing a total stranger was the factor that made wars acceptable to the human race.
Tidi's hushed voice broke his thoughts. "They're dead; they're all dead." She began to sob, her hands pressed tightly to her face, her body shaking from side to side. "You murdered them, burned them to death in cold blood."
"I beg your pardon, lady," Pitt said coldly. "Open your eyes! Take a good look around you. These holes in the woodwork weren't caused by woodpeckers. To quote from appropriate cliches from every western movie ever made-they drew first, or we had no choice, marshal, it was them or us. You've got the script all wrong, dearheart. We're the good guys. It was their intention to coldbloodedly murder us."
She looked up into the lean, determined face, saw the green eyes full of understanding, and suddenly she felt ashamed. "You two were warned. I told you to gag me the next time I went hyster
ical and shot off my mouth."
Pitt met her gaze. "The admiral and I have tolerated you this far. As long as you keep us in coffee, we won't complain to the management."
She reached up and kissed Pitt gently, her face wet With tears and mist. "Two coffees coming up." She brushed her.eyes with her fingers.
"And go rinse your face," he said, grinning. "Your eye makeup goo is halfway to your chin."
Obediently she turned and climbed down into the galley. Pitt looked at Sandecker and winked. The admiral nodded back in masculine understanding and turned back to the blazing boat.
The hydroplane was going down by the stern, sinking rapidly. The sea crowded over the gunwales and swamped the flames, hissing in a cloud of steam, and the hydroplane was gone. In seconds, only a swirling welter of oily bubbles, unidentifiable bits of flotsam, and dirty, creaming foam remained to mark the grave.
It was as though the boat had been nothing but a nebulous nightmare that vanished with the passing of night.
With an extra effort of willpower, Pitt pulled his mind back to practical reality. "No sense in hanging around. I suggest we head back to Reykjavik as fast as we dare through this fog. The quicker and the farther we high tail it out of this area before the weather clears, the better for all concerned."
Sandecker glanced at his watch. It was now one forty-five. The entire action had barely lasted fifteen minutes. "A hot toddy is looking better all the time," he said. "Stand by the fathometer. When the bottom rises above a hundred feet, we'll at least know we're running too close to shore."
Three hours later and twenty miles southwest of Reykjavik they rounded the tip of the Keflavik peninsula and broke out of the fog. Iceland's seemingly eternal sun greeted them in a dazzling brilliance. A Pan American jet, arising from the runway of the Keflavik International Airport, soared over them, its polished aluminum skin reflecting the solar glare, before making a great circle toward the east and London. Pitt watched it wistfully and idly wished he were at the controls chasing the clouds instead of standing on the deck of a rolling old scow. His thoughts were interrupted by Sandecker.
"I can't begin to tell you how sad I feel about returning Rondheim's boat in such shabby condition." A sly, devilish smile cut a swath across Sandecker's face.
"Your solicitude is touching," Pitt returned sarcastically.
"What the hell, Rondheim can afford it." Sandecker took a hand off the wheel and waved it around the shattered wheelhouse.
"A little wood putty, a little paint, new glass and it'll be good as new."
"Rondheim might well laugh away the damage to The Grimsi, but he won't exactly roll in the aisle laughing when he learns the fate of his hydroplane and crew."
Sandecker faced Pitt. "How can you possibly connect Rondheim with the hydroplane?"
