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"Good-by and thank you. I'm grateful for your help."
"Glad to do it, Major. Here, keep the screwdriver for a souvenir.
Already ordered a new one, so won't be needin' it."
"Thanks again." Pitt shoved the screwdriver back in his pocket, turned and left the office.
Pitt relaxed in the cab and stuck a cigarette between his lips without lighting the end. Obtaining the mysterious black jet's serial number had been a shot in the dark that paid off in spades. He really hadn't expected to find out anything. Staring through the window at the passing green pastures, he saw nothing with his eyes, idly wondering if the plane could now be tied directly to Rondheim. This was still worrying over the possibility when b. the view impression that the countryside looked different than before. The fields were empty of cattle and ponies, the rolling hills flattened into a vast carpet of uneven tundra.
He swung around and gazed out the other window; the sea was not where it should have been; instead, it lay to the rear of the cab, slowly disappearing over a long, low rise in the road. He leaned over the front seat.
"Do you have a date with the farmer's daughter or are you taking the scenic route to run up the meter?"
The driver applied pressure to the brake and slowed the cab, stopping at the side of the road. "Privacy is the word, Major.
Merely a slight detour so we can have a little chat-" The driver's voice froze into nothingness, and for good reason. Pitt had jammed the tip of the screwdriver half an inch into the cavity of his ear'.
"Keep your hands on the wheel and get this hack back on the road to Reykjavik," Pitt said quietly, "or your right ear will get screwed into your left."
Pitt watched the driver's face closely in the rearview mirror, studying the blue eyes, knowing they would signal any sudden attempt at resistance. No shadow of an expression touched the boyish features, not even a flicker of fear. Then slowly, very slowly, the face in the mirror began to smile, the smile transforming into a gentle laugh.
"Major Pitt, you are a very suspicious man."
"If you had three attempts on your life in the last three days, you'd develop a suspicious nature too."
The laugh stopped abruptly and the bush brows bunched together. "Three attempts? I'm aware of only two-" Pitt cut him off by pushing the screwdriver another eighth of an inch deeper into his ear, "You're a lucky man, friend. I could try and make you contribute a few choice items about your boss and' his operation, but Russian KGB-style interrogation is way out of my line.
Instead of Reykjavik, suppose you drive nice and easy back to Keflavik, only this time to the United States Air Force side of the field where you can join a couple of your buddies and play charades with National Intelligence agents. You'll like them; they're experts at taking wanflower and turning him into a babbling life of the party.
"That might prove embarrassing."
"That's your problem."
The smile was back in the rearview mirror. "Not entirely, Major.
It would, indeed, be a moment worth remembering to see your face when you discover you brought in a N.I.A. agent for questioning."
Pitts pressure on the screwdriver didn't re
lax.
"Very second-rate," he said. "I'd expect a better story from a high school freshman caught smoking pot in the boy's room."
"Admiral Sandecker said you wouldn't be an easy man to talk to."
The door was open now and Pitt had the opportunity to slam it. "When did you talk to the admiral?"
"In his office at NUMA headquarters, ten minutes after Commander Koski radioed that you and Dr. Hunnewell had landed safely, aboard the Catawaba, to be precise."
57
The door stayed open. The driver's answer tallied with what Pitt knew: the N.I.A. had not contacted Sandecker since he had arrived in Iceland. Pitt glanced around the car. There was no sign of life, no sign of an ambush by possible accomplices. He started to relax, caught himself, and then clenched the screwdriver until his fingers ached.
"Okay, be my guest," Pitt said casually. "But I strongly urge you to make your pitch without so much as a tic."
"No sweat, Major. Just put your mind at ease and lift my cap."
"Lift your cap?" Pitt repeated blankly. He hesitated a moment, then slowly, using his free left hand, removed The driver's cap.
