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"Afraid I haven
't," Pitt said. "Couldn't see a thing.
We investigated, of course, but with visibility no more than twenty feet, we found nothing."
62
Rondheim's face was expressionless. "Very strange. You are sure you saw nothing, Major?"
"Absolutely," Pitt said. "You're probably thinking along the same lines as Admiral Sandecker. A ship might have hit an old World War Two mine or possibly a fire broke out and touched off its fuel tanks. We notified the local coastal patrol. They have nothing to do now but wait and see what vessel is reported as missing.
All in all a terrifying experience-" Pitt broke off as Tidi approached. "Ah, Tidi, here you are."
Rondheim turned on the smile again. "Miss Royal." He bowed and kissed her hand. "Major Pitt has been telling us of your harrowing experience this afternoon."
The bastard, Pitt thought. He can't wait to pump answers out of her. Tidi looked cute and frisky in a blue full-length dress, her fawn hair falling straight and natural down her back. Pitt hung his arm loosely around her waist, letting the hand slip down out of sight, and pinched her soft bottom. He smiled as he looked down into those wide brown eyes-eyes that possessed a wise, knowing quality.
"I missed most of it, I'm afraid." She reached behind her back and, clutching Pitts hand discreetly, twisted his little finger until he gave in and just as discreetly removed his arm from her waist. "The blast knocked me against a cupboard in the galley." She touched a small swelling on her forehead, the purplish bruise neatly covered by makeup. "I was pretty much out of it for the next hour and a half. Poor Dirk here trembled and threw up all the way back to Reykjavik."
Pitt could have kissed her. Tidi had picked up the situation without the bat of an eye and come through like a trooper.
"I think it's time we mingled,"' he said, taking her by the arm and whisking her off toward the punch bowl.
He passed her a cup of punch and they helped themselves to the hors d'oeuvres. Pitt had to fight from yawning as he and Tidi drifted from one group to another. An experienced party-goer, Pitt usually mixed with ease, but this time he couldn't seem to make a beachhead. There was an odd atmosphere about this function. He couldn't put his finger on it, yet there was something definitely out of place. The usual subdivisions were present-bores, the drunks. snobs and the backslappers. Everyone they joined who could speak English was quite polite. No anti-American sentiments-a favorite, ploy during most conversations involving guests of other nations-came to the surface.
To all outward appearances, it seemed like the common, middle-of-the-road get-together. Then suddenly he had it. He bent down and whispered in Tidi's ear.
"Do you get the feeling we're persona non grata?"
Tidi looked at him curiously. "No, everyone seems friendly enough."
"Sure, they're sociable and polite, but it's forced."
"How can you be certain?"
"I know a warm, sincere smile when I see one.
We're not getting any. It's as though we're in a cage.
Feed and talk to the animals, but don't touch."
"That's silly. You can't really blame them for being uneasy when they talk to someone who's dressed the way you are."
"That's the catch. The oddball is always, without fail, the center of attraction. If I wasn't dead sure, I'd say this was a wake."
She looked up at Pitt with a sly smile. "You're just nervous because you're way out of your league."
He smiled back. "Care for an explanation?"
"See those two men over there?" She nodded her head sideways to her right. "Standing by the piano?"
Pitt casually rolled a slow glance in the direction Tidi indicated. A small, rotund, lively little man with a bald head was gesturing animatedly as he spoke in rapid bursts into a wiry, thick white beard no more than ten inches from his nose. The beard belonged to a thin, distinguished-looking man with silver hair that fell well below his collar, giving him the appearance of a Harvard professor. Pitt turned back to Tidi and shrugged.
"So?"
"You don't recognize them?"
"Should I?"
