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The wave tore Butera's grip from the railing and swept him across the bridge, jamming his body against the wheelhouse bulkhead. He lay there totally submerged under the billow, his throat choking, his lungs gasping for air, his brain sluggishly taking strength from the strong pulsing beat of the Wallace's engines that transmitted through the deck. When the water finally drained away, he struggled to his feet and retched his stomach empty.

He clawed his way back into the safety of the wheelhouse. Butera, his senses stunned by the miracle of the Wallace's deliverance, watched the great black apparition that was the Titanic slide by astern until she disappeared again in the shroud of wind-whipped rain.

60

"Leave it to Dirk Pitt to pick up a dame in the middle of the ocean during a hurricane," Sandecker said. "What's your secret?"

"The Pitt curse," Pitt answered, as he tenderly bandaged the swelling on Dana's head. "Women are forever attracted to me under impossible circumstances when I'm in no mood to respond."

Dana began to moan softly.

"She's coming around," Gunn said. He was on his knees next to a cot they had wedged between the gymnasium's old exercise equipment to steady it from the ship's rolling and pitching.

Pitt covered her with a blanket. "She suffered a nasty tap, but her mass of hair probably saved her from anything worse than a concussion."

"How did she come to be on Sturgis's helicopter?" Woodson asked. "I thought she was babysitting the news people on board the Alhambra. "

"She was," Admiral Sandecker said. "Several television network correspondents requested permission to cover the Titanic's haul to New York from aboard the Capricorn. I gave authorization on the condition that Dana accompany them."

"I ferried them over," Sturgis said. "And, I saw Mrs. Seagram disembark when I landed on the Capricorn. It's a mystery to me how she re-entered the helicopter without being noticed."

"Yeah, a mystery," Woodson repeated caustically. "Don't you bother checking your cargo compartment between flights?"

"I'm not running a commercial airline," Sturgis snapped back. He looked as though he was about to hit Woodson. He glanced at Pitt and was met with a disapproving stare. Then, with a visible effort, he reined in his emotions and spoke slowly and firmly "I'd been flying that bird out there steady for twenty hours straight. I was tired. I easily convinced myself that there was no need to bother with a cargo-compartment check because I was certain it was empty. How was I to know Dana Seagram would sneak on board?"

Gunn shook his head. "Why did she do it? Why would she?..."

"I don't know why . . . how the hell should I?" Sturgis said. "Suppose you tell me why she threw a hammer through my rotor blades, wrapped herself up in a tarpaulin, and then clouted herself on the head? Not necessarily in that order."

"Why don't you ask her?" Pitt said. He nodded down at the cot.

Dana was staring up at the men, her eyes devoid of understanding. She looked as though she had just been dragged up from the sanctuary of exhausted sleep.

"Forgive me . . . for asking such a hackneyed question," she murmured. "But, where am I?"

"My dear girl," Sandecker said, kneeling at her side, "you're on the Titanic."

She looked dazedly at the admiral, disbelief written across her face. "That can't be?"

"Oh, I assure you it is," Sandecker said. "Pitt, there's a bit of scotch left. Bring me a glass."

Pitt obediently did as he was told and handed Sandecker the glass. Dana took a swallow of the Cutty Sark, choked on it and coughed, holding her head as if to contain the pain that had suddenly exploded in her skull.

"There, there, my dear." It was plain to see Sandecker was somewhat at a loss as to how to treat a woman in agony. "Rest easy. You've suffered a nasty blow on the head."

Dana felt the bandage circling her hair and then clutched the admiral's hand knocking the glass on the deck.

Pitt winced as the scotch spilled. Women just don't appreciate good booze.

"No, no, I'm all right." She struggled to a sitting position on the cot and stared in wonder at the strange mechanical contrivances. "The Titanic," she said the name reverently. "I'm actually on the Titanic?"

"Yes." Pitt's voice was edged with sharpness. "And, we'd like to know how you got here."

She looked at him, half-uncertainly, half-confused, and said, "I don't know. I honestly don't know. The last thing I recall I was on the Capricorn."

"We found you in the helicopter," Pitt said.

"The helicopter . . . I lost my make-up kit . . . must have dropped it on the flight from the Alhambra." She forced a wan smile. "Yes, that's it. I returned to the helicopter to search for my make-up kit. I found it jammed between the fold-up seats. I tried pulling it free when . . . well, I guess I fainted and hit my head when I fell."

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