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Spencer had been forced to join the group. The shock of incomprehension mirrored in his eyes. He stared at Sandecker incredulously.
"Pitt and Woodson dead? It can't be true."
"It's true all right," Drummer mumbled through a swollen mouth. "One of them sadistic bastards standing there shoved a knife into Woodson's gut."
"A miscalculation on your friend's part," Prevlov said with a shrug. He gazed speculatively at the frightened woman and the nine men standing before him, at their gaunt and blood-caked faces. He seemed to enjoy, in a detached sort of way, their struggle to retain their balance whenever the Titanic was struck broadside by an immense swell. "And speaking of miscalculations, Mr. Spencer, it seems your men have developed a noticeable lack of enthusiasm for manning the pumps. I needn't remind you that unless the water that is pouring in below the waterline is returned to the sea, this ancient monument to capitalistic extravagance will sink."
"So let it sink," Spencer said easily. "At least you and your Communist scum will go with it."
"Not a likely event, particularly when you consider that the Mikhail Kurkov is standing by for just such an emergency." Prevlov selected a cigarette from a gold case and tapped it thoughtfully. "So you see, a sensible man would accept the inevitable and perform his duties accordingly."
"It still beats hell out of letting you get your slimy hands on her."
"You won't get any of us to do your dirty work for you," Sandecker said. There was a quiet finality in his voice.
"Perhaps not." Prevlov was quite unruffled. "On the other hand, I think I shall have the cooperation I require and very soon." He motioned to one of the guards and muttered in Russian. The guard nodded, walked unhurriedly across the dining saloon, grabbed Dana by the arm and roughly pulled her under one of the portable lights.
As one, the salvage crew crowded forward only to be met by four unyielding machine pistols held at gut level. They froze helplessly, rage and hostility seething through their every pore.
"If you harm her," Sandecker whispered, his voice quivering in quiet anger, "you'll pay for it."
"Oh come now, Admiral," Prevlov said. "Rape is for the sick. Only a cretin would attempt blackmailing you and your crew with such a sorry ploy. American men still place their women on marble pedestals. You'd all willingly die in a useless attempt to protect her virtues, and where would that leave me? No, cruelty and torture are crude methods in the fine art of persuasion. Humiliation . . ." He paused, savoring the word. "Yes, humiliation, a magnificent incentive for inducing your men to return to their labors and keep the ship afloat."
Prevlov turned to Dana. She looked at him, pathetic and lost. "Now then, Mrs. Seagram, if you will be so good as to take off your clothes-all of them."
"What kind of cheap trick is this?" Sandecker asked.
"No trick. Mrs. Seagram's modesty will be laid bare, layer after layer until you order Mr. Spencer and his men to cooperate."
"No!" Gunn pleaded. "Don't do it, Dana!"
"Please, no appeals," Prevlov said wearily. "I will have one of my men strip her by force if necessary."
Slowly, barely perceptibly, a strange gleam of belligerence began spreading in Dana's eyes. Then without the slightest hesitation, she slipped out of her jacket, jumpsuit, and underclothing. In less than a minute she stood there in the halo of light, her body supple and alive and very nude.
Sandecker turned his back and one by one the other hardened salvage men followed suit until they were facing away into the darkness.
"You will look upon her," Prevlov said coldly. "Your gallant gesture is touching, but completely useless. Turn around, gentlemen, our little performance is just beginning-"
"I think this stupid, chauvinistic bullshit has gone far enough."
Every head jerked around as if yanked by the strings of a puppeteer at the sound of Dana's voice. She stood there with legs apart, hands on hips, breasts thrust outward, and her eyes blazed with a mocking awareness. Even with the unsightly bandage around her head she looked magnificent.
"The admission is free, boys, stare all you want. A woman's body is no big secret. You've all seen and undoubtedly touched one before. Why all the bashful glances?" Then her eyes changed to shrewd reflection and her lips lifted away from her teeth and she began laughing. She had decisively stolen the stage from Prevlov.
He stared at her, his mouth slowly tightening. "An impressive performance, Mrs. Seagram, an impressive performance indeed. But a typical display of Western decadence I hardly find amusing."
"Show me a Communist, and I'll show you an asshole every time," Dana taunted him. "If you shitheads only knew how the whole world laughs behind your threadbare backs every time you spout your gauche little Marxist terms like Western decadence, imperialistic war-mongering, or bourgeois-manipulating, you might straighten up and show a little class. As it is, your kind is the biggest diabolical farce played on mankind since we climbed down from the trees. And if you had any balls, you'd face up to it."
Prevlov's face went white. "This has gone far enough," he snapped. He was on the verge of losing his very carefully practiced control and it frustrated him.
Dana stretched her long and opulent body and said, "What's the matter, Ivan? To used to muscle-bound, hod-carrying Russian women? Can't get used to the idea of a liberated gal from the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave laughing at your sorry tactics?"
"It is your vulgarity that I find difficult to accept. At least our women do not act like common gutter sluts."
"Fuck you." Dana grinned sweetly.
Prevlov missed nothing. He caught the flickered glance between Giordino and Spencer, caught the flexing of Sturgis's fists, and the tiny inclination of Drummer's head. He became fully aware now that Dana's indolent yet continual movement away from the Americans and toward the rear of the Russian guards was neither unconscious nor unplanned. Her performance was nearly complete. The Soviet marines were twisting their necks to gawk; their guns were beginning to droop in their hands, when Prevlov shouted out a command in Russian.
