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"My guess is that your agent felt it was too dangerous to catch a civilian plane out of Oslo and decided on a military flight instead. Our nuclear sub base on the Firth of Clyde has the nearest airfield, so he probably ordered the captain of my research vessel to skip Norway and head there."
"I hope you're right. Whatever the reason, I'm afraid that the deviation from our set plan can only spell trouble."
Sandecker spied Dana standing in the balcony doorway with a drink in one hand. She was searching for them. He waved and caught her eye, and she started to move toward them.
"You're a lucky man, Seagram. Your wife is a bright and lovely gal."
Suddenly, Mel Donner appeared, rushed past Dana, and reached them first. He excused himself to Admiral Sandecker.
"A naval transport landed twenty minutes ago with Sid Koplin on board," Donner said softly. "He's been taken to Walter Reed."
"Why Walter Reed?"
"He's been shot up pretty badly."
"Good God." Seagram groaned.
"I've got a car waiting. We can be there in fifteen minutes."
"Okay, give me a moment."
He spoke quietly to Sandecker and asked the admiral to see that Dana got home and to make his regrets to the President. Then he followed Donner to the car.
7
"I'm sorry, but he is under sedation and I cannot allow any visitors at this time." The aristocratic Virginia voice was quiet and courteous, but there was no hiding the anger that clouded the doctor's gray eyes.
"Is he able to talk?" Donner asked.
"For a man who regained consciousness only minutes ago, his mental faculties are remarkably alert." The cloud remained behind the eyes. "But don't let that fool you. He won't be playing any tennis for a while."
"Just how serious is his condition?" Seagram asked.
"His condition is just that serious. The doctor who operated on him aboard the NUMA vessel did a beautiful job. The bullet wound in his left side will heal nicely. The other wound, however, left a neat little hairline crack in the skull. Your Mr. Koplin will be having headaches for some time to come."
"We must see him now," Seagram said firmly.
"As I've told you, I'm sorry, but no visitors."
Seagram took a step forward so that he was eye to eye with the doctor. "Get th
is into your head, Doctor. My friend and I are going into that room whether you like it or not. If you personally try to stop us, we'll put you on one of your own operating tables. If you yell for attendants, we'll shoot them. If you call the police, they will respect our credentials and do what we tell them." Seagram paused and his lips curled in a smug grin. "Now then, Doctor, the choice is yours."
Koplin lay flat on the bed, his face as white as the pillowcase behind his head, but his eyes were surprisingly bright.
"Before you ask," he said in a low rasp, "I feel awful. And that's true. But don't tell me I look good. Because that's a gross lie."
Seagram pulled a chair up to the bed and smiled. "We don't have much time, Sid, so if you feel up to it, we'll jump right in."
Koplin nodded to the tubes connected to his arm. "These drugs are fogging my mind, but I'll stay with you as long as I can."
Donner nodded. "We came for the answer to the billion dollar question."
"I found traces of byzanium, if that's what you mean?"
"You actually found it! Are you certain?"
"My field tests were by no stroke of the imagination as accurate as lab analysis might have been, but I'm ninety nine-per-cent positive it was byzanium."
