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They were both silent while Donner eased through Washington's rush-hour traffic.
"Gene," Donner said at last, "I know this is a touchy subject; put me on your shit list if you will, but you're beginning to come across like a self-tortured cynic."
There was no reaction from Seagram, so Donner forged ahead. "Why don't you take a week or two off and take Dana to a quiet, sunny beach somewhere. Get away from Washington for a while. The defense-installation construction is going off without a hitch, and there's nothing we can do about the byzanium except sit back and pray that Sandecker's boys at NUMA salvage it from the Titanic."
"I'm needed now, more than ever," Seagram said flatly.
"You're only kidding yourself into an ego trip. At the moment, everything is out of our hands."
A grim smile touched Seagram's lips. "You're closer to the truth than you can imagine."
Donner glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
"It's out of our hands," Seagram repeated vacantly. "The President ordered me to leak the Sicilian Project to the Russians."
Donner pulled over to the curb and looked at Seagram dumbfounded.
"My God, why?"
"Warren Nicholson over at CIA has convinced the President that by feeding bits of hard data on the project to the Russians, he can get control of one of their top intelligence networks."
"I don't believe a word of it," Donner said.
"It makes no difference what you believe," Seagram said brusquely.
"If what you say is true, what good will the Russians get out of bits and scraps? Without the necessary detailed equations and calculations, it would take them at least two years to put a workable theory on paper. And without byzanium, the whole concept is worthless."
"They could build a working system within thirty months if they get their hands on the byzanium first."
"Impossible. Admiral K
emper would never permit it. He'd send the Russians packing in a hurry if they tried to pirate the Titanic. "
"Suppose," Seagram murmured softly, "just suppose Kemper was ordered to lay back and do nothing."
Donner leaned over the wheel and rubbed his forehead in disbelief. "Are you asking me to believe the President of the United States is working with the Communists?"
Seagram shrugged wearily and said, "How can I ask you to believe anything when I don't know what to believe myself?"
32
Pavel Marganin, tall and authoritative in his white naval uniform, took a deep breath of the evening air and turned into the ornate lobby of the Borodino Restaurant. He gave his name to the maitre d' and followed him to Prevlov's customary table. The captain sat there reading a thick sheath of papers bound in a file folder. His eyes came up briefly and acknowledged Marganin with a bored glance before they flicked back to the contents of the file.
"May I sit down, Captain?"
"Unless you wish to place a towel over your arm and clear away the dishes," Prevlov said, still engrossed in his reading. "By all means."
Marganin ordered a vodka and waited for Prevlov to initiate the conversation. After nearly three full minutes, the captain finally laid the file aside and lit a cigarette.
"Tell me, Lieutenant, have you followed the Lorelei Current Drift Expedition?"
"Not in detail. I merely scanned the report before passing it along to your attention."
"A pity," Prevlov said loftily. "Think of it, Lieutenant, a submersible capable of moving fifteen hundred miles along the ocean floor without surfacing once in almost two months. Soviet scientists would do well to be half as imaginative."
"Frankly, sir, I found the report rather dull reading."
"Dull reading, indeed! If you had studied it during one of your rare fits of conscientious dedication, you would have discerned a strange course deviation during the expedition's final days."
