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"We have two undercover operatives working as members of the NUMA salvage crew," Prevlov elucidated. "An exceptionally talented team. They have been relaying important American oceanographic data to us for two years."
"Good, good. Your people have done well, Sloyuk," Antonov said, but there was no warmth in his tone. His gaze came back to Prevlov. "Are we to assume, Captain, that you have devised a plan?"
"I have, comrade."
Marganin was in Prevlov's office when he returned, casually sitting behind the captain's desk. There was a change about him. No longer did he seem like the common, bootlicking aide that Prevlov had left only a few hours ago. There was something about him that was more certain, more self-assured. It seemed to be in his eyes. Those insecure eyes now mirrored the confident look of a man who knew what he was about.
"How did the conference go, Captain?" Marganin asked without rising.
"I think I can safely say the day will soon come when you will be addressing me as Admiral."
"I must confess," Marganin said coolly, "your fertile mind is surpassed only by your ego."
Prevlov was caught off guard. His face paled with controlled anger, and, when he spoke, it required no acute sense of hearing or imagination to detect the emotion in his voice. "You dare to insult me?"
"Why not. You undoubtedly sold Comrade Antonov on the fact that it was your genius that arrived at the purpose of the Sicilian Project and the Titanic salvage operation, when, in reality, it was my source who passed along the information. And you also most likely told them about your wonderful plan to wrest the byzanium from the Americans' hands. Again, stolen from me. In short, Prevlov, you are nothing but an untalented thief."
"That will do!" Prevlov was pointing a finger at Marganin, his tone glacial. Suddenly, he stiffened and was completely under control again, intent, urbane, the true professional. "You will burn for your insubordination, Marganin," he said pleasantly. "I will see to it that you burn a thousand deaths before this month is through."
Marganin said nothing. He only smiled a smile that was as cold as a tomb.
38
"So much for secrecy," Seagram said, dropping a newspaper on Sandecker's desk. "That's this morning's paper. I picked it up from a newsstand not fifteen minutes ago."
Sandecker turned it around and looked at the front page. He didn't have to look farther, it was all there.
"`NUMA To Raise Titanic, "' he read aloud. "Well, at least we don't have to pussyfoot around any more. 'Multimillion dollar effort to salvage ill-fated liner.' You have to admit, it makes for fascinating reading. `Informed sources said today that the National Underwater and Marine Agency is conducting an all-out salvage attempt to raise the R.M.S.Titanic, which struck an iceberg and sank in the mid-Atlantic on April 15, 1912, with a loss of over fifteen hundred lives. This tremendous undertaking heralds a new dawn in deep-sea salvage that is without parallel in the history of man's search for treasure."'
"A multimillion-dollar treasure hunt," Seagram frowned darkly. "The President will love that."
"Even has a picture of me," Sandecker said. "Not a good likeness. Must be a stock photo from their files, taken maybe five or six years ago."
"It couldn't have come at a worse time," Seagram said. "Three more weeks . . . Pitt said he would try to lift her in three more weeks."
"Don't hold your breath. Pitt and his crew have been at it for nine months; nine grueling months of battling every winter storm the Atlantic could throw at them, tackling every setback and technical adversity as it came up. It's a miracle they've accomplished so much in so little time. And yet, a thousand and one things can still go wrong. There may be hidden structural cracks that might split the hull wide open when it breaks from the sea floor, or then again, the enormous suction between the keel and the bottom ooze might never release its grip. If I were you, Seagram, I wouldn't get a glow on until you see the Titanic being towed past the Statue of Liberty."
Seagram looked wounded. The admiral grinned at his stricken expression and offered him a cigar. It was refused.
"On the other hand," Sandecker said comfortingly, "she may rise to the surface as pretty as you please."
"That's what I like about you, Admiral, your on-again, off-again optimism."
"I like to prepare myself for disappointments. It helps to ease the pain."
Seagram didn't reply. He was silent for a minute. Then he said, "So we worry about the Titanic when the time comes. But we still have the problem of the press to consider. How do we handle it?"
"Simple," Sandecker said airily. "We do what any redblooded, grass-roots politician would do when his shady record is laid bare by scandal-hungry reporters."
"And that is?" Seagram asked warily.
"We call a press conference."
"That's madness. If Congress and the public ever got wind of the fact that we've poured over three-quarters of a billion dollars into this thing, they'll be on us like a Kansas tornado."
"So we play liar's poker and slice the salvage costs in half for publication. Who's to know? There's no way the true figure can be uncovered."
"I still don't like it," Seagram said. "These Washington reporters are master surgeons when it comes to dissecting a speaker at a press conference. They'll carve you up like a Thanksgiving turkey."
