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"Pitt?"
"I'm listening."
The selfassurance was gone and Collins sounded strangely subdued. "I think I'm where the bow of the Storstad struck the Empress. The damage around me is old . . . much corrosion and heavy growth-" He broke off, without completing the description. After a silence, he came back; his voice had a chill in it.
"There are bones. I count two, no three skeletons. They're embedded in the rubble. God, I feel like I'm standing in a catacomb."
Pitt tried to visualize what Collins was seeing, how he would have felt if they could exchange places. "Go on. What else is there?"
"The remains of the poor devils, whoever they were, are above me. I can almost reach out and pat their heads."
"You mean skulls."
"Yeah. One is smaller, maybe a child. The others appear to be adults. I may want to take one home with me."
From the gruesome direction the conversation was turning, Pitt could not help wondering if Collins was losing his grip on reality. "What for? So you can play Hamlet?"
"Hell, no," Collins replied indignantly. "The jaws must have four thousand bucks' worth of gold in the teeth."
A bell rang in the back of Pitt's mind, and he reached back to recall an image on a photograph. "Collins, listen to me carefully. On the upper jaw. Are two large rabbit teeth in the upper center surrounded by gold caps?"
Collins did not answer immediately and the few moments delay was maddening to Pitt. He could not know that Collins was too stunned to reply.
"Uncanny . . . positively uncanny," Collins murmured over the phone link in total bafflement. "You described the guy's bicuspids perfectly."
The manifestation struck with such abruptness, such incredibility, that Pitt was for the moment incapable of speech, capable only of the heart-stopping realization that they had at last discovered the burial vault of Harvey Shields.
Sarveux waited until the door had closed behind his secretary before he spoke. "I have read your report, and I find it deeply disturbing."
Shaw did not answer, for no answer was required. He looked across the desk at the Prime Minister.
The man looked older in person than he appeared on camera. What struck Shaw were the sadness in the eyes and the gloves on the hands. Though he was aware of Sarveux's injuries, it still looked odd to see a man working at a desk wearing gloves.
"You've made very grave accusations against Mr. Villon, none
of which are backed up with hard evidence."
"I'm not the devil's advocate, Prime Minister. I've only presented the facts as I know them."
"Why do you come to me with this?"
"I thought you should be aware of it. General Simms shared my view."
"I see." Sarveux was silent for a moment. "Are you certain this Foss Gly worked for Villon "There is no doubt of it."
Sarveux sank back in his chair. "You would have done me a greater service by forgetting this thing."
A look of surprise came over Shaw's face. "Sir?"
"Henri Villon is no longer a member of my cabinet. And this Gly fellow, you say, is dead."
Shaw did not immediately answer, and Sarveux took advantage of his hesitation to continue. "Your hired assassin theory is vague and obscure to say the least. Based on nothing but conversation. There isn't enough circumstantial evidence here to prompt even a preliminary investigation."
Shaw gave Sarveux his best withering stare. "General Simms is of a mind that with a little more digging you may find that the infamous Mr. Gly was the mastermind behind your air crash and the recent demise of Premier Guerrier."
"Yes, the man was no doubt capable of-" Sarveux stopped in mid-sentence. His eyes widened and his face tensed. He leaned across the desk. "What was that? What did you imply?" His voice was stunned, demanding.
"Henri Villon had the motive for wanting you and Guerrier dead, and he . . . I've proved to my satisfaction anyway . . . employed a known killer. I admit that two and two don't necessarily add up to four, but in this case even three may be an acceptable answer."
