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"You've lied before. Why break your streak?"
"Pitt will believe me when you tell him it was Foss Gly who set off the explosives."
"Foss Gly?"
"Pitt knows the name."
She looked at him skeptically. "You could have stated your case with a phone call. Why are you really here? To pump more information out of me? To learn if we recovered the treaty copy from the Empress of Ireland?"
"You did not find the treaty," he said with finality. "You're shooting in the dark."
"I know that Pitt left Washington for New York and the search on the Hudson River still goes on. That's proof enough."
"You haven't told me what you want," she persisted.
He looked at her, his eyes intent. "You're to deliver a message from my prime minister to your president."
She glared back at him. "You're crazy."
"Not the least. On the face of it, Her Majesty's government is not supposed to be aware of what yours is about and it's too early in the game for a direct confrontation. Because the situation is too delicate for two friendly nations to go through ordinary diplomatic channels, all communications must be handled in a roundabout fashion. It's not an uncommon practice; in fact, the Russians are particularly fond of it."
"But I can't just call up the President," she said, bewildered.
"No need. Just relay the message to Alan Mercier. He'll take it from there."
"The national security adviser?"
Shaw nodded. "The same."
Heidi looked lost. "What do I tell him?"
"You're simply to say that Britain will not give up one of its Commonwealth nations because of a scrap of paper. And we will conduct a strong military defense against any incursion from outside the nation's borders."
"Are you suggesting a showdown between America and . . ."
"You'd win, of course, but it would be the end of the Atlantic Alliance and NATO. The Prime Minister is hoping your country won't pay that high a price to take over Canada."
"Take over Canada," she repeated. "That's ridiculous."
"Is it? Why else are your people pulling out all stops to find a treaty copy?"
"There must be other reasons."
"Perhaps." He hesitated as he took her hand in his. "But somehow I don't think so."
"So the train lies buried under the fallen bridge," said Pitt. Glen Chase nodded. "Everything points in that direction."
"The only place it could be," added Giordino.
Pitt leaned over the railing of the catwalk that hung across the beam of the salvage barge. He watched the long projecting arm of the crane arc around and release a dripping mass of rusting girders into the main hold. Then it swung back and dipped its claw back into the river.
"At this rate it will take a week before we can probe the bottom."
"We can't excavate until the debris is out of the way," said Giordino.
Pitt turned to Chase. "Have one of your men remove a few fragments from the original truss connections with a cutting torch. I'd like to run them by an analytical chemistry lab."
"What do you expect to find?" Chase asked.
