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"May I ask why?"
A faraway look came into the President's eyes and Mercier felt a chill run through him at the sudden hardening that entered the man's voice.
"Trust me when I say that a divided Canada is in the best interests of North America."
Klein buttoned up his raincoat as he stood on the south portico of the White House awaiting his car and driver. The threatening gray skies did little to relieve his uneasy mood.
"I can't help wondering if the President is as mad as Henri Villon," he said.
"You misinterpret them," replied Mercier. "Crafty perhaps, but neither man is mad."
"Odd, his fairy tale of combining Canada with the U.S."
"He stepped out of character on that one. What in hell can he have on his mind?"
"You're the national security adviser. If anyone should know, it's you."
"You heard. He's keeping something from me."
"So what happens now?"
"We wait," Mercier answered in a hollow tone. "We wait until I can figure what the President has up his sleeve."
"Sold!"
The auctioneer's voice roared through the amplifiers like a shotgun blast. The usual rumblings from the crowd followed as they marked their programs with the high bid on a 1946 Ford coupe.
"Can we have the next car, please?"
A pearl-white 1939 540K Mercedes-Benz with a Freestone & Webb custom body purred quietly onto the center stage of the Richmond, Virginia, Coliseum. A crowd of three thousand people murmured approval as the beams from the overhead spotlights highlighted the gleaming paint on the elegant coach work Bidders milled around the stage, some down on their hands and knees eyeballing the suspension and running gear, others examining every detail of the upholstery, while still others probed about the engine compartment with the savvy of Kentucky horse trainers contemplating a potential derby winner.
Dirk Pitt sat in the third row and rechecked the numerical order in his program. The Mercedes was listed fourteenth in the annual Richmond Antique and Classic Car Auction.
"This is truly a beautiful and exotic automobile," touted the auctioneer. "A queen among classics. Will somebody start the bidding at four hundred thousand?"
The ring men in tuxedos wandered among the crowd, prodding the bidders. Suddenly one raised his hand. "I have one hundred and fifty."
The auctioneer went into his unintelligible singsong spiel, and the bidding became brisk as car buffs began the ritual of competing for the prize. Quickly, the mark of two hundred thousand was reached and passed.
Absorbed in the action, Pitt did not notice a young man in a three-piece suit slip into the empty seat next to him. "Mr. Pitt?"
Pitt turned and looked into the babyish face of Harrison Moon IV.
"Funny," Pitt said without surprise, "you didn't strike me as the type who would be interested in old cars."
"Actually, I'm interested in you."
Pitt gave him an amused look. "If you're gay, you're wasting your time."
Moon frowned and looked around to see if anyone seated nearby was tuned to their conversation. They were all wrapped up in the bidding. "I'm here on official government business. Can we go someplace private and talk?"
"Give me five minutes," said Pitt. "I'm bidding on the next car.
"Now, if you please, Mr. Pitt," saidsmoon, trying to look commanding. "My business with you is far more important than watching grown men throw money away on obsolete junk."
"I have two hundred and eighty thousand," the auctioneer droned. "Will someone give me three hundred."
"At least you can't call it cheap," said Pitt calmly. "That car happens to be a mechanical work of art, an investment that appreciates from twenty to thirty percent a year. Your grandchildren won't be able to touch it for less than two million dollars."
