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"Is he dead?"
"I doubt it. Nothing less than a cannon could wipe him out."
Shaw took several deep breaths and massaged his aching hands. "I'm grateful for your timely intervention, Mr . . . er . . ."
"The name is Pitt, Mr. Shaw. And you can cut the charade. We both know all about each other."
Shaw shifted his mind from first gear into second. Through luck he had barely survived one opponent, and now he was facing another.
"You're taking quite a chance, Mr. Pitt. My crew could come marching through the door any second."
"If anybody comes marching in here," Pitt said nonchalantly, "it'll be my crew. While you were waltzing with that walking muscle on the floor, your crew got securely stowed away in the engine room."
"My compliments," replied Shaw. "You walk softly and carry a big wrench."
Pitt shoved the tool into the side pocket of his windbreaker and sat down. "They were very cooperative.
But I guess that happens to men when they stare into the business end of an automatic rifle."
Pain waves shot up and down Shaw's back. His lips pressed together and his face paled. He tried a few bending exercises, but they only made matters worse.
Pitt watched him. "I suggest you see an osteopath after you notify MI6 of recent events."
"Thank you for your concern," Shaw muttered. "How do you come to know so much?"
"You became an instant celebrity when you-looked into the cameras of our survey vehicle. Heidi Milligan recognized your face, and the CIA fleshed out your past."
Shaw's eyes narrowed. "Commander Milligan is on board your ship?"
"You're old friends, she tells me. A lovely girl, and savvy too. She conducts our historical research."
"I see," said Shaw. "She laid out the path for your salvage operation."
"If you mean that Heidi pointed out the location of Harvey Shields' cabin, yes."
Shaw was always amazed at the frankness of the Americans. Pitt, on the other hand, was always irritated by the British preference for fencing around.
"Why are you here, Mr. Pitt?"
"I felt the time had come to warn you to lay off."
"Lay off"
"There's no law that says you can't sit in the bleachers as a spectator, Mr. Shaw. But keep your boys out of our salvage area. The last one tried to play rough."
"You must be talking about Mr. Gly there."
Pitt looked down at the inert body. "I should have guessed."
"There was a time when I might have made him a good match," said Shaw wistfully.
Pitt smiled a smile that warmed the room. "I only hope I'm in as good a shape as you when I'm sixty-six."
"Good guess."
"Weight one hundred and seventy pounds; height six feet one inch, right-handed, numerous scars. No guess, Mr. Shaw. I have a copy of your biography. You've led an interesting life."
"Perhaps, but your accomplishments far outstrip mine." Shaw smiled for the first time. "You see, I have a file on you too."
