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"Congratulations, Major," Giordino said. "You just made the playoffs."
A big grin spread across Laroche's bloodied face. "By God, we whipped'em good, didn't we?"
Lee Tong emptied his weapon at the figure on the bow of the towboat, observing it fall into the water. Then he slumped against the edge of the hatch and watched the Confederate battle flag flutter in the gulf breeze.
With a kind of detachment, he accepted the unexpected disaster which had overtaken his carefully conceived operation. His crew was either dead or prisoner, and his escape ship was destroyed.
Yet he was not ready to oblige his unknown opponents by surrendering, He was determined to carry out his grandmother's bargain with Moran and take
his chances on escaping later.
He dropped down the side ladder of the elevator shaft into the laboratory quarters and ran along the main corridor until he came to the door of the chamber that held the isolation cocoons. He entered and peered through the insulated plastic lin at the body within the first one. Vince Margolin stared back, his body too numb to respond, his mind too drugged to comprehend.
Lee Tong moved to the next cocoon and looked down at the serene, sleeping face of Loren Smith. She was heavily sedated and in a deep state of unconsciousness. Her death would be a waste, he thought. But she could not be allowed to live and testify. He leaned over and opened the cover and stroked her hair, staring at her through half-open eyes.
He had killed countless men, their features forgotten less than seconds after their death. But the faces of the women lingered.
He remembered the first, so many years ago on a tramp steamer in the middle of the Pacific Ocean: her haunting expression of bewilderment as her chained nude body was dropped over the side.
"Nice place you have here," came a voice from the doorway, "but your elevator is out of order."
Lee Tong spun around and gaped at the man who stood wet and dripping, pointing a strange antique revolver at his chest.
"You!" he gasped.
Pitts face-tired, haggard and dark with heard stubble-lit up in a smile. "Lee Tong Bougainville. What a coincinence."
"You're alive!"
"A trite observation."
"And responsible for all this: those mad men in the old uniforms, the riverboat . . ."
"The best I could arrange on the spur of the moment," Pitt said apologetically.
Lee Tong's moment of utter confusion passed and he slowly curled his finger around the trigger of the Steyr-Mannlicher that hung loosely in one hand, muzzle aimed at the carpeted deck.
"Why have you pursued my grandmother and me, Mr. Pitt?" he demanded, stalling. "Why have you set out to wreck Bougainville Maritime?"
"That's like Hitler asking why the Allies invaded Europe. In my case, you were responsible for the death of a friend."
"Who?"
"It doesn't matter," said Pitt indifferently. "You never met her."
Lee Tong swung up the barrel of his carbine and pulled the trigger.
Pitt was faster, but Giordino had used up the last cartridge and the revolver's hammer fell on an empty cylinder. He stiffened, expecting the impact of a bullet.
It never came.
Lee Tong had forgotten to insert a new clip after firing his final round at Pitt on the towboat. He lowered the carbine, his lips stretched into an inscrutable smile. "It seems we have a standoff, Mr. Pitt."
"Only temporary," said Pitt, recocking the hammer and keeping the revolver raised and aimed. "My people will be coming aboard any minute now."
Lee Tong sighed and relaxed. "Then I can do little else but surrender and wait for arrest."
"You'll never stand trial."
