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"Forgive me," said Brogan stonily. "I don't think that would be a smart move."
Sandecker's eyes suddenly flashed with anger. "Watch what you say, Martin. I know there's a Machiavellian plot jelling in your mind. But take warning, my friend. You've got me to deal with, and I'm not about to let my friends be literally thrown to the sharks."
"We're looking at a high-stakes game," said Brogan. "Keeping Velikov in the dark may prove most advantageous."
"And sacrifice several lives for an intelligence gamble?" said Pitt bitterly. "No way."
"Please bear with me a moment," Brogan pleaded. "I'll agree to leak a story saying we know the LeBarons and your NUMA people are alive. Next, we'll accuse the Cubans of imprisoning them in Havana."
"How can Velikov be expected to fall for something he knows is crap?"
"I don't expect him to fall for it. He's no cretin. He'll smell a rat and wonder how much we know about his island. And that's all he can do-- wonder. We'll also muddy the waters by claiming our knowledge comes from photographic evidence showing your inflatable boat washed up on the main island of Cuba.
That should take the pressure off our captives and keep Velikov guessing. The piece de resistance will be the discovery of Pitt's body by a Bahamian fisherman."
"What in hell are you proposing?" Sandecker demanded.
"I haven't thought it through yet," Brogan admitted. "But the basic idea is to sneak Pitt back on the island."
As soon as Pitt's debriefing had concluded, Brogan returned to his office and picked up the phone. His call went through the usual batting order of buffers before the President came on.
"Please make it quick, Martin. I'm about to leave for Camp David." "We've just finished interrogating Dirk Pitt."
"Could he fill in any pieces?"
"Pitt gave us the intelligence breakthrough we discussed."
"Velikov's headquarters?"
"He led us straight to the mother lode."
"Nice work. Now your people can launch an infiltration operation." "I think a more permanent solution would be in order."
"You mean offset its threat by exposing its existence to the world press?"
"No. I mean go in and destroy it."
The president had a light breakfast after reaching Camp David. The weather was unseasonably warm, there was Indian summer in the air, and he was dressed in cotton slacks and short-sleeved sweater.
He sat in a large wing chair with several file folders in his lap and studied the personal histories of the
"inner core." After reading the last file he closed his eyes, pondering his options, wondering what he would say to the men who were waiting in the camp's main dining room.
Hagen entered the study and stood quietly until the President opened his eyes.
"Ready when you are, Vince."
The President slowly pushed himself from the chair. "Might as well get on with it then."
They were waiting around the long dining table as the President had arranged. No guards were present, none were required. These were honorable men who had no intent to commit crime. They respectfully rose to their feet as he entered the room, but he waved them down.
Eight were present and accounted for-- General Fisher, Booth, Mitchell, and Busche sat on one side of the table opposite Eriksen, Senator Porter, and Dan Fawcett. Hudson was seated by himself at the far end. Only Raymond LeBaron was missing.
They were dressed casually, sitting comfortably like golfers in a clubhouse, relaxed, supremely confident and showing no signs of tension.
"Good morning, Mr. President," greeted Senator Porter cheerfully. "To what do we owe the honor of this mysterious summons?"
