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Nothing was put down on paper or recorded on tape. And only the men in this room know why Senator Pitt flew down to Punta del Este to confer with President Hasan."
"Dale's right," said Merger. "We can come up with any number of excuses to explain away his mission."
The President unclasped his hands and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "George Pitt hasn't been dead a day and already we're trying to cover our asses."
"That problem is minor compared to the political disasters we're facing in Egypt and Mexico," said Nichols. "With Hasan and De Lorenzo dead too, Egypt will go the way of Iran and be irretrievably lost for sure, Then with Mexico - - ." He hesitated. "We'll have a time bomb ready to go off along our own border."
"As my Chief of Staff and closest adviser, what measures do you suggest we take?"
Nichols's stomach was attacked by a cramp and his heartbeat quickened.
The President and the two intelligence advisers seemed to be studying his eyes. He wondered if the stress that was twisting his guts came from being put on the spot or the thought of a looming foreign catastrophe.
"I propose we wait for proof the Lady Flamborough and everybody on her lies on the bottom of the ocean.
"And if no evidence is forthcoming?" asked the President. "Do we go on waiting until Egypt and Mexico, their leaders missing and presumed dead, arr taken over by Topiltzin and
Akhmad Yazid, a pair of crazed megalomaniacs? What then?
What course of action is left to stop them before it's too late?"
"Short of assassination, none." Nichols's hand nervously massaged his aching stomach. "We can only prepare for the worst."
"Which is . . . ?"
"We write off Egypt," Nichols said gravely, "and invade Mexico."
A heavy rain soaked Uruguay's capital city of Montevideo as the small jet dropped from the clouds and lined up on the runway. Soon after touchdown it swung away from the commercial terminal and rolled onto a taxi strip toward a cluster of hangars flanked by rows of fighter jets.
A Ford sedan with military markings appeared and led the pilot to a parking area reserved for visiting VIP aircraft.
Colonel Rojas stood inside a hangar office and peered out a water-streaked window. As the aircraft rolled closer he could see the letters NUMA across the aquamarine color scheme running down the fuselage. The sound of the engines died away, and a minute later three men climbed out. They quickly piled into the Ford to escape the deluge and were driven inside the hangar where Rojas waited.
The Colonel stepped to the office door and studied them as they were ushered across the vast concrete floor by a young lieutenant who was his aide.
The short one with a curly jungle of black hair and a battleship chest strutted with an easy vigor. His hands and arms might have been grafted from a bear. His eyes scowled, but his lips showed white, even teeth in a satirical smile.
The slim man with the horn-rinnned glasses, narrow hips and shoulders looked like an accountant who had come to audit the company ledgers. He carried a briefcase and two books under one arm. He also wore a smile, but it seemed more mischievous than plain humorous. Rojas pegged him as a pleasant sort, easily amused yet highly competent.
The tall man who brought up the rear had black wavy hair and heavy eyebrows, his face craggy and tanned. There was an air of indifference about him as though he would have enjoyed a prison sentence with the same expectation as a Tahitian holiday. Rojas was not fooled. The man's penetrating eyes gave him away. While the other two gazed around the hangar as they walked, this man fixed Rojas with a burning stare like the sun through twill magnifying glasses.
Rojas stepped forward and saluted. "Welcome to Uruguay, gentlemen.
Colonel Jose Rojas at your service." Then he addressed himself to the tall man, speaking in perfect English with a slight trace of cockney he'd picked up from the British. "I've looked forward to meeting you since our phone conversation, Mr. Pitt."
Pitt stepped between his friends and shook Rojas's hand. "Thank you for taking the time to see us." He turned and introduced the man with the glasses. "This is Rudi Gunn and the criminal type on my right is Al Giordino."
Rojas gave a slight bow of the head and idly tapped his swagger stick against a neatly pressed pants leg. "Please forgive the Spartan surroundings, but an army of world journalists have invaded our country like the plague since the hijacking. I thought it more convenient to confer away
from the horde."
"A sound idea," Pitt agreed. "Would you care to relax a bit after your long flight and dine at our Air Force officers' club?"
"Thank you for the invitation, Colonel," said Pitt graciously, "but if you don't mind, we'd like to get to it."
"Then, if you'll step this way, I'll brief you on our search operations."
Inside the office Ro as introduced Captain Ignacio Flores, who had coordinated the air/sea hunt. Then he motioned the three Americans to gather around a large table covered with nautical charts and satellite-imagery photos.
