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in his pocket, and he's shrewdly sought strong support from the moderate Muslim fundamentalists. In my opinion, Abu Hamid is a shoo-in."
"We could do much worse," murmured Oates with a thin smile. "He hasn't been above accepting favors and tapping some of the billions of dollars we've poured into Egypt. Abu Hamid would not be the type to kick a gift horse in the mouth. Oh, sure, he'd make the required noises condemning Israel and cursing the U.S., for the sake of the religious fanatics, but underneath the rhetoric he'd keep a friendly line of communications open."
"The fact that he's on close terms with Hala Kamfl won't hurt us either," Nichols said flatly.
The President was silent, staring into the glass of zinfandel as if it was a crystal ball. Then he raised the glass.
"To a continued friendly union with Egypt."
"Hear, hear," said Mercier and Brogan in unison.
"To Egypt," murmured Oates.
"And Mexico," added Schiller.
The President glanced at his watch and rose, followed by his advisers.
"Sorry to cut this short, but I have a meeting with a group of Treasury people. Congratulate everyone involved in rescuing the hostages for me." He turned to Oates. "I want to meet with you and Senator Pitt the minute he returns."
"To discuss any words he had with President Hasan during their ordeal?"
"I'd be more interested in hearing what he learned from President De Lorenzo on the crisis south of our border. Egypt is of secondary importance compared to Mexico. We can safely assume Akhmad Yazid has been benched for the rest of the season, but Topiltzin is a far worse threat. Concentrate on him, gentlemen. God help us if we can't stabilize the upheaval in Mexico."
Slowly, reluctantly, Pitt rose from the black depths of a sound sleep to the brightly lit surface of consciousness only to find it was accompanied by stiff, aching pain. He tried to go back and reenter the comforting void, but his eyes blinked open, and it was too late. The first thing he focused on was a smiling red face.
"Well, well, he's back among the living," said First Officer Finney cheerfully. "I'll go and inform the Captain."
As Finney passed through the door, Pitt moved his eyes without moving his head and found a little baldheaded sitting in a chair beside the bed. The ship's doctor, Pitt recognized, but the name escaped him.
"I'm sorry, Doctor, but I can't recollect your,
"Henry Webster," he second-guessed Pitt, smiling warmly. "And if you're wondering where you are, you're in the finest suite on board the Flamborough, which is currently under tow by the Sounder for Punta Arenas."
"How long have I been unconscious?"
"While you weremaking your report to Colonel Hollis, I was tending to your wounds. Soon afterward, I put you under heavy sedation. You've been out for about twelve hours."
"No wonder I'm starving."
"I'll see our chef personally sends down one of his specialties."
"How are Giordino and Findley?"
"Most admirable of you to inquire of your friends before yourself.
Giordino is a very durable man. I took four bullets from him, none in critical areas. He should be ready to party by New Year's Eve.
Findley's wounds were far more serious. Bullets entered his right side and lodged in a lung and kidney. I did what I could for him on the ship.
He and Giordino were airlifted to Punta Arenas and flown to Washington soon after I put you out. Findley will be operated on by bullet-wound specialists at the Walter Reed Medical Center. If there are no complications, he should pull through in fine shape. By the way, your friend Rudi Gunn felt they needed him more than you did, so he accompanied them home."
Before Pitt could make a reply, a digital thermometer was slipped in and out of his mouth.
Dr. Webster studied the reading and nodded. "As for you, Mr.
Pitt-you'll mend nicely. How are you feeling?"
"I don't think I'm up to entering a triathlon, but except for a throb in my head and a stinging sensation in my neck, I'll manage."
