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As the weary NUMA people debarked, they were ushered into the bus. Pitt and Stacy were the last to exit. A uniformed guard held out his arm, blocking their way, and directed them to the car where Admiral Sandecker and Giordino were already standing.
Pitt pushed aside the guard's arm and walked over to the bus. "Goodbye," he said to Plunkett. "Keep your feet dry."
Plunkett fairly mashed Pitt's hand. "Thank you for my life, Mr. Pitt. When next we meet, the drinks are on me."
"I'll remember. Champagne for you, beer for me."
"God bless."
When Pitt approached the black car, two men were holding up their gold shields to Sandecker's face, identifying themselves as agents of the federal government.
"I am operating under presidential order, Admiral. I'm to backstop and transport you, Mr. Pitt, Mr.
Giordino, and Ms. Fox to Washington immediately."
"I don't understand," said Sandecker irritably. "What's the rush?"
"I can't say, sir."
"What about my NUMA team? They've been working on an underwater project under extreme conditions for four months. They deserve time to rest and relax with their families."
"The President has ordered a news blackout. Your NUMA people, along with Dr. Plunkett and Salazar, will be escorted to a safe compound on the windward side of the island until the blackout is lifted. Then they're free to go at government expense wherever you direct."
"How long will they be cooped up?" Sandecker demanded.
"Three or four days," replied the agent.
"Shouldn't Ms. Fox be going with the others?"
"No, sir. My orders are she travels with you."
Pitt stared at Stacy shrewdly. "You been holding out on us, lady?"
A strange little smile came to her lips. "I'm going to miss our tomorrow in Hawaii."
"Somehow I doubt that."
Her eyes widened slightly. "We'll have another time, perhaps in Washington."
"I don't think so," he said, his voice suddenly turning cold. "You conned me, you conned me up and down the line, beginning with your phony plea for help in Old Gert."
She looked up at him, a curious mixture of hurt and anger in her eyes. "We'd have all died if you and Al hadn't shown up when you did."
"And the mysterious explosion. Did you arrange that?"
"I have no idea who was responsible," she said honestly. "I haven't been briefed."
"Briefed," he repeated slowly. "Hardly a term used by a freelance photographer. Just who do you work for?"
A sudden hardness came into her voice. "You'll find out soon enough." And then she turned her back on him and climbed in the car.
Pitt only managed three hours sleep on the flight to the nation's capital. He drifted off over the Rocky Mountains and woke as the dawn was breaking over West Virginia. He sat in the back of the Gulfstream government jet away from the others, preferring his thoughts to conversation. His eyes looked down at the USA Today paper on his lap without really seeing the words and pictures.
Pitt was mad, damned mad. He was irritated with Sandecker for remaining close-mouthed and sidestepping the burning questions Pitt had put to him about the explosion that caused the earthquake. He was angry with Stacy, certain now the British deep-water survey was a combined intelligence operation to spy on Soggy Acres. The coincidence of Old Gert diving in the same location defied all but the most astronomical odds. Stacy's job as a photographer was a cover. She was a covert operative, pure and simple. The only enigma left to solve was the initials of the agency she worked for.
While he was lost in his thoughts, Giordino walked to the rear of the aircraft and sat down next to him.
"You look beat, my friend."
