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"Nasty habit." Sandecker nodded. "But I don't mind blowing smoke on someone, especially when they hard-ass my people. And that's exactly what you were doing, Ray, hard-assing Pitt and Giordino."
"You know damn well we're in a state of crisis," said Jordan seriously. "We don't have time to cater to prima donnas."
Sandecker's face clouded. He pointed to Pitt's packet that was on the top of the stack before Jordan.
"You didn't do your homework, or you'd know that Dirk Pitt is a bigger patriot than you and I put together. Few men have accomplished more for their country. There are few of his breed left. He still whistles `Yankee Doodle' in the shower and believes a handshake is a contract and man's word is his bond. He can also be devious as the devil if he thinks he's helping preserve the Stars and Stripes, the American family, and baseball."
"If he knows the urgency of the situation," said Jordan, puzzled, "why did he stall and cut out?"
Sandecker looked at him, then looked at the organization chart on the backlit screen where Kern had written in "Tea Stutz."
"You badly underestimated Dirk," he said almost sadly. "You don't know, you couldn't know, he's probably brewing up scheme to reinforce your operation this minute."
Pitt did not go directly to the old aircraft hangar on the edge of Washington's International Airport that he called home. He gave Giordino a set of instructions and sent him off in a cab.
He walked up Constitution Avenue until he came to a Japanese restaurant. He asked for a quiet booth in the corner, sat down, and ordered. Between the clear clam soup and a medley of sashimi raw fish, he left the table and walked to a pay phone outside the rest rooms.
He took a small address book from his wallet and flipped through the phone numbers until he found the one he was looking for, Dr. Percival Nash (Payload Percy), Chevy Chase, Maryland. Nash was Pitt's uncle on his mother's side. The family character, Nash often bragged how he used to spike Dirk's baby formula with sherry. Pitt inserted the change and dialed the number under the name.
He waited patiently through six rings, hoping Nash was in. He was, answering half a second before Pitt was about to hang up.
"Dr. Nash here," came a youthful resonant voice (he was crowding eighty-two).
"Uncle Percy, this is Dirk."
"Oh, my goodness, Dirk. About time I heard your voice. You haven't called your old uncle in five months."
"Four," Pitt corrected him. "I've been on an overseas project."
"How's my beautiful sister and that dirty old politician she married? They never call me either."
"I haven't been over to the house yet, but judging from their letters, Mom and the senator are as testy as ever."
"What about you, nephew? Are you in good health?"
"Fit and ready to race you around Marinda Park."
"You remember that, do you? You couldn't have been much older than six at the time."
"How could I forget? Every time I'd try and pass, you'd throw me in the bushes."
Nash laughed like the jolly man that he was. "Never try to better your elders. We like to think we're smarter than you kids."
"That's why I need your help, and was wondering if you could meet me at the NUMA Building. I need to pick your brain."
"On what subject?"
"Nuclear reactors for race cars."
Nash knew instantly Pitt was dodging the real issue over the telephone. "When?" he asked without hesitation.
"As soon as convenient."
"An hour okay?"
"An hour will be fine," said Pitt.
