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"The idea came from Stutz. Have you heard from him?"
"Yes, he called half an hour ago," replied Kern. "He discovered the source of the problem."
"I sort of thought if anyone could troubleshoot a riddle, he could," said Giordino, referring to Pitt's canny talent for discovering an unknown. "It takes a devious mind to know one.
It was dark when Yaeger dropped Pitt off at the old hangar on the far corner of Washington's International Airport. The structure was built in 1936 and once covered the planes of an old air carrier long since purchased by American Airlines. Except for the headlights of Yaeger's Taurus, the only ot
her illumination came from the glow of the city across the Potomac River and a solitary road lamp fifty meters to the north.
"For someone who hasn't been home for four months, you sure travel light." Yaeger laughed.
"My luggage lies with the fishes," Pitt mumbled through halfclosed eyes.
"I'd love to see your car collection again, but I have to get home."
"It's bed for me. Thanks for the lift. And thank you for this afternoon. A fine job as always."
"Love doing it. Finding the key to your brain twisters beats solving the mysteries of the universe any day." Yaeger waved, rolled up his window against the cold night air, and drove off into the darkness.
Pitt took a spare transmitter from his pants pocket that he kept in his NUMA office and punched in a series of codes that shut down the hangar's security system and turned on the interior lights.
He unlocked the old, badly weathered side door and entered. The polished concrete floor of the hangar looked like a transportation museum. An old Ford trimotor airplane was parked in one corner next to a turn-of-the-century railroad Pullman car. Over fifty automobiles covered the remaining 10,000
square meters. European exotica such as a Hispano-Suiza, a Mercedes-Benz 540K, and a beautiful blue Talbot-Lago were sitting across from magnificent American classics like a Cord L-29, a Pierce-Arrow, and a stunning turquoise-green Stutz town car. The only piece that seemed oddly out of place was an old cast-iron bathtub with an outboard motor attached to the backrest.
He tiredly walked up a circular iron stairway to his apartment overlooking the collection. What had once been an office, he had redecorated into a comfortable one-bedroom apartment with a large combination living room-study whose shelves were filled with books and glass-encased models of ships Pitt had discovered and surveyed.
An appetizing aroma drifted from the kitchen. He found a note hanging on a bird of paradise rising from a vase on the dining table. A smile crossed his face as he read it.
Heard you had sneaked back into town. Cleaned out the alien slime that invaded your refrigerator a month after you were gone. Thought you might be hungry. A salad is on ice and the bouillabaisse is warming in a pot on the stove. Sorry I couldn't be there to greet you, but must attend a dinner at the White House.
Love.
L
He stood for a moment trying to urge his sleep-fogged mind tò come to a decision. Should he eat and then take a shower? Or jump in the shower first? He decided a hot shower would knock him out and he'd never make it back to the table. He undressed and slipped on a short robe. He ate the salad, a Waldorf, and almost the entire pot of bouillabaisse along with two glasses of Smothers Brothers 1983
Cabernet Sauvignon from a bottle that came from a closet wine rack.
He finished and was rinsing the dishes in the sink when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Pitt?"
"Yes, Mr. Jordan," Pitt answered, recognizing the voice. "What can I do for you?"
"I hope I didn't interrupt your sleep."
"My head is still ten minutes away from the pillow."
"I wanted to call and learn if you heard from AI."
"Yes, he called right after he talked to you."
"Despite your unauthorized project, the information was quite useful."
