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This Haida fisherman was in the john when his friends unknowingly left him behind. Please see that he gets to the dock before the fishing fleet departs.
C. Cussler
Chief Foreman
The driver stopped the van in front of the security building, where Pitt was explored from head to feet by X ray for the second time that morning. The doctor in charge of anatomical search nodded as he completed a checklist.
"No diamonds on you, big boy," he said, stifling a yawn.
"Who needs them?" Pitt grunted indifferently. "You can't eat stones. They're a curse of the white man.
Indians don't kill each other over diamonds."
"You're late, aren't you? Your tribesmen came through here twenty minutes ago."
"I fell asleep," said Pitt, hurriedly throwing on his clothes. , He took off at a dead run and rushed onto the dock. Fifty meters from the end he came slowly to a stop. Concern and misgiving coursed through him. The Haida fishing fleet was a good five kilometers out in the channel. He was alone with nowhere to go.
A large freighter was unloading the last of its cargo across the dock from the Dorsett yacht. He dodged around the big containers that were hoisted from the cargo holds on wooden skids and tried to lose himself amid the activity while moving toward the gangway in an attempt to board the ship. One hand on the railing and one foot on the first step was as far as he got.
"Hold it right there, fisherman." The calm voice spoke from directly behind him. "Missed your boat, did you?"
Pitt slowly turned around and froze as he felt his heart double its beat. The sadistic Crutcher was leaning against a crate containing a large pump as he casually puffed on the stub of a cigar. Next to him stood a guard with the muzzle of his M-1 assault rifle wavering up and down Pitt's body. It was the same guard Pitt had struck in Merchant's office. Pitt's heart went on triple time as Dapper John Merchant himself stepped from behind the guard, staring at Pitt with the cold authority of one who holds men's lives in the palms of his hands.
"Well, well, Mr. Pitt, you are a stubborn man."
"I knew he was the same one who punched me the minute I saw him board the shuttle van." The guard grinned wolfishly as he stepped forward and thrust the gun barrel into Pitt's gut. "A little payback for hitting me when I wasn't ready.
Pitt doubled over in sharp pain as the narrow, round muzzle jabbed deeply into his side, badly bruising but not quite penetrating the flesh. He looked up at the grinning guard and spoke through clenched teeth.
"A social misfit if I've ever seen one."
The guard lifted his rifle to strike Pitt again, but Merchant stopped him. "Enough, Elmo. You can play games with him after he's explained his persistent intrusion." He looked at Pitt apologetically. "You must excuse Elmo. He has an instinctive drive to hurt people he doesn't trust."
Pitt desperately tried to think of some way to escape. But except for jumping in the icy water and expiring from hypothermia or-- and this was the more likely option of the two-being blasted into fish meal by Elmo's automatic rifle, there was no avenue open.
"You must have an active imagination if you consider me a threat," Pitt muttered to Merchant as he stalled for time.
Merchant leisurely removed a cigarette from a gold case and lit it with a matching lighter. "Since we last met, I've run an in-depth check on you, Mr. Pitt. To say you are a threat to those you oppose is a mild understatement. You are not trespassing on Dorsett property to study fish and kelp. You are here for another, more ominous purpose. I rather hope you'll explain your presence in vivid detail without prolonged theatrical resistance."
"A pity to disappoint you," said Pitt, between deep breaths. "I'm afraid you won't have time for one of your sordid interrogations."
Merchant was not easily fooled. But he knew that Pitt was no garden-variety diamond smuggler. A tiny alarm went off in the back of his mind when he saw the utter lack of fear in Pitt's eyes. He felt curious yet a trifle uneasy. "I freely admit I thought more highly of you than to expect a cheap bluff."
Pitt stared upward and scanned the skies. "A squadron of fighters from the aircraft carrier Nimitz, bristling with air-to-surface missiles, should be whistling over at any moment."
A bureaucrat with an obscure governmental agency with the power to order an attack on Canadian soil? I don't believe so."
"You're right about me," said Pitt. "But my boss, Admiral James Sandecker, has the leverage to order an air strike."
For an instant, a brief eye blink in time, Pitt thought Merchant was going to buy it. Hesitation clouded the security chief's face. Then he grinned, stepped forward and wickedly backhanded Pitt across the mouth with a gloved hand. Pitt staggered backward, feeling the blood springing from his lips.
"I'll take my chances," Merchant said dryly. He wiped a speck of blood from his leather glove with a bored expression of distaste. "No more stories. You will speak only when I ask for answers to my questions." He turned to Crutcher and Elmo. "Escort him to my office. We'll continue our discussion there."
Crutcher pushed a flat-handed palm into Pitt's face and sent him staggering across the dock. "I think we'll walk instead of ride to your office, sir. Our nosy friend could use a little exercise to soften him up . .
."
"Hold on there!" came a sharp voice from the deck of the yacht. Boudicca Dorsett was leaning against the rail, watching the drama below on the dock. She was wearing a wool cardigan over a white turtleneck and a short pleated skirt. Her white-stockinged legs were encased in a pair of high calfskin riding boots. She tossed her long hair over her shoulders and gestured to the gangway leading from the dock to the yacht's promenade deck. "Bring your intruder on board."
