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"How's Bushey?"
"He'll live. He has a nasty wound, but he should be back on his feet in a couple of weeks. You suffered
more than anybody on board."
"Thank God for that," Gillespie gasped bravely.
As Pitt dialed NUMA headquarters in Washington, his thoughts turned to Giordino on St. Paul Island less than fifteen hundred miles away. Lucky devil, he thought. He pictured his good buddy sitting in a fancy gourmet restaurant in Cape Town with a ravishing lady in a seductive dress, ordering a bottle of vintage South African wine.
"The luck of the draw," Pitt muttered to himself on the skeleton of what was left of the bridge. "He's warm, and I'm freezing half to death."
"Why is it Dirk gets all the choice projects?" groused Giordino. "I'll bet as we speak, he's sleeping in a warm, comfortable cabin on board the Polar Storm with his arms around some gorgeous female marine biologist."
He was soaked and shivering under the wind-driven sleet as he stumbled across the rocky slope toward the cave, carrying an armload of small branches he and Gunn had cut from scattered scrub brush they'd found growing around the mountain.
"We'll be warm, too, once the wood dries enough to catch fire," said Gunn. Walking slightly ahead of Giordino with his arms loaded with straggly branches almost bare of leaves, he thankfully stepped through the archway and into the tunnel. He threw his burden on the rocky floor and collapsed in a sitting position against one wall.
"I fear all we're going to do with this stuff is make a lot of smoke," Giordino murmured, removing his dripping foul-weather gear and wiping the water that had dribbled down his neck with a small hand towel.
Gunn handed Giordino a cup of the now cold coffee from the thermos, and the last of the granola bars.
"The last supper," he said solemnly.
"Did Sandecker give you any idea as to when he can get us off this rock pile?"
"Only that transportation was on the way."
Giordino examined the dial of his watch. "It's been four hours. I'd like to make Cape Town before the pubs close."
"He must not have been able to charter another tilt-rotor and a pilot, or they'd have been here by now."
Giordino tilted his head, listening. He moved through the tunnel until he was standing under the archway. The sleet had fallen off to a light sprinkling rain. The overcast was breaking up, and patches of blue sky emerged between the swiftly moving clouds. For the first time in several hours, he could see far out to sea.
It was there like a flyspeck on a frosted window. As he watched, the speck grew into a black helicopter. Another mile closer, and he identified it as a McDonnell Douglas Explorer with a twin tail and no rear rotor.
"We have company," he announced. "A helicopter flying in from the northwest. Coming fast and low over the water. Looks like he's carrying air-to-ground missiles."
Gunn came and stood beside Giordino. "A helicopter doesn't have the range to fly here from Cape Town. It must have come from a ship."
"No markings. That's odd."
"Definitely not a South African military aircraft," said Gunn.
"I do not believe they're bearing gifts," said Giordino sarcastically. "Or they would have called and said to expect them."
The sound of the helicopter's turbines and rotor blades soon broke the cold air. The pilot was no daredevil, but very cautious. Flying a safe height above the cliffs, he hovered for at least three minutes while he studied the ledge that once held the tilt-rotor. Then he dropped down slowly, feeling his way through the air currents. The landing skids touched the rocky surface and the rotor blades slowly spun to a stop.
Silence then. Without the wind, the mountain slopes went quiet. After a short time lag, the big fifty-inch sliding cabin door opened and six men in black coveralls dropped to the ground. They looked as if they were carrying enough weapons and firepower to invade a small country.
"Strange-looking rescue party," said Giordino.
Gunn was already on his Globalstar phone, dialing the admiral in Washington. When Sandecker responded, Gunn said simply, "We have armed visitors in an unmarked black helicopter."
"This seems to be my day for putting out brush fires," Sandecker said caustically. "First Pitt and now you." Then his tone betrayed earnest concern. "How long can you hide out?"
"Twenty, maybe thirty, minutes," replied Gunn.
