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If the arrival of the Earl of Wattlesfield was a melancholy affair, the welcome awaiting the Deep Encounter took on the atmosphere of a wild and crazy party. As the survey ship came through Cook Strait and headed for Wellington, it was met by a small fleet of private yachts that swelled to hundreds of vessels of every description by the time her bow nosed into the harbor. Fireboats escorted the ship to a dock, their hoses spraying a curtain of water high in the air that formed rainbows under the bright sun.
The crowds could easily see the scraped turquoise paint and mangled plates of the hull where she had beaten herself against the cruiseship during the incredible rescue of nearly two thousand people.
Captain Burch had to use a bullhorn to shout his orders for the docking procedure because of the noise from all the shouting and cheers, backed by the blare of a thousand car horns, the ringing of church bells and the shriek of sirens, while a storm of streamers and confetti showered the decks of the ship.
The crew and scientists had no idea they had become instant international celebrities and acclaimed heroes. They stood amazed at the resounding reception, unable to believe that it was for them. They no longer looked like tired, bedraggled scientists and crew members. At seeing the welcoming armada, everyone had quickly prettied up and changed into their best clothes. Women wore dresses, the male scientists slacks and sport coats, the crew in NUMA uniforms. They all stood on the work deck, devoid of all oceanographic equipment except the two submersibles, and waved back.
Kelly perched next to Pitt on the bridge wing, elated yet saddened at the sight and wishing her father was with her to see it. She turned and looked into Pitt's eyes. "I guess this is good-bye."
"You'll be flying to the States?"
"Just as soon as I can make reservations on the first available flight home."
"Where do you call home?" he asked her.
"New York," she replied, catching a paper streamer that drifted down from above. "I have a brownstone on the Upper West Side."
"You live alone?"
"No." She smiled. "I have a tabby cat called Zippy and a basset hound that answers to Shagnasty."
"I don't get to the city often, but next time I'm in town, I'll call you for dinner."
"I'd like that." She scribbled her phone number on a scrap of paper and gave it to him.
"I'll miss you, Kelly Egan."
She looked into those incredible eyes and saw that he was serious. The blood suddenly rushed to Kelly's face and she felt her knees weaken. She clutched the railing, wondering what was coming over her. Stunned at losing control, she stood on her toes, abruptly circled her arms around Pitt's head, pulled him down and kissed his lips long and hard. Her eyes were closed, but his widened in pleasurable surprise.
When she pulled back, she willed herself into a state of feminine composure. "Thank you, Dirk Pitt, for saving my life, and much, much more." She took a few steps and then turned. "My father's leather case."
"Yes?" he answered, unsure of her meaning.
"It's yours."
With that, Kelly turned and stepped down the companionway to the work deck. As soon as the gangway was lowered onto the dock, she stepped ashore and was swallowed up by a crowd of reporters.
Pitt left the glory to Burch and the others. While they were feted in the city at hastily thrown-together banquets, he remained aboard ship and gave a full report over his Globalstar satellite phone to Admiral Sandecker in the NUMA headquarters building in Washington.
"The Encounter took quite a beating," he explained. "I've made arrangements with the shipyard to take her into dry dock in the morning. The shipyard foreman estimated that the damage will take three days to repair."
"Newspapers and television have been running the rescue story all morning, noon and night," the Admiral replied. "The aircraft took fantastic photos of the burning cruise ship and the Encounter. NUMA phone lines have been jammed by calls congratulating us, and there's a hive of reporters swarming throughout the building. I owe you and everybody on board the Encounter a sincere vote of thanks on behalf of the agency."
Pitt could picture the admiral in his office, brimming with pride and loving every minute of the limelight. He could see the flaming red hair with all trace of gray tinted away, the matching Vandyke beard, trimmed to a sharp point, the blue eyes that had to be flashing like neon signs from heartfelt satisfaction. And, he could almost smell the acrid smoke of one of Sandecker's personalized cigars.
"Does that mean we all get a raise?" asked Pitt sarcastically.
"Don't let it go to your head," Sandecker snapped back. "Money can't buy glory."
"A bonus might be a nice gesture on your part."
"Don't push your luck. You're lucky I don't take the ship repairs out of your pay."
Pitt wasn't fooled for a second by the gruff attitude. Sandecker had a reputation for generosity among the employees of NUMA. Pitt would have bet the admiral was already computing bonus checks, and he would have been right. Not that Sandecker didn't have a mercenary streak when it came to his beloved NUMA. Pitt didn't need a crystal ball to know that Sandecker was already planning on how he would milk the rescue and its resulting publicity to obtain an extra fifty million dollars out of Congress for his next year's budget.
"That's not all you might want to deduct," said Pitt roguishly. "To stay afloat we had to jettison almost all our equipment into the sea."
"The submersibles, too?" Sandecker's voice took on a serious tone.
