Staring back at Zak, he asked, “You seem to have a bit of the bloodhound in you. How would you like to visit this warehouse in Ontario and find out where this ruthenium came from and how much of a supply is left?”

“Providing Terra Green Air is operating a scheduled flight,” Zak replied with a smile.

“You can use the jet,” Goyette grumbled. “But there’s another matter of minor importance that requires your attention beforehand. It seems I have a small annoyance in Kitimat.”

“Kitimat. Isn’t that near Prince Rupert?”

Goyette nodded and handed Zak the fax he had received from the natural resources minister. Reading the document, Zak nodded, then gulped down his martini.

“I’ll take care of it on the way to Ontario,” he said, stuffing the fax into his pocket and rising from the chair. He moved toward the door, then turned back toward Goyette.

“You know, that research mole of yours, Bob Hamilton? You might consider posting him a nice bonus for the information he provided. Might make you a bit of money down the road.”

“I suppose.” Goyette grunted, then he closed his eyes and grimaced. “Just knock next time, will you please?” he said.

But when he opened his eyes, Zak was already gone.

Chapter 33

33

THE TRUE DIE-HARD MEMBERS OF THE POTOMAC Yacht Club had already capitalized on the sparkling Sunday-morning weather and taken to the river in their sailboats by the time Pitt stepped onto the main dock at nine o’clock. An overweight man toting an empty gas can trudged toward Pitt, sweating profusely in the muggy morning air.

“Excuse me,” Pitt asked, “can you tell me where the Roberta Ann is berthed?”

The fat man’s face brightened at the name. “That’s Dan Martin’s boat. He’s on the far dock, the third or fourth berth down. Tell him Tony wants his electric drill back.”

Pitt thanked the man and made his way to the last dock, quickly spotting the Roberta Ann as he stepped down a ramp from the quay. She was a gleaming wood sailboat of just under forty feet. Built in Hong Kong in the 1930s, she was all varnished teak and mahogany, accented by loads of brass fittings that sparkled in the sunlight. In impeccable condition, she was a boat that oozed the romance of another era. Admiring the sleek lines, Pitt could practically envision Clark Gable and Carole Lom bard sailing her under the stars to Catalina with a case of champagne aboard. The image was shattered by a string of four-letter words that suddenly wafted from the stern. Pitt walked closer, to find a man hunched down in a bay that housed the sailboat’s small inboard motor.

“Permission to come aboard?” Pitt called out.

The man popped upright, a frustrated snarl on his face softening at the sight of Pitt.

“Dirk Pitt. What a pleasant surprise. Come to mock my seafaring ways?”