Yaeger seemed to waver for a moment. Then he shook his head.

"No, I'll stick with it. These people should be put away."

"Come down hard on them. jam the works in all aspects of their shipping company-outside investments, subsidiary businesses, real estate dealings, everything they touch."

"It's my ass, but I'll do it. just keep the admiral out of my hair for a few more nights."

"Keep a lookout for any information relating to a ship called the Eagle."

"The presidential yacht?"

"Just a ship called the Eagle."

"Anything else?"

Pitt nodded grimly. "I'll see that security is increased around your computer processing center."

"Mind if I stay here and use your couch. I've developed this sudden aversion to sleeping alone in my apartment."

"My office is yours."

Yaeger stood up and stretched. Then he nodded at the data sheets again. "What are you going to do with it?" Pitt stared down at the first breach ever in the Bougainville criminal structure, The pace of his personal investigation was gaining momentum, pieces falling into his hands to be fitted in the overall picture, jagged edges meshing together. The scope was far beyond anything he'd imagined in the beginning.

"You know," he said pensively, "I don't have the vaguest idea."

WHEN SENATOR LARIMER AWOKE in the rear seat of the limousine, the eastern sky was beginning to turn orange. He slapped at the mosquito whose buzzing had interrupted his sleep. Moran stirred in his corner of the seat, his squinting eyes unfocused, his mind still unaware of his surroundings. Suddenly a door was opened and a bundle of clothes was thrown in Larimer's lap.

"Put these on," Suvorov ordered brusquely.

"You never told me who you are," Larimer said, his tongue moving in slow motion.

"My name is Paul."

"No surname?"

"Just Paul."

"You FBI?"

"No."

"CIA?"

"It doesn't matter," Suvorov said. "Get dressed."

"When will we arrive in Washington?"

"Soon," Suvorov lied.

"Where did you get these clothes? How do you know they'll fit.

Suvorov was losing his patience with the inquisitive American.

He shrugged off an impulse to crack the senator in the jaw with the gun.

"I stole them off a clothesline," he said. "Beggars can't be particular. At least they're washed."

"I can't wear a stranger's shirt and pants," Larimer protested indignantly.

"If you wish to return to Washington in the nude, it is no concern of mine."

Suvorov slammed the door, moved to the driver's side of the car and edged behind the wheel. He drove out of a picturesque residential community called Plantation Estates and cut onto Highway 7. The early-morning traffic was starting to thicken as they crossed over the Ashley River bridge to Highway 26, where he turned north.