The three men on the other sub had removed the guns from the Albatros and mysteriously dropped out of sight. Hersong stepped off the dock and passed a crate through the hatch to Spencer, who had now vanished into the hull with Thomas, Knight and Woodson. Pitt spoke quickly. He needed every second now.

"One question before Darius gets carried away. Out of old world courtesy, you can't deny me that."

Darius stood there, his evil face masked with murderous intent. He looked like a sadistic kid in a biology class who could hardly wait to dissect a frog.

"Very well, Major," von Till said conversationally. "What is it?"

"How will the heroin be distributed after it's unloaded in Galveston?"

Von Till smiled. "One of my lesser known business ventures is a small fleet of fishing boats; not a financially rewarding venture, I might add, but one that becomes quite useful at times. At the moment, my boats are dropping their nets in the Gulf of Mexico, awaiting my signal. When it comes, they will raise their nets and arrive in port at the exact same moment as the Queen Jocasta. The rest is simple: the ship releases the submarine, which is in turn led by the fishing boats to a cannery. The cargo is then unloaded under the building, and the heroin is packed into cans labeled catfood. I must say, it is ironic; all that powder being shipped into every one of your fifty states in catfood cans. The joke is on the Bureau of Narcotics. By the time their suspicions are aroused, it will be too late. The heroin will have already been received and carefully hidden. Admit it, Major, doesn't the prospect of all that heroin being smelled, swallowed or injected by millions of your own countrymen shock your holier-than-thou Yankee moral standards?"

Now Pitt was smiling. "It might, if it ever came to pass."

Von Till's eyes narrowed. Pitt wasn't acting like a doomed man. Something very definitely was off key. "It will come to pass. I promise you that."

"Millions of people," Pitt said wonderingly. "You stand there with a smile on your ugly mouth and openly boast of the misery you're going to extract from millions of people for a few lousy dollars."

"Hardly a few dollars, Major. I think half a billion dollars would be a closer figure."

"You'll never live to count it, much less spend it."

"And who is going to stop me? You, Major? Inspector Zacynthus? Possibly a lightning bolt from the sky?"

"Wishing will make it so."

"I've had enough of his stupid words," Darius said bitterly. "Now—now let him pay for his arrogance." The supremely grotesque face was a cloud of black malevolence. Pitt didn't like the look—he didn't like the look at all. He could almost feel Darius' finger tighten around the trigger of the Luger.