Two minutes later, with Giordino clumsily shuffling beside Pitt, they entered Zacynthus' office. It was a small room but efficiently furnished; complete with detailed aerial photographs of Thasos tacked to the walls, three telephones and a shortwave radio, conveniently placed on a table directly behind an old scratched and battered desk. Pitt looked around, surprised. The whole setup was too neat, too professional. Quickly he decided that his best hope still lay in a crude show of hostility.

"This looks more like the command headquarters of a general than the office of a two-bit police inspector."

"You and your friend are brave men," Zacynthus said wearily. "Your acts have proved it. But it's stupid of you to continue the role of an oaf. Though, I admit, you do it very well." He walked around the desk and sat down in an obviously unoiled swivel chair. "This time the truth. Your names please?"

Pitt paused before replying. He was puzzled and angry at the same time. The strange, offbeat operation of his captors puzzled him.

There was a curious feeling, almost a cold certainty in his subconscious mind that he had nothing to fear. These people did not fit his conception of run-of-the-mill Greek policemen. And if they were on von Till's payroll, why were they so dead-set on merely obtaining his and Giordino's names; unless, perhaps, the cats were toying with the mice.

"Well?" Zacynthus' voice hardened to a sharp edge.

Pitt pulled himself erect, and took a gamble.

"Pitt, Dirk Pitt, Director of Special Projects, United States National Underwater Marine Agency. And the gentleman on my left is Albert Giordino, my Assistant Director."

"Most certainly, and I'm the Prime Minister of—" Zacynthus broke off in midsentence; his eyebrows rose sharply, and he leaned across the desk, gazing directly into Pitt's eyes.

"Let's have that again. What did you say your name was?" His voice this time was soft and patronizing.

"Dirk Pitt."

Zacynthus did not move or speak for a full ten seconds. Then he slowly settled back, visibly off balance.

"You're lying, you must be lying."

"Am I?"

"Your father's name?" Zacynthus still stared unblinkingly at Pitt.

"Senator George Pitt of California."

"Describe him: appearance, history, family—everything."

Pitt sat down on the edge of the desk and pulled out a cigarette. He fumbled for his lighter, then remembered it was still lying on the floor of the room where it had fallen when he charged Darius.

Zacynthus struck a wooden match against a drawer and held it for him.

Pitt nodded a grateful thank-you.

Pitt spoke for ten minutes without stopping. Zacynthus listened thoughtfully, moving only once to switch on a dim overhead lamp as the daylight outside the window faded slowly away. Finally he raised his hand.

"That will do. You must be his son, the person you claim to be. But what are you doing on Thasos?"