“Depends whose side you’re on,” Seagram said.

“Knowing your wife’s fetish for Women’s Lib,” the stranger said, “I’d be only too happy to join forces with her husband.”

“You know Dana?”

“I should. I’m her boss.”

Seagram stared at him in amazement. “Then you must be-“

“Admiral James Sandecker,” Dana cut in, laughing, “Director of the National Underwater and Marine Agency. Admiral, may I introduce my easily flustered husband, Gene.”

“An honor, Admiral.” Seagram extended his hand. “I’ve often looked forward to the opportunity of thanking you in person for that little favor.”

Dana looked puzzled. “You two know each other?”

Sandecker nodded. “We’ve talked over the telephone. We’ve never met face-to-face.”

Dana slipped her hands through the men’s arms. “My two favorite people consorting behind my back. What gives?”

Seagram met Sandecker’s eyes. “I once called the Admiral and requested a bit of information. That’s all there was to it.”

Sandecker patted Dana’s hand and said, “Why don’t you make an old man eternally grateful and find him a scotch and water.”

She hesitated a moment, then kissed Sandecker lightly on the cheek and obediently began worming her way through the scattered groups of guests milling around the bar.

Seagram shook his head in wonder. “You have a way with it women. If I had asked her to get me a drink, she’d have spit in my eye.”

“I pay her a salary,” Sandecker said. “You don’t.”

They made their way out on the balcony and Seagram lit a cigarette while Sandecker puffed to life an immense Churchill cigar. They walked in silence until they were alone beneath a tall column in a secluded corner.

“Any word on the First Attempt from your end?” Seagram asked quietly.

“She docked at our Navy’s submarine base in the Firth of Clyde at thirteen hundred hours, our time, this afternoon.”

“That’s nearly eight hours ago. Why wasn’t I notified?”

“Your instructions were quite clear,” Sandecker said coldly. “No communications from my ship until your agent was safely back on U.S. soil.”

“Then how?…”

“My information came from an old friend in the Navy. He phoned me only a half an hour ago, madder than hell, demanding to know where my skipper got off using naval facilities without permission.”

“There’s been a screw-up somewhere,” Seagram said flatly. “Your ship was supposed to dock at Oslo and let my man come ashore. Just what in hell is she doing in Scotland?”

Sandecker gave Seagram a hard stare. “Let’s get one thing straight, Mr. Seagram, NUMA is not an arm of the CIA, FBI, or of any other intelligence bureau, and I don’t take kindly to risking my people’s lives just so you can poke around Communist territory playing espionage games. Our business is oceanographic research. Next time you want to play James Bond, get the Navy or the Coast Guard to do your dirty work. Don’t con the President into ordering out one of my ships. Do you read me, Mr. Seagram?”

“I apologize for your agency’s inconvenience, Admiral. I meant nothing derogatory. You must understand my uneasiness.”