Abe Steiger was the first to break the hushed quiet.

160 VIXEN 03p>

“Odds are that’s the cause of her crash,” he said, pointing at the gash in the cargo cabin just aft of the cockpit. “She must have thrown a prop blade.”

Bass stared at the ominous evidence, making no comment. The pain in his chest became more intense. With great force of will he put it from his mind while unconsciously massaging the ache on the inside of his left arm. He tried to peer through the plane’s windshield glass, but the years of accumulated silt blocked out all view. The cranes had lifted the fuselage ten feet above the lake’s surface when a thought struck him and he turned and gazed at Pitt questioningly.

“I see no provisions for a makeshift barge. How do you expect to carry the wreckage to shore?”

Pitt grinned. “This is where we send for a sky hook, Admiral.” He gestured at Giordino. “Okay, signal Dumbo.”

Within two minutes, like some great pterodactyl flushed from its Mesozoic nest, an ungainly structured helicopter soared over the treetops, its two big rotors pounding the thin mountain air with peculiar-sounding thumps.

The pilot hovered the giant helicopter above the moored cranes. Two hooks gradually unreeled from the gaping belly and were rapidly attached to the hoist cradles by the derrick crews. Then the pilot took up the strain of the full weight and the connectors from the crane cables slackened and were released. The Dumbo clawed at the air, its turbines struggling under the massive load. Very tenderly, as if maneuvering a cargo of fragile crystal, the pilot eased Vixen 03 toward shore.

Pitt and the others turned their backs as a cloud of spray, kicked up by the rotor blades, swirled in from the lake. Giordino, ignoring the gusting wetness, moved to where the pilot could plainly see him, motioning with his hands while directing the lowering operation over the earphone transmitter.

Five minutes was all it took for the Dumbo to release its load and disappear again over the trees. Then they all stood there staring, no one making a move for the wreckage. Steiger murmured a command to his Air Force detail and they smartly marched to the truck and began unloading the coffins, setting them on the ground in an orderly row. One of Pitt’s men produced a ladder and propped it against the exposed rear of the upper cargo deck. Pitt remained silent and indicated with his hand that Admiral Bass be the first to enter the aircraft.

Once inside, Bass made his way around the canisters to the control—

Salvage I 161

cabin doorway. He stood immobile for several seconds, looking pale and very ill. ‘•

“Are you all right, sir?” Pitt asked, coming up behind him.

The voice that answered was remote and far away. “I can’t seem to bring myself to look at them.”

“It would serve no purpose,” said Pitt gently.