“Still hanging in there,” Pitt said. He released the viselike grip from his wrist and gently squeezed Bass’s hand. “I’ll see to it, Admiral. That’s a promise.”

Bass blinked his dulled eyes and nodded in understanding.

Pitt and Giordino had covered him and cushioned his head with the blankets when Steiger reappeared, followed by two airmen carrying a stretcher. Only then did Pitt rise to his feet and step aside. The helicopter had already returned and landed when they carried the still-conscious Bass from Vixen 03.

Steiger took Pitt’s arm. “What was he trying to tell you?”

“His inventory of the warhead canisters,” Pitt answered. “He counted twenty-eight.”

“I pray the old guy makes it,” Steiger said. “At least he had the satisfaction of knowing the monstrosities were retrieved. Now all that’s . left is to dump them in the ocean. End of horror story.”

“No, I’m afraid it’s only the beginning.”

“You’re talking in riddles.”

“According to Admiral Bass, Vixen 03 did not depart Buckley Field carrying twenty-eight warheads filled with the Quick Death agent.”

Steiger sensed an icy dread in Pitt’s tone. “But his inventory … the count came to twenty-eight.”

“He should have tallied thirty-six,” Pitt said ominously. “Eight warheads are missing.”

4

No Return Ticket

42

Washington, D.C.- December 1988

The National Underwater and Marine Agency building, a tubular structure sheeted in green reflective glass, rose thirty stories above an East Washington hill.

On the top floor Admiral James Sandecker sat behind an immense desk made from a refinished hatch cover salvaged from a Confederate blockade runner in Albemarle Sound. His private line buzzed.

“Sandecker.”

“Pitt here, sir.”

Sandecker pushed a switch on a small console that activated a holographic TV camera. Pitt’s lifelike image materialized in three-dimensional depth and color in the middle of the office.

“Raise the camera from your end,” said Sandecker. “You’ve chopped off your head.”

Through the miracle of satellite holography Pitt’s face seemed to grow from his shoulders, and his projected self, including voice and gestures, became identical to the original. The major difference, which never ceased to amuse Sandecker, was that he could pass a hand through the image because it was totally lacking in matter.

166 VIXEN 03p>

“That better?” asked Pitt.

“At least you’re whole now.” Sandecker wasted no more words. “What’s the latest on Walter Bass?”

Pitt looked tired as he sat on a folding chair beneath a large pine tree, his ebony hair tossed by a stiff breeze.

“The heart specialist at the Fitzsimons Army Hospital in Denver reports his condition as stable. If he survives the next forty-eight hours, his chances for recovery look good. As soon as he’s strong enough for the trip, they’re going to transfer him to Bethesda Naval Hospital.”

“What about the warheads?”

“We trucked them to a rail siding in Leadville,” Pitt answered slowly. “Colonel Steiger volunteered to arrange shipment to Pier Six in San Francisco.”