“Pumped close to a hundred rounds at ‘em. Nicked the heads some, but that’s all.”

“It’s a miracle …” Steiger murmured.

“A what?”

“Those are not explosive shells,” Steiger explained. “They’re gas shells. Their firing mechanisms will not self-activate until the parachutes are released. Your bullets had no effect because unlike ordinary explosive projectiles, they had not been preset to detonate.”

“Whooee!” gasped Lovell. “You mean them things has poison gas in ‘em?”

Steiger merely nodded.

“My Gawd, we might have wiped out half the county.”

“And then some,” Steiger muttered under his breath. He rose from the steps. “I’d like to borrow your John and a telephone, in that order.”

“Sure, you come along. The John is down the hall to your left and there’s a phone in my office.” Lovell stopped and his eyes turned canny. “If we give you them shells … well, I was wonderin’ …”

“I promise you and your post will receive ten sixteen-inch shells in prime explosive condition, enough to give your next Veterans Day picnic a super bang.”

Lovell grinned from ear to ear. “You’re on, Colonel.”

In the rest room Steiger ran cold water over his face. The eyes that stared back in the mirror were red and tired, but they also radiated hope. He had successfully tracked down two of the Quick Death warheads. He could only pray that Pitt was as fortunate.

Steiger picked up the phone in Lovell’s office and asked the operator to put through a collect long-distance call.

Pitt was asleep on a couch in his NUMA office when his secretary, Zerri Pochinsky, leaned over and gently shook him awake. Her long fawn-colored hair hung down, framing a face that was warm and pretty and full of merry admiration.

“You’ve got a visitor and two calls,” she said in a soft Southern drawl.

Pitt pushed aside the cobwebs and sat up. “The calls?” he said.

“Congresswoman Smith,” Zerri answered with a trace of acidity,

No Return Ticket I 193

“and Colonel Steiger on long distance.”

“And the visitor?”

“Says his name is Sam Jackson. He doesn’t have an appointment but he insists that it’s important.”

Pitt began to pull his sleep-fogged mind to even keel. “I’ll take Steiger’s call first. Tell Loren I’ll call her back, and send in Jackson as soon as I’m off the phone.”

Zerri nodded. “The colonel is on line three.”

He walked unsteadily to the desk and punched one of the blinking buttons. “Abe?”

“Greetings from sunny Oklahoma.”

“How’d it go?”

“Paydirt,” said Steiger. “Scratch two warheads.”

“Nice work,” Pitt said, smiling for the first time in days. “Any problems?”

“None. I’ll stand by until a crew arrives to pick them up.”

“I’ve got a NUMA Catlin loaded with a forklift sitting at Dulles. Where can they set down?”

“One second.”

Pitt could hear muffled voices as Steiger conversed with someone at the other end of the line.