men, he returned to his reading. The pay phone’s light blinked out and Jarvis hurriedly ducked back into the passenger seat.

“Any late word?” Pitt asked.

Jarvis nodded. “My staff has uncovered a piece of discouraging information.”

“Bad news and dismal weather go hand in hand,” Pitt said.

“The Iowa was stricken from Navy rolls and auctioned as surplus. The winning bidder was an outfit called the Walvis Bay Investment Corporation.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“The corporation is a financial front for the African Army of Revolution.”

Pitt gave a slight twist of the wheel to avoid a deep puddle in the road. “Is it possible Lusana pulled the rug from under the South African Defence Ministry’s pipe dreams by outbidding them for the ship?”

“I doubt it.” Jarvis shivered from the damp cold and held his hands over the dashboard’s defroster vents. “I’m convinced the South African Defence Ministry bought the Iowa, handling the transaction under the guise of Walvis Bay Investment.”

“You don’t think Lusana is wise?”

“He has no way of knowing,” said Jarvis. “It’s common policy to keep the bidders’ names confidential upon request.”

“Christ,” Pitt muttered, “the sale of the warheads by Phalanx Arms to the AAR …”

“With a little more digging,” Jarvis said, his voice strained, “I’m afraid we’ll find that Lusana and the AAR had nothing to do with that deal either.”

“That’s the Forbes shipyard dead ahead,” Pitt said.

The high chain-link fence enclosing the shipyard met and began paralleling the road. At the main gate Pitt braked to a stop in front of a cable that stretched across the entrance. Nothing of the ship could be seen through the falling rain. Even the huge derricks were lost in the blackness. The guard was at Pitt’s door almost before he rolled the window down.

“May I help you, gentlemen?” he asked courteously.

Jarvis leaned across Pitt and displayed his credentials. “We’d like to confirm the Iowa’s presence in the shipyard.”

“You can take it from me, sir, she’s down at the dock. Been there refitting close to six months.”

\212 VIXEN 03 \ Pitt and Jarvis exchanged worried looks at the word “refitting.”p>

“My orders are to admit no one without a pass or proper authority from company officials,” the guard continued. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until morning to take a tour of the ship.”

Jarvis’s face flushed with anger. But before he could launch an official tirade, another car pulled up and a man wearing a dinner jacket emerged.

“Problems, O’Shea?” he said.

“These gentlemen want to enter the yard,” answered the guard, “but they don’t have passes.”

Jarvis swung out of the car and met the stranger halfway. “My name is Jarvis, director of the National Security Agency. My friend is Dirk Pitt; he’s with NUMA. It’s a matter of highest priority that we inspect the Iowa.”