His reverie was diverted by the sound of an aircraft. He looked into the brightening sky and saw the blinking multicolored lights of a helicopter flying upriver from the east. He grabbed a pair of night glasses and aimed them at the craft as it passed overhead. The letters numa were vaguely distinguishable through the lenses.

National Underwater and Marine Agency, Fawkes translated silently. No danger there. Probably returning to the Capital from some oceano-graphic expedition. He nodded at his reflection in the glass, a feeling of security growing within him.

He replaced the binoculars on the bridge counter and turned his attention once again to the radio. He held the headset to one ear and pressed the microphone button.

“Black Angus One calling Black Angus Two. Over.”

A slurred, unmistakably Southern drawl answered almost immediately. “Hey man, we don’t need all that coded jive. You’re comin’ in cool as a White Christmas.”

“I’d appreciate economy of speech,” snapped Fawkes.

“As long as the bread I signed for is good, you’re the boss, boss.”

“Ready,target range?”

“Yeah, movin’ into position now.”

I “Good.” Fawkes glanced at his watch. “Five minutes and ten seconds I till Hogmanay.”

“Hog … what?”

“Scots for a smashing New Year’s Eve.”

Fawkes clicked off the mike and noted thankfully that the NUMA helicopter had continued on its leisurely course toward Washington and disappeared beyond the bluffs upriver.

At almost the same instant, Steiger altered the controls and banked the Minerva M-88 helicopter in a wide, sweeping turn over the Maryland countryside. He kept low, shaving the tops of the leafless trees, dodging an occasional water tower, grimacing at the words that came over his earphones.

“They’re beginning to get nasty,” he said casually. “General Somebody-or-other claims he’s going to shoot us down if we don’t get the hell out of the area.”

“Acknowledge,” said Pitt. “And tell him you’re complying.”

236 p>

VIXEN 03

The Iowa 237p>

“Who should I say we are?”

Pitt thought a moment. “Tell him the truth. We’re a NUMA copter on special assignment.”

Steiger shrugged and began talking into his microphone.

“Old General Whosit bought it,” said Steiger. He angled his head toward Pitt. “You’d better get ready. I judge it about eight minutes to the drop.”

Pitt unclasped his seat belt and waited until Sandecker did the same, then moved into the helicopter’s small cargo compartment. “Do it right the first time,” Pitt said into Steiger’s ear, “or you’ll make an ugly red mess on the side of the Iowa.”

“You’re looking at a neatness nut,” Steiger said with a diluted smile. “All you have to do is hang tight and leave the driving to old Abe. If you have to drop early, I’ll make damn sure you’ve got a nice cushion of deep water under your ass.”

“I’m counting on it.”