Sandecker twisted in his seat to relieve his aching buttocks. “Stay as close as you dare to the National Archives building. If the Iowa cuts loose again, you can bet that’s the target.”

“I wonder how Pitt made out?”

Sandecker put up an unworried front. “He knows the score. Pitt is the least of our problems.” He turned away and looked out a side window so Steiger couldn’t see the lines of worry that creased his face.

“I should have been the one to go in,” said Steiger. “This is strictly a military show. A civilian has no business risking his life attempting a job he wasn’t trained for.”

“And you were, I suppose.”

“You must admit my credentials outweigh Pitt’s.”

Sandecker found himself smiling. “Care to bet?”

Steiger caught the admiral’s cagey tone. “What are you implying?”

“You’ve been had, Colonel, pure and simple.”

“Had?”

“Pitt carries the rank of major in the Air Force.”

Steiger looked over at Sandecker, his eyes squinting. “Are you going to tell me he can fly?”

“Just about every aircraft built, including this helicopter.”

“But he claimed-“

“I know what he claimed.”

Steiger looked lost. “And you sat back and said nothing?”

“You have a wife and children. Me, I’m too old. Dirk was the logical man to go.”

The tenseness went out of Steiger’s body and he sagged into his seat. “He better make it,” he murmured under his breath. “By God, he better make it.”

Pitt would have gladly given the last penny in his savings account to be anyplace but climbing a pitch-black stairway deep inside a ship that at any second might turn into an inferno. His brow was clammy and cold with sweat, as though he were running a fever. Suddenly Fawkes stopped and Pitt ran into him like a blind man against an oak tree.

“Please remain where you stand, gentlemen.” The voice came from

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VIXEN 03

the lightless landing several steps above. “You cannot see me, but I can see enough of you both to strike your hearts with a bullet.”

“This is the captain,” Fawkes snapped angrily.

“Ah, Captain Fawkes himself. How convenient. I was beginning to fear I had missed connections. You were not on the bridge, as I supposed.”

“Identify yourself!” Fawkes demanded.

“The name is Emma. Not very masculine, I admit, but it serves the purpose.”

“Stop this foolishness and let us pass.” Fawkes made a move up two steps when the Hocker-Rodine hissed and a bullet zinged past his neck. He froze in midstep. “Good God, man, what is it you want?”

“I admire a no-nonsense approach, Captain.” Emma paused, and then said, “I’ve been ordered to kill you.”

Slowly, unnoticed by Fawkes and, he hoped, by the man on the landing, Pitt slipped down to his stomach on the steps, shielded by the shadowy bulk of the captain. Then, fractionally, he began slithering up the stairs like a snake.