It was then that Pitt saw a great pall of smoke rising around a bend in the Potomac. “The/owa,” he said. “What of the/owa?”

“She blew herself up.”

Pitt leaned heavily against the railing.

Kiebel gently put his good arm around Pitt as one of his men brought up a blanket. “Better take it easy and lie down. A doctor will be waiting when we dock.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Pitt said. “Not anymore.”

Kiebel steered him into the pilothouse and found Pitt a steaming cup of coffee. “Sorry there’s no booze on board. Regulations and all that. A bit early for a shot anyway.” Then he turned and spoke through an open doorway to his communications officer. “What’s the latest on that helicopter?”

“She’s over Chesapeake Bay, sir.”

270 p>

VIXEN 03

Pitt looked up. “What helicopter is that?”

“Why, one of yours,” Kiebelsaid. “Damnedest thing. A shell from the Iowa’s final salvo came down in a parachute and this idiot in a NUMA chopper nabbed it on the fly.”

“Thank God!” Pitt said as the full implication hit him. “A radio. I need to borrow your radio.”

Kiebel hesitated. He could read the urgency in Pin’s eyes. “Allowing civilians to use military communications gear is hardly kosher… .”

Pitt held up a hand and cut him off. The feeling was returning to his cold-numbed skin and he sensed something pressing into his stomach under the shirt. His face went blank as he removed a small packet and stared at it speculatively.

“Now where in hell did that come from?”

Steiger warily regarded the temperature gauge as the needle crept toward the red. The Atlantic coastline was still sixty miles away, and the last thing he wanted was a seized turbine bearing.

The call light on the radio blinked on and the admiral pressed the “transmit” button. “This is Sandecker. Go ahead.”

“I’m ready for those scrambled eggs,” Pitt said, his voice crackling over the headphones.

“Dirk!” Sandecker blurted. “Are you all right?”

“A trifle shopworn but still kicking.”

“The other warhead?” Steiger asked anxiously. ‘

“Disarmed,” Pitt answered.

“And the Quick Death agent?”

Pitt’s tone betrayed no uncertainty. “Flushed down the drain.”

Pitt could be only reasonably sure Hiram Lusana had disposed of the bomblets in the river, but he was not about to suggest to Steiger and the admiral that it was possible their efforts had been in vain.

Sandecker briefed Pitt on the grappling of the parachute and explained that the outlook was grim. Pitt listened without interrupting. When the admiral had finished, Pitt posed only one question.

“How long can you stay in the air?”

“I can stretch the fuel for another two, maybe two and a half hours,” replied Steiger. “My immediate problem is the engines. They’re running rough and getting hot under the collar.”

“Sounds like the parachute’s canopy is partially blocking the intake chambers.”

The Iowa 271p>

“I’m open for brilliant ideas. Got any?”