Flood Tide dp-14

by Clive Cussler

  Pitt shook his head. “I hardly think that's a sensible idea. I'm persona non grata in Hong Kong.”

  Sandecker and Harper exchanged glances. Then Sandecker said, “Qin Shang saved you the trip. He recently arrived in Washington to grease his way out of any connection with Orion Lake. As a matter of fact, he's throwing a party at his residence in Chevy Chase to stroke congressmen and their staffers. If you hurry and dress, you can just make it.”

  Pitt looked as if he'd been sandbagged. “I hope you're joking.”

  “I was never more serious.”

  “I believe the admiral makes a good case,” said Harper. “You and Qin Shang should meet face-to-face.”

  “Why? So he can provide a first-hand description of me to the next team he sends out to put me in a cemetery?”

  “No,” said Harper seriously. “To let Qin Shang know that despite his wealth and power he can't outclass the United States government. The man is not infallible. If your appearance can shake him up, he probably won't get the word you're alive until you walk in on him. The shock just might make him mad enough to make a mistake in the future. And that's when we step in.”

  “In essence you want me to create a chink in his armor.” Harper nodded. “Exactly.”

  “You realize, of course,” said Pitt, “that what you're proposing will compromise my further involvement in investigating his illegal activities.”

  “Think of yourself as a distraction,” said Sandecker. “The more Qin Shang concentrates on you as a threat to his operations, the easier it will be for the INS and the other intelligence services to nail him to the cross.” “Distraction hell. You want a decoy.” Harper shrugged. “A rose by any other name.” Pitt made as if to appear uneasy with the idea despite the fact it intrigued him. He thought of the bodies strewn on the bottom of Orion Lake, and the anger rose inside him like an uncontrollable flood. “Whatever it takes to hang the murdering scum.”

  Harper sighed in relief, but Sandecker never doubted for an instant that Pitt would acquiesce. The admiral had never known

  Pitt to turn down a challenge, no matter how impossible. Some men were indifferent, impassive. It was difficult to tell what they were thinking. Not Pitt. Sandecker understood him like no other man except Al Giordino. To women he was a mystery, a man they could reach out and touch but never restrain. He knew there were two Dirk Pitts, one that could be tender, considerate and humorous, the other cold and ruthless as a winter storm. Unvaryingly competent to the point of brilliance, his perception of events and people was uncanny. Pitt never made a conscious error. He had a knack for doing the right thing during incredibly difficult circumstances that was almost inhuman.

  Harper was unable to read Pitt. All he saw was a marine engineer who had unbelievably killed two professional assassins who had come to murder him. “So you'll do it.”

  “I'll meet Qin Shang, but I wish someone would tell me how I'm going to crash his party without an invitation.”

  “It's all been arranged,” explained Harper. “A good agent I always has connections with the company that prints invitations.”

  “You were pretty sure of yourself.”

  “I admit I wasn't, but the admiral here assured me that you never turned down free drinks and food.”

  Pitt threw Sandecker a peevish look. “The admiral has mads victimization an art form.”

  “I've even taken the liberty of arranging an escort for you,” Harper continued. “A most attractive lady who will back you up in case of trouble.”

  “A baby-sitter,” Pitt muttered, rolling his eyes upward. “As a matter of pure optimism I have to ask if she's seen combat.” “I'm told she shot down two aircraft and saved your ass on the Orion River.” “Julia Lee.” “The same.”

  Pitt's lips stretched into a wide grin. “It looks as if the evening won't turn out to be a bust after all.”

  PITT KNOCKED ON THE DOOR OF THE ADDRESS GIVEN HIM BY Peter Harper. After a short wait, it was opened by Julia Lee. She stood radiant in a white silk cashmere dress that came slightly below the knees with open shoulders and back to the curve above her hips and was held up by a thin strap around the neck. Her black hair was swept back in a wrapped ponytail high on the head with spiky ends. Her only jewelry was a thin gold chain around her waist and a gold cuff necklace. Her legs were nude, her feet showing in open gold shoes.

  Her eyes widened and she murmured, “Dirk, Dirk Pitt!”

  “Oh, I hope so,” he replied with a devilish grin.

  After her initial shock at seeing Pitt standing there resplendent in a tuxedo with vest and gold watch chain, she recovered and threw herself against him, her arms encircling his neck. He was so surprised he barely caught himself from tumbling over backward down the steps. Impetuously, she kissed him hard on the mouth. Now it was Pitt's turn for his eyes to widen. He had never expected such a spontaneous reception.

  “I thought I was the one who said I'd kiss you full on the mouth when next we meet.” Reluctantly, he gripped Julia by the upper arms and gently eased her away. “Do you greet all your blind dates in that manner?”

  Suddenly, she cast her dove-gray eyes to the ground shyly. “I don't know what came over me. Seeing you came as a shock. I wasn't told who was escorting me to Qin Shang's party. Peter Harper only said he arranged for a tall, dark, hand- r some man to act as my backup.”

  “The dirty sneak led me to believe that you were my backup, He should have been a theatrical producer. I'll bet he's drooling in anticipation of Qin Shang's reaction when the two people who queered his operation at Orion Lake walk in uninvited to j his party.”

  “I hope you're not disappointed at having to escort me. I Under all this makeup, I still look pretty awful.”

  He gently lifted her chin until he could look down into her I misty eyes. He might have said something witty and clever, I but it wasn't the moment. “About as disappointed as a man who has discovered a diamond mine.”

  “I didn't know you could say nice things to a girl.”

  “You wouldn't believe the hordes of women my silver i tongue has seduced.”

  “Liar,” she said softly as her lips broke into a smile.

  “Enough of this endearing talk,” he said, releasing her. “We'd better get a move on before the food runs out.”

  After Julia briefly returned inside the house to find her purse f and coat, Pitt led her to the stately and majestic machine parked at the curb in front of the townhouse where she was staying with an old sorority sister from college. She stared in open astonishment at the mammoth car with its big chrome wire wheels and wide whitewall tires.

  “Good Lord!” she exclaimed. “What kind of a car are we I going in?”

  “A nineteen-twenty-nine Duesenberg,” answered Pitt, “Since we've been ordered to crash a party thrown by one of the world's richest men, I thought it only fitting and proper that we arrive in style.”

  “I've never ridden in a car this grand,” said Julia admiringly as she slid onto the soft tan leather seat. She marveled at the hood that seemed to stretch halfway down the block as Pitt closed the door and came around behind the big steering wheel, “I've never heard of a Duesenberg.”

  “The Model J Duesenbergs were the finest examples of American automating,” Pitt explained. “Manufactured from nineteen-twenty-eight until nineteen-thirty-six, they were considered by many automobile connoisseurs as the handsomest cars ever built. Only about four hundred eighty chassis and engines came out of the factory and were sent to the most esteemed coachmakers in the country who produced magnificent designs. This car was custom-bodied by the Walter M. Murphy Company in Pasadena, California, and styled as a convertible sedan. Not cheap, they sold as high as twenty thousand dollars when the Ford Model A sold for around four hundred. They were owned by the wealthy celebrities of their day, particularly the Hollywood crowd, who bought Duesenbergs as a show of pride and prestige. If you drove a Duesy, you had made it big-time.”

  “She's beautiful,” said Julia, admiring the artist
ically flowing lines. “She must be fast.”

  “The engine was an outgrowth of the Duesenberg racing engines. A straight eight-cylinder engine displacing four hundred twenty cubic inches, it produced two hundred sixty-five horsepower when most engines at the time put out less than seventy. Although this engine doesn't have the supercharger that was installed on later models, I made a few modifications when I restored the car. Under the right conditions she could touch one hundred forty miles an hour.”

  “I'll take your word for it without a demonstration.”

  “A pity we can't drive with the top down, but it's a cool night and I put it up to protect milady's hair.”

  “A woman loves a considerate man.”

  “I always aim to please.”

  She looked at the flat windshield and noticed a small hole in one corner of the glass with tiny cracks spreading from it. “Is that a bullet hole?”

  “A souvenir from a couple of Qin Shang's flunkies.”

  “He sent men to kill you?” asked Julia, staring in fascination at the hole. “Where did this take place?”

  “They dropped by the aircraft hangar where I live earlier in the evening,” Pitt answered impassively.

  “What happened?”

  “They weren't the least bit sociable, so I sent them on their way.”

  Pitt hit the starter and the big engine turned over with a soft purr before the eight cylinders fired and broadcast a mellow roar through the big exhaust pipe. The low gears gave out a muted whir as Pitt shifted through the sequence from first to third. The great luxury car that has never been surpassed rolled through the streets of Washington, regal and majestic.

  Julia decided it was hopeless to pry any more information out of Pitt. She relaxed in the wide leather seat and enjoyed the ride and the stares of other drivers and the people walking on the sidewalks.

  Shortly after traveling up Wisconsin Avenue out of the District of Columbia, Pitt turned onto a meandering residential street canopied by huge trees sprouting new spring leaves until he reached the gate of the drive leading to Qin Shang's Chevy Chase mansion. The iron gates were a monstrosity of Chinese dragons entwined around the bars. Two Chinese guards dressed in elaborate uniforms stared strangely at the huge car for sev- j eral moments before stepping forward and asking to see invitations. Pitt passed them through the open window and waited while the guards checked his and Julia's names against those on a guest list. Satisfied that Pitt and Julia were indeed invited, they bowed and pressed the code on a remote transmitter that opened the gates. Pitt threw them a brief wave and tooled the Duesenberg up the long driveway and stopped under the portico at the entrance to the house, whose exterior was lit up like a football stadium.

  “I must remember to compliment Harper,” said Pitt. “He not only provided us with invitations, but he somehow managed to sneak our names onto the guest list.”

  Julia's expression was that of a young girl approaching the Taj Mahal. “I've never attended a major-league Washington party before. I hope I won't embarrass you.”

  “You won't,” Pitt assured her. “Just tell yourself that it's strictly a social theater. The powerful Washington elite throw posh functions because they have something to sell. It all comes down to people milling around, swilling booze, looking influential and exchanging gossip mixed with explicit information. Mostly, the city's society chronicles the foolish events from their petty little political worlds.”

  “You act as if you've been to them before.”

  “As I told you on the dock at Grapevine Bay, my father is a senator. In my bon vivant younger days I used to tag along and attempt to pick up congressional mistresses.”

  “Were you successful?” “Almost never.”

  A stretch limo was disgorging several of Qin Shang's guests, who turned and gazed in frank admiration at the Duesenberg. Valet parking attendants appeared as if summoned. The valets were immune to limousines and expensive cars, most of them foreign, but this one staggered their minds. Almost reverently, they opened the doors.

  Pitt eyed a man standing off to the side who took a particular interest in the newcomers and their means of transportation. Then he turned and hurried inside. No doubt, Pitt thought, to alert his boss to the arrival of guests who didn't fit the normal pattern.

  As they swept arm in arm through the elegant colonnade entrance, Julia whispered to Pitt, “I hope I don't lose it when I meet that murdering bastard and spit in his face.”

  “Just tell him how much you enjoyed the cruise on his ship, and how you're looking forward to the next one.”

  The gray eyes flashed with fire. “Like hell I will.”

  “Now don't forget,” said Pitt, “as an agent in good standing with the INS, you're here on assignment.”

  “And you?”

  Pitt laughed. “I'm just along for the ride.”

  “How can you be so lackadaisical?” she snapped. “We may be lucky to get out of here with our heads.”

  “We'll be all right so long as we're in a crowd. Our problems come after we leave.”

  “Not to worry,” she assured him. “Peter has arranged for a team of security people to stand by outside the house in case of trouble.”

  “Should Qin Shang get nasty, do we send up flares?”

  “We'll be in constant communication. I have a radio in my purse.”

  Pitt stared at the tiny purse skeptically. “And a gun too?”

  She shook her head. “No gun.” Then she smiled slyly. “You forget, I've seen you in action. I'm counting on you to protect me.”

  “Dearheart, you're in big trouble.”

  They passed through the foyer into a vast hallway filled with Chinese art objects. The centerpiece was a seven-foot-tall bronze incense burner inlaid with gold. The upper section depicted flames leaping toward the sky interspersed with women, their arms and hands uplifted with offerings. Aromatic incense wreathed the flames in billowy clouds that scented the entire house. Pitt stepped up to the bronze masterwork and studied it closely, examining the inlaid gold that decorated the base.

  “Beautiful, isn't it?” said Julia.

  “Yes,” Pitt said quietly. “The craftsmanship is quite unique.”

  “My father has a much smaller version that isn't nearly so ancient.”

  “The smell is a bit overwhelming.”

  “Not to me. I grew up surrounded by Chinese culture.”

  Pitt took Julia by the arm and led her into an immense room rilled with Washington's rich and mighty. The scene reminded him of a Roman banquet out of a Cecil B. DeMille movie: j slim women in designer dresses, congressmen, senators and the aristocracy of the city's attorneys, lobbyists and power brokers, all trying to look sophisticated and distinguished in their formal evening wear. There was such an ocean of fabrics between the guests and the furniture that the room was unnatu-rally silent despite a hundred voices talking at once.

  If the furnishings had cost less than twenty million dollars, then Qin Shang had bought them at a discount house in New Jersey. The walls and ceiling were intricately carved and paneled in redwood, as was most of the furniture. The carpet alone must have taken twenty young girls half their adolescent lives to weave. It flowed in blue and gold like an ocean at sunset, and the depth of its pile made it seem as if one had to wade through it. The curtains alone would have put those in Buckingham Palace to shame. Julia had never seen so much silk in one space. The opulent upholstered chairs and settees looked like they might have been more at home hi a museum.

  No less than twenty stewards stood behind a buffet linel whose mountains of lobster, crab and other seafood must have cleaned out the entire catch of a fishing fleet. Only the finest French champagne was served alongside vintage wines, none of which had labels from later than 1950. In one comer of the: ornate room a string orchestra played themes from motion; pictures. Though Julia had come from a wealthy family in Si Francisco, she had seen nothing to compare with this affair.

  She stood in solemn awe as her eyes scanned the roo
m. Finally, she recovered enough to say, “I can see what Peter mean when he said Qin Shang's invitation was the most desired in Washington aside from the White House.”

  “Frankly, I prefer the ambiance at the French-embassy parties. More elegant, more refined.”

  “I feel so... so plain among all these beautifully dressed women.”

  Pitt gave Julia an adoring look and squeezed her around the waist. “Stop belittling yourself. You're a class act. You'd have to be blind not to notice that every man in the room is devouring you.”

  Julia blushed at the flattery. It embarrassed her to see that he was right. The men were staring at her openly, as were many of the women. She also observed a dozen exquisite Chinese women dressed in silk sheath dresses mingling with the male guests. “It seems I'm not the only woman with Chinese ancestry.”

  Pitt made a passing, offhand glance at the women Julia referred to. “Daughters of joy.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Hookers.”

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “Qin Shang hires them to work the men who came along without their wives. You might call it a subtle form of political patronage. What influence he can't buy, he slips through the back door with sexual favors.”

  Julia looked bewildered. “I have a lot to learn about government lobbying.”

  “They are exotic, aren't they? A good thing I'm with someone who puts them to shame or they might prove a temptation I couldn't resist.”

  “You've got nothing Qin Shang wants,” Julia said testily. “Perhaps we should find him and make our presence known.”

  Pitt gazed at her as if shocked. “What, and miss out on all the free food and drink? Not on your life. First things first. Let's head to the bar for champagne, and then indulge ourselves at the buffet. Later, we'll enjoy a cognac before making ourselves known to the arch-villain of the Orient.”

  Julia said to him, “I think you're the craziest, most complex and reckless man I've ever met.”

  “You left out charming and cuddly.”

  “I can't imagine any woman putting up with you for more than twenty-four hours.”