by Night Probe!
"Shoot…... shoot me and we crash," the pilot stammered.
"Who needs you?" Pitt grinned coldly. "I've got more hours in the air than you do."
His facial color bleached brighter than a bedsheet, Westler began the descent.
A crowd of tourists who were photographing a Royal Canadian Mounted Policeman lifted their faces to the sky at the sound of the engines, and then parted like a reverse whirlpool. Pitt dropped the gun in his seat, shoved open the door and leaped out before the landing wheels settled in the turf.
He ducked into the converging onlookers before the astonished Mountie could stop him. The door of the tall Peace Tower was jammed with cordoned lines of tourists waiting to catch a glimpse of the President. Pitt bulled his way through, ignoring the shouts of the guards.
Once inside the memorial hall, he was momentarily confused about which direction to take. Two dozen cables snaked across the floor.
He followed them at a dead run, knowing they would end at the video cameras taping the President's speech. He almost made it to the door of the Senate chamber before a Mountie the size of a small mountain, ablaze in scarlet ceremonial tunic, blocked his way.
"Hold it right there, mister!"
"Take Me to the President, quick!" Pitt demanded. As soon as he spoke he realized the words must have sounded absurd.
The Mountie stared incredulously at Pitt's strange attire.
Pitt had only had time to remove his wet-suit top and borrow Giordino's jacket-two sizes too short-before dashing to Westler's plane. He still wore the wet-suit bottoms and his feet were bare.
Suddenly two more Mounties clutched Pitt from flanking sides.
"Watch him boys. He might have a bomb in that satchel."
"There's nothing in there but a piece of paper," said Pitt, maddened to the core.
The tourists began to gather around them, clicking their cameras, curious to see what the disturbance was about.
"We better get him out of here," said the Mountie, who snatched the travel bag.
Pitt had never felt such despair. "For God's sake, listen to me-"
He was in the process of being none too gently jerked away when a man in a conservative blue suit shouldered past the crowd. He gazed briefly at Pitt and turned to the Mountie.
"Having a problem, constable?" he asked, displaying a U.S. Secret Service ID. "Some radical trying to break into the Senate chamber-" Pitt suddenly broke loose and lurched forward. "If you're Secret Service, help me." He was yelling now but didn't realize it.
"Take it easy, pal," blue suit said, his hand snapping to the holstered gun under his armpit.
"I have an important document for the President. My name is Pitt. He's expecting me You've got to get me through to him."
The Mounties pounced on Pitt again, this time with fire in their eyes. The Secret Service agent held up a restraining hand.
"Hold on!" He stared at Pitt skeptically. "I couldn't take you to the President even if I wanted to."
"Then get me to Harrison Moon," Pitt snarled, getting fed up with the absurdity of it all.
"Does Moon know you?"
"You better believe it."
Mercier, Oates and Moon were sitting in the anteroom of the Senate, watching the President on a television monitor, when the door burst open and a horde of Secret Service men, Mounties and building guards, dragging Pitt with at least a half-dozen set of hands, flooded into the room like a tidal wave. "Call off the hounds," Pitt shouted. "I've got it!"
Mercier spun to his feet, open-mouthed. He was too stunned to react immediately. "Who is this man?" Oates demanded.
"My God, it's Pitt!" Moon managed to blurt.
His arms pinned, an eye swelling from a sneak punch, Pitt nodded toward the battered old travel bag held by the Mountie. "The treaty copy is in there."
While Mercier vouched for Pitt and swept the security people from the room, Oates studied the contents of the treaty.
Finally he looked up hesitantly. "Is it real? I mean, there's no chance of a forgery?"
Pitt collapsed in a chair, tenderly probing the growing mouse under his eye, the long mission seemingly finished. "Rest easy, Mr. Secretary, you're holding the genuine article."
Mercier turned from closing the door and quickly thumbed through a copy of the President's speech. "He's about two minutes away from his closing statement."
"We better get this to him, fast," said Moon.
Mercier looked down at the exhausted man in the chair. "I think Mr. Pitt should have that honor. He represents the men who died for it."
Pitt abruptly sat up. "Me? I can't go in front of a hundred million viewers watching the Canadian Parliament and interrupt a presidential address. Not looking like a masquerade party drunk."
"You won't have to," said Mercier, smiling. "I'll interrupt the President myself and ask him to step to the anteroom. You take it from there."
In the deep red setting of the Senate chamber, the leaders of the Canadian government sat stunned at the President of the United States' invitation to begin negotiations for merging the two nations. It was the first any of them had heard of it. Only Sarveux sat unperturbed, his face calm and unreadable.
A wave of mutterings coursed through the chamber as the President's national security adviser stepped to the lectern and whispered in his ear. An interruption of a major address was a break in custom and was not to be taken without a minor fuss.
"Please excuse me for a moment," the President said, heightening the mystery. He turned and stepped through the doorway to the antechamber.
In the President's eyes, Pitt looked like a derelict from hell. He came forward and embraced him.
"Mr. Pitt, you don't know how happy I am to see you."
"Sorry I'm late," was all Pitt could think to reply. Then he forced a crooked smile and carefully held up the holed paper.
The President took the treaty and carefully scanned its contents. When he looked up, Pitt was surprised to see tears rimming his eyes. In a rare instance of emotion he muttered a choked "Thank you," and turned away.
Mercier and Moon sat down before the TV monitor and watched the President return to the lectern.
"My apologies for the interruption, but a document of great historical significance has just been handed to me. It is called the North American Treaty."
Ten minutes later, the President concluded solemnly "and so for seventy-five years, under the terms set forth, Canada and the United States have unknowingly been existing as two nations while under international law they were only one…..."
Mercier let out a long sigh. "Thank God, he didn't slap them in the face by saying they belonged to us."
"The future will not look upon us kindly," the President continued, "if we fail to consider the tremendous potential our former leaders have laid before us. We must not stand separate from one another as we have in the past. We must not look upon ourselves as English-Canadian or Anglo-American or French Canadian or Mexican-American. We must all look upon ourselves as simply Americans. Because that's what we are, North Americans…..."
The ministers of Parliament and the premiers of the provinces reflected varied degrees of emotion. Some sat quietly enraged, some showed thoughtful contemplation, others nodded as though in agreement. It was clear the President was not holding the treaty over their heads like a club. He made no demands or threats. But they never doubted for a moment that the power was there. "…... our histories are closely entwined, our people strikingly similar in life-styles and outlook. The only fundamental difference between us is a viewpoint toward tradition…..."
"If the provinces of Canada decide to go separate ways, they face a long and difficult journey that can only end in collision with others. For the good of all, this must not happen. Therefore, I call upon you to join with me in building the mightiest nation on earth…... the United States of Canada."
In the Senate chamber the applause was mild and scattered after the President's address. The listeners sat numb, unsure of how to
take his proposal for a single nation. The unthinkable had at last been brought out in the open.
Mercier sighed and turned off the TV monitor. "Well, it's begun," he said softly.
Oates nodded. "Thank God the treaty got here in time, or we might have witnessed a political disaster."
Instinctively they all turned to voice their thanks to the man who had done so much to incur their debt.
But Dirk Pitt had fallen sound asleep.
The Prime Minister's Rolls braked to a stop before the huge jetliner bearing the presidential seal. Secret Service men exited the cars behind and discreetly placed themselves around the boarding ramp.
Inside, Sarveux leaned forward and unfolded a hurled walnut vanity table from the rear of the front seat. Then he opened a cabinet, produced a crystal decanter of Seagrams Crown Royal whiskey and poured two small goblets.
"Here's to two old and close friends who have covered a long haul."
"That we have," said the President, with a weary sigh. "If anyone ever found out how you and I secretly worked together all these years to formulate a single-nation concept, we'd both be shot for treason."
Sarveux smiled faintly. "Drummed out of public office perhaps, but surely not shot."
The President thoughtfully sipped the whiskey. "Strange how a casual conversation between a young minister of Parliament and a freshman senator in front of a fireplace at a hunting lodge so many years ago could change the course of history."
"The right time and place for a chance meeting of two men who shared the same dream," said Sarveux, thinking back.
"The merging of the United States and Canada is inevitable. If not in the next two years, then in the next two hundred. You and I simply worked together to advance the timetable."
"I hope we don't live to regret it."
"A unified continent with nearly the population and land mass of the Soviet Union is nothing to regret. It may well prove to be the salvation of both countries."
"The United States of Canada," said Sarveux. "I like the sound."
"How do you read the future?"
"The Maritime Provinces-Newfoundland, Nova Scotia and New brunswick-are now cut off from the rest of Canada by an independent Quebec. They'll see it in their best interests to apply for statehood in the coming months. Manitoba and Saskatchewan will follow. An easy decision for them, because they've always had close ties with your northwestern farm states. Next, my guess is that British Columbia will open negotiations. Then with the Pacific and Atlantic ocean ports gone, the other provinces will gradually fall into line."
"And Quebec?"
"The French will temporarily exult in their independence. But in the cold light of unavoidable economic hardship, they'll come to accept statehood as a pretty good bargain after all."
"And Britain. How will they react?"
"Same as they did with India, South Africa and the other colonies. Bid a reluctant goodbye."
"What are your plans, my friend?"
"I shall run for President of Quebec," Sarveux answered.
"I don't envy you. It will be a hard, dirty fight."
"Yes, but if I win, we win. Quebec will be one step closer to joining the union. And most important, I'll be in a position to guarantee the flow of electrical energy from James Bay and make sure that you are included and benefit from the development of your oil-field discovery in Ungava Bay."
The President set his empty goblet on the vanity table and looked at Sarveux. "I'm sorry about Danielle. The decision to tell you about her liaison with Henri Villon didn't come easy. I wasn't certain how you'd take it or if you'd even believe me."
"I believed you," said Sarveux sadly. "I believed you because I knew it to be true."
"If only there had been another way."
"There wasn't."
Nothing was left to say. The President opened the car door. Sarveux took hold of his arm and held him back. "One final question must be settled between us," he said.
"Go ahead."
"The North American Treaty. If all else fails, will you force Canada to abide by the terms?"
"Yes," the President replied, and there was a hard glint in his eyes. "There is no turning back now. If I have to, I will not hesitate to enforce the treaty."
It was raining when Heidi limped into the TWA passenger boarding lounge at Kennedy Airport, a drenching New York downpour that tore away leaves and slowed rush-hour traffic to a caterpillar crawl. She wore her navy uniform under a blue raincoat, and her water-specked hair spilled from below a regulation white cap. She dropped a large shoulder bag to the carpet and, carefully balancing on her good leg, eased into a vacant seat.
After the whirlwind events of the past several weeks, the prospect of returning to the routine of duty depressed her. She had not seen Pitt since he rushed off to Ottawa, and the marines guarding Brian Shaw had refused to let her near him before he was carried unconscious into an ambulance that sped away to a military hospital. In the excitement she had been nearly forgotten. It was only through the thoughtfulness of Admiral Sandecker that she had been driven to New York for a well-deserved sleep at the Plaza Hotel and booked first-class on a flight back to her station in San Diego the following day.
She stared through the window at the rain forming lakes on the runway and reflecting the multicolored lights in two dimensions. If she had been alone she would have allowed herself the indulgence of a good cry. She felt a deep sense of longing as she remembered how Shaw touched her. He had invaded her life and she was resentful now of the love he had taken. But there was no remorse, only annoyance with herself for losing control.
Blind and deaf to the people milling around her, she tried to put her feelings and the shameful actions of the past few weeks from her mind.
"I've seen melancholy creatures before," said a familiar voice beside her, "but, lady, you take the prize."
"Does it show that much?" she asked, surprised at how calm her voice sounded.
"Like a black cloud over a sunset," replied Pitt with his devilish smile. He was dressed in a navy-blue sport jacket with red Breton slacks and wallaby shirt. He looked down at her over a monstrous bouquet of mixed flowers. "You didn't think I was going to let you slink away without saying goodbye?"
"At least somebody remembered." She felt damp and straggly and tired and hurt and rejected. "Pay no heed if I sound bitchy. This is my night for self-sympathy."
"Maybe these will help." He laid the flowers in her lap. The bouquet was so immense she could hardly see over the top.
"They're gorgeous," said Heidi. "I think I'll cry now."
"Please don't." Pitt laughed softly. "I've always wanted to buy out a flower store for a beautiful girl. Embarrass me and I may never do it again."
She pulled Pitt down, kissed him on the cheek and fought back the tears. "Thank you, Dirk. You'll always be my dearest friend.
"A friend?" He feigned a hurt look. "Is that the best I can do?"
"Can we ever be anything else to each other?"
"No…... I suppose not." His face went gentle and he took her hand. "Funny how two people who had so much going for them couldn't find it in their hearts to fall in love."
"In my case, it was because of someone else."
"The fickleness of women," he said. "They fall for the guy who treats them like trash, and yet they wind up marrying John Q. Square."
She avoided his gaze and stared out the window. "We've never learned to deny our feelings."
"Does Shaw love you?"
"I doubt it."
"You love him?"
"I'm not my usual practical self when it comes to Brian. Yes, I love him for all the good it'll do me. We consumed each other. He had his reasons, I had mine. If he wanted me, I'd run to him like a shot. But it'll never happen."
"There comes that sad face again," Pitt said. "I refuse to send a whimpering female on board an airplane. You leave me no choice but to cheer you up with one of my magic tricks."
Heidi laughed softly through watery eyes
. "Since when did you practice magic?"
Pitt took on a mock hurt look. "You've never heard of Magnificent Pitt, the Illusionist?"
"Never."
"All right for you, nonbeliever. Close your eyes."
"You're joking."
"Close your eyes and count to ten." Heidi finally did as she was told. When she opened her eyes, Pitt was gone and Brian Shaw was sitting in his place.
The cry that she had kept bottled away burst from her as she embraced him, and the tears rolled down her cheeks and dropped from her chin.
"I thought you were locked away," she blurted between sobs.
Shaw lifted the folded raincoat that was draped across his lap and revealed the handcuffs. "Pitt arranged for me to come."
She tenderly touched the bandage that showed beneath a tweed cap. "Are you all right?"
"My double vision is almost gone," he answered, smiling.
The airline attendant behind the check-in counter announced that Heidi's plane was ready to board.
"What will happen to you?" she asked, afraid to release him.
"I suspect I'll spend some time in one of your federal prisons."
"Would you think me maudlin if I said I love you?"
"Would you think me a liar if I told you the same?"
"No," she said. And she felt a rush of relief because she knew he wasn't lying.
Shaw said, "I promise you that someday we'll be together."
That part could never be true. It tore painfully, deep in her chest. She pulled away. "I must go," she whispered.
He read the hurt in her eyes and understood. He lifted her up and onto the crutches. A helpful flight attendant came over and took Heidi's travel bag and the flowers.
"Goodbye, Heidi."
She kissed him lightly on the lips. "Goodbye."
After Heidi had disappeared through the boarding gate, Pitt walked up and stood beside Shaw.
"An awfully good woman," he said. "Be a shame to lose her."
"A good woman," Shaw agreed wistfully.
"If you don't hurry, she'll leave without you."
Shaw looked at him. "What are you talking about?"