"I'll save you time, Mr. Nichols." Hala's eyes turned to Schiller. "You may rest easy, Juhus, my speech will include a brief report on the inuninent discovery of the Alexandria Library antiquities."
"I'm glad to hear you've changed your mind."
"Considering recent events, I owe your government that much."
Nichols was visibly relieved. "Your announcement will give President Hasan a sharp political advantage over Akhmad Yazid, and a golden opportunity to boost Egyptian nationalism over religious fulldamentalism."
"Don't expect too much," said the Senator. "We're only filling cracks on a crumbling fort."
Schiller's lips parted in a cold smile. "I'd give a month's salary to see Yazid's face when he realizes he's been had."
"I'm afraid he'll really come after Hala with a vengeance," said Schiller.
"I don't think so," said Nichols. "If the FBI can link a chain from the dead terrorists to Yazid and then to the assassin responsible for the plane crash with the death of sixty people, many moderate Egyptians who do not condone terrorism will withdraw their support from his movement.
With an internationally publicized terrorist mission laid on his doorstep, he'd have to think twice before ordering another attempt on Ms. Kainil's life."
"Mr. Nichols is correct on one point," said Hala. "Most Egyptians are Sunni Moslems who do not follow the bloody revolutionary dnimbeat of the Iranian Shiites. They prefer an evolutionary approach that slowly changes the people's loyalty from a democratic government to a religious leadership. They will not accept Yazid's bloodlust methods." Hala paused a moment. "I disagree on the second point. Yazid won't rest until I'm dead. He is too fanatical to give up. He's probably planning another attempt on my life this minute."
"She may be right; we must keep a sharp intelligence eye on Yazid,"
cautioned the Senator.
"What are your plans after your U.N. address?" asked Schiller.
"This morning, before we left the hospital, I was given a letter from President Hasan by an attache from our embassy in Washington. President Hasan wishes me to meet with him."
"Once you leave our boundaries we can't guarantee your protection,"
Nichols warned her.
"I understand," she replied. "But there is little cause for concern.
Since President Sadat's assassination, Egyptian security people have become quite efficient."
"May I ask where this meeting will be held?" queried Schiller. "Or is it none of my business?"
"No secret; in fact it will be covered by the world news media," Hala answered nonchalantly. "President Hasan and I will confer during the coming economic meetings in Punta del Este, Uruguay."
The mangled and bullet-holed Cord sat forlornly in the middle of the shop floor. benson slowly circled the car and shook his head sadly.
"This is the first time I've ever had to restore a classic car two days after I finished it."
"We had a bad day," Giordino explained. He was wearing a neck brace, one arm was in a sling, and his nicked ear was heavily bandaged.
"It's a wonder any of you are standing here."
Except for six stitches, mostly hidden by his hair, Pitt was unmarked.
He patted the buckled chrome radiator shell as if the car was an injured pet.
"Lucky for us they used to build them to last," he said quietly.
Lily limped painfully from the shop office. Her left cheek was bruised and the opposite eye was blackened.
"I have Hiram Yaeger on the phone," she announced.
Pitt nodded. He put a hand on benson's shoulder. "Make her even better than she was before."
"We're looking at six months and heavy bucks," said benson.
"Time is no problem and neither is money." Pitt paused and broke into a grin. "The government is going to foot the bill this time around." He turned, walked into the office and picked up the phone. "Hiram, you got something for me?"
"Just a status report," Yaeger replied from Washington. "I've eliminated the Baltic Sea and the coastline of Norway."
"And nothing showed."
"Nothing worth celebrating. No matching of geologic contours or geographic descriptions from the Serapis log. The barbarians Rufinus mentioned don't come close to fitting the early Vikings. He wrote of people who resembled Scydiians, but with darker skins."
"That bothered me too," Pitt agreed. "The Scythians came from Central Asia. Not damned likely they'd have been fairskinned and blond."
"I see no sense in continuing the computer search around Norway into the northern waters of Russia."
"I agree. What about Iceland? The Vikings didn't settle there for another five hundred years. Maybe Rufinus meant Eskimos."
"No go," said Yaeger. "I checked. Eskimos never migrated to Iceland.
Rufinus also threw in the mystery of the 'great sea of dwarflike pines.'
He couldn't have found them on Iceland. And don't forget, you're talking about a six-hundred-mile voyage across some of the worst seas in the world. Historical marine records are quite precise: Roman ship captains rarely sailed out of sight of land for more than two days. The voyage from the nearest European land mass would have taken at least four and a half days under ideal conditions. "
"So where do we go from here?"
"I'll run the West African coast by again. We might have missed something. Dark-skinned Africans and a warmer climate seem more logical than the cold northern countries, especially to men from the Mediterranean."
"You still have to explain how the Serapis came to be in Greenland."
"A projection of wind and currents could give us a clue."
"I'm flying back to Washington tonight," said Pitt. "I'll look in on you tomorrow."
"Maybe I'll have something," said Yaeger, but his tone did not sound optimistic.
Pitt hung up and stepped from the office. Lily looked at him with an expression of hope. Then she read the disappointment in his eyes.
"No good news?" she asked.
He shrugged negatively. "Seems we haven't left square one."
She took his arm. "Yaeger will come through," she said encouragingly.
"He can't work miracles."
Giordino held up a watch on his good arm. "We don't have much time to make our flight. We'd better get rolling."
Pitt walked over, shook benson's hand and smiled. "Make her well again.
She saved our lives."
benson looked at him. "Only if you promise me you'll keep her away from flying bullets and ski slopes."
"Done."
After they left for the airport, benson opened a rear door of the Cord.
The door handle came off in his hand.
"God," he said mournfully, "what a mess."
A loud roar of applause erupted in the public galleries and swept over the delegates on the main floor below as Hala refused all assistance and slowly made her way to the podium on crutches. She stood behind the podium, poised and serene, speaking in a strong, convincing voice. Her theatrics were low-key and subtle. She moved the audience with an emotional appeal to stop the useless killing of innocent people in the name of religion. Only when she called for a censure of governments that turned a blind eye toward terrorist organizations did a few delegates shift in their seats and stare into space.
An undercurrent of murmurs trailed her news of the forthcoming Alexandria Library discovery as the immense potential took time to sink in. Then Akhmad Yazid came in for a scathing attack, as she accused him directly of the attempts on her life.
Hala concluded by firmly stating she would not be driven out of her position as SecretaryGeneral by threats of future harm, but would remain until her fellow delegates asked for her resignation.
The response was a standing ovation that became thunder ous as she stood off to one side of the podium and displayed the cast on her ankle.
"She's some lady," said the President admiringiy. "What I wouldn't give to have her sit in my cabinet." He pressed the off button on a remote control
and the television screen went black.
"An excellent speech," said Senator Pitt. "She tore Yazid apart-and made a good pitch on the Library search project."
The President nodded. "Yes, she came through for us on both counts."
"You know, of course, she's leaving for Uruguay to confer with President Hasan."
"Dale Nichols briefed me on the conversation you had with her on the plane," the President acknowledged. He was seated behind his desk in the Oval Office. "How do we stand on the search?"
"NUMA!s computer facility is working on a location," answered the Senator.
"Are they close?"
The Senator shook his head. "No closer now to a breakthrough than they were four days ago."
I.Can't we speed up the process? Bring in a think tank, university people, other government agencies?"
Senator Pitt looked doubtful. "NUMA has the finest computer library in the world on oceans, lakes and rivers. If they can't find the destination of the Egyptian fleet, no one can."
"What about archaeological and historical records?" the President suggested. "Maybe something's been uncovered in the past that could offer a clue."
"Might be worth a try. I know a good man at Penn State University who's a triple-A researcher. He can have my people digging the archives here and in Europe by this time tomorrow."
"Good, give him a crack at it."
"Now that the news media and Hala have spread the word," said the Senator, "half the governments and most of the fortune hunters of the world will be on the hunt for the Library collection."
"I considered that probability going in," the President said.
"But propping up President Hasan's government takes top priority. If we make the discovery first and then pretend to back down after Hasan makes a dramatic show of demanding the artifacts be returned to Egypt, his domestic popularity will take a big jump, and make him a hero in the eyes of the Egyptian people."
"While stalling off the threat of a takeover by Yazid and his followers," added the Senator. "The only problem is Yazid himself. The man is extremely unpredictable. Our best Middle East experts can't read him. He's liable to pull a rabbit out of the hat and steal the scene."
The President looked at him steadily. "I see no problem in cutting him out of the limelight when the artifacts are turned over to President Hasan."
"I'm on your side, Mr. President, but it's dangerous to underestimate Yazid."
"He's far from perfect."
"Yes, but unlike the Ayatollah Khomeini, Akhmad Yazid is a brilliant intellect. He's what the advertising agencies call a good concept man."
"In political areas perhaps, but hardly in assassinations."
The Senator shrugged and ssighed knowingly. "His plans were, no doubt, screwed up by his henchmen. As President, you know better than anyone how easily an aide or adviser can botch a simple project."
The President smiled back without humor. He leaned back in his chair and toyed with a pen. "We know damned little about Yazid, where he came from, what makes him tick."
"He claims to have spent the first thirty years of his life wandering the Sinai desert talking to Allah."
"So he's lifted a page from Jesus Christ. What else do we have on him?"
"You might ask Dale Nichols," answered the Senator. "I understand he's working with the CIA on building a biographical and psychological profile."
"Let's see if they've come up with anything." The President pressed a button on his intercom. "Dale, can you come in for a minute?"
"Be right there," came Nichols's voice over the speaker.
Neither of the men in the Oval Office spoke during the fifteen seconds Nichols took to walk from his office. He knocked, then opened the door and stepped in.
"We were discussing Akhmad Yazid," the President informed him. "Have Brogan's people turned up any data on his background?"
"I talked to Martin only an hour ago," replied Nichols. "He said his analysts should have a file put together in another day or two."
"I want to see it the minute it's completed," said the President.
"Not to change the subject," said Senator Pitt, "but shouldn't someone brief President Hasan on what we've got in mind in case the Library collection can be pinpointed in the next few weeks?"
The President nodded. "Definitely." He stared directly at the Senator.
"Think you could sneak off for forty-eight hours and do the honors, George?"
"You want me to meet with Hasan in Uruguay." It was more a statement than question.
"Do you mind?"
"This is really a matter for Doug Oates over at the State Department. He and Joe Arnold from Treasury are already in Kingston holding preliminary meetings with foreign economic leaders. Do you think it wise to go behind his back?"
"Ordinarily, no. But you're better informed on the search project.
You've also met with President Hasan on four different occasions, and you're close to Hala Kamil. Simply put, you're the best man for the job."
The Senator lifted his hands in resignation. "No heavy votes coming up in the Senate. My staff can cover for me. if you arrange for a government plane, I can leave here early Tuesday and arrive the following afternoon."
"Thank you, George, you're a good scout." The President paused, and then sprang the trap. "There is one other thing."
"There always is." The Senator sighed.
"I'd like you to inform President Hasan 'm private, under the strictest secrecy, that I will fully cooperate with him in the event he decides to remove Yazid."
The Senator's voice was shocked. "Since when does the White House deal in political assassination? I implore you, Mr. President, do not lower your office into the slime with Yazid and other terrorists."
"If someone had had the foresight to take Khomeini for a ride twelve years ago, the Middle East would be a far more peaceful place."
"King George might have said the same about George Washington and the colonies in 1778."
"Come now, George, we could spend all day making comparisons. The final decision is up to Hasan. He has to give the go-ahead."
"A bad idea," saidd the Senator resolutely. "I have grave doubts about such an offer. If this leaked out it could shatter your Presidency."
"I respect your advice and honesty. That's why you're the only man I can trust to deliver the message."
The Senator caved in. "I'll do as you ask and gladly brief Hasan on the Library proposal, but don't expect me to sell him on Yazid's murder even if it's deserved."
"I'll see that Hasan's staff is alerted to your arrival," said Nichols, stepping in diplomatically.
The President rose from behind his desk, signaling the end of the conference. He shook hands with the Senator.
"I'm grateful, old friend. I'll look forward to your report Wednesday afternoon. We'll have an early supper together."
"See you then, Mr. President."
"Have a good flight."
As Senator Pitt left the Oval Office he had a dire sense that the President might very well be dining alone Wednesday evening.
The Lady Flamborough slipped smoothly into the tiny harbor of Punta del Este just minutes before the sun fell over the western interior of the mainland. A soft breeze drifted in from the south that barely fluttered the Union Jack on her stern.
She was a beautiful cruise ship, trim and handsomely designed, with a streamlined superstructure. She broke with the traditional British black hull and more common white on her upper works. She was painted entirely in a soft slate blue with a sharply raked funnel banded in royal purple and burgundy.
One of the new breed of sleek, small cruise ships, the Lady Flamborough looked more like a posh motor yacht. Her trim 101-meter-long hull contained the most sumptuous luxuries afloat. With only fifty large suites, she carried just one hundred passengers, who were catered to by an equal number of crew members.
On this voyage, however, from her home port in San Juan, Puerto Rico, she sailed without passengers.
"Two degrees port," said the dark-skinned pilot.
"Two degrees port," acknowledged the helmsman.
The pilot stood in loose khaki shirt and shorts and kept a calculating eye on the finger of land that sheltered the bay until it slipped behind the Lady Flamborough's stern.
"Begin coming around to starboard and hold steady at zero eight zero."
The helmsman dutifully repeated the command and the ship very slowly swung on its new course.
The harbor was crowded with yachts and other cruise ships riving flocks of colorful pointed and swallowtail pennants. Some vessels were chartered as floating hotels for the economic conference, others were filled with their usual complement of vacationing passengers.
Half a kilometer from the mooring site the pilot ordered the engines on
"dead stop." The luxurious ship slipped through the calm water on her momentum, eating up the distance and gradually easing to a halt.
Satisfied, the pilot spoke into a portable transmitter. "We're in position. Slow aft and drop the hook."
The order was relayed to the bow, and the anchor payed out as the ship very slightly moved astern. When the flukes dug into the harbor silt, the slack was taken up and the order was given to ring the engines to
"off."
Captain Oliver Collins, a slim man standing straight as a plumb line in an impeccably tailored white uniform, nodded at the pilot in respect and offered his hand.
"Neatly done as always, Mr. Campos." Captain Collins had known the pilot for almost twenty years, yet he never referred to anyone, even his closest friends, by his Christian name.
"If her length stretched another thirty meters I couldn't squeeze her in." Harry Campos smiled, revealing an array of tobacco-stained teeth.
His accent was more hish than Spanish. "Sorry we can't slip her into a berth, Captain, but I was told to moor you in the harbor."
"for security reasons, I should imagine," said Collins.
Campos lit the stub of a cigar. "The bigwig meetings have the whole island turned upside down. You'd think there was a sniper behind every palm the way security police are acting."
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