Sea of Greed
Page 33
Joe found the section of the base where the Monarch had been parked and from there made his way to the helicopter that he and Priya had been hiding in. He stepped inside.
The Mercedes was there, still parked in the back, but there was no sign of Priya. He walked through to the cockpit, where Priya was sleeping in one of the pilots’ chairs.
Joe touched her face and Priya woke up. She was disoriented and looked at him as if she might be dreaming. “Joe?”
Her voice was hoarse, her lips cracked and her face dirty, but at least she was alive.
“Are you really here?” she asked.
“I am,” Joe said. He leaned down, scooped her up and carried her out through the back of the helicopter. “And I’ve come to take you home.”
71
WASHINGTON, D.C.
THREE WEEKS LATER
KURT AUSTIN arrived at the Four Seasons in Georgetown to have dinner with Rudi, Joe and St. Julien Perlmutter. He found them standing in the softly lit cocktail lounge, gazing at a pair of TVs behind the bar.
“Did I miss something?” Kurt asked, walking up behind them.
Rudi explained. “The President just made the announcement about the countermeasure. It’s been successfully tested and we’re making it available to every country and corporation that wants it. It’ll take a while before oil production gets back to where it was, but the crisis is over. Oil is expected to drop thirty to forty percent in the morning, with the price at the pump coming down sharply in the next few days.”
“Someone might have told me,” Kurt said. “I just filled up on the way over here. Two hundred bucks for a tank of gas. Which means someone here will have to buy me dinner.”
Joe shook his head. “Sorry, amigo, I have someone far prettier and more interesting to spend my money on tonight.”
As Joe spoke, Priya came around the corner—walking. She wore a beautiful black cocktail dress, a sparkling necklace and was supporting herself partially on a pair of crutches that were strapped to her arms. She also wore a pair of thick, sturdy boots.
“Surprised?” she said.
“Completely,” Kurt said.
“Joe and I spent the last three weeks building a version of the dive suit that uses carbon fiber braces and allows me to walk . . . with a little bit of help. The crutches are necessary right now. And these boots, which go halfway up my thigh, are not exactly fashionable, but it’s a start. I’m applying for a grant to build on what he and I have done. It may be possible to help thousands of people walk again. The only downside is, I’d have to go back to MIT and leave NUMA if I get it.”
“You’ll get it,” Kurt said. “And we’ll miss you. But Boston isn’t that far away.”
“In the meantime,” Joe said, “we’re going to celebrate. Starting with a walk around town.”
Kurt leaned in, gave Priya a kiss on the cheek and then straightened Joe’s tie. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t tell Misty you’ve strayed.”
Joe gave him a threatening look but said nothing and carried Priya’s purse as the two went out the door.
Kurt turned to Rudi and St. Julien. “Looks like it’s just the bachelors tonight.”
“Sorry, my boy,” St. Julien said. “I have a flight to catch. Heading back to Paris to meet with that friend of mine I told you about. He wants to bask in the glory of how his rumor helped avert this crisis. I’ll be only too happy to indulge him if he follows through on his promised invitation to Dulcinéa.”
“Dulcinéa?”
“The most exclusive restaurant in all of Paris,” St. Julien explained. “You almost have to be royalty to get a table. I’d regale you with details of the menu, but”—he tapped his watch—“have to go. When I get back, there’s a bottle of cognac for us to finish.”
As St. Julien made his way to the door, Kurt turned to Rudi. “Et tu, Rudi?”
“Sorry, Kurt. I have to meet with the President as soon as he’s finished accepting kudos for his speech. He wants to discuss additional missions for NUMA and a large increase in our budget. In cases like this, it’s best to strike while the iron’s hot—and before you and Joe blow anything else up. Do you have any idea how much the Gryphon cost?”
“Do I want to know?”
“Not really.” Rudi smiled.
“This is a first,” Kurt said. “Even St. Julien has a date.”
Rudi laughed. “Being a hero is a thankless job sometimes.” He patted Kurt on the shoulder. “Rain check. How about next week?”
“Anytime,” Kurt said.
Rudi left, the President finished his speech and Kurt found himself almost completely alone. Because of the continuing gas shortage and the President’s speech, few people were out and about.
He took a seat and smiled as the bartender came over. She had a pretty face, bright blue eyes and long blond hair, which was currently tied back for work.
“You seem to have lost all your friends,” she said, wiping down the bar and placing a coaster in front of him.
“They have better things to do,” he said.
She paused, studying him. “You look familiar,” she said. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
To Kurt’s chagrin, the President had shown a photo of him and Rudi when referring to the “unnamed heroes” who’d brought about the end to the fabricated crisis. Kurt had looked like five days of bad road in the image, but his rugged features were not easy to hide.
“Would you believe I’m the guy who ended the oil crisis?”
The corners of her mouth turned upward in a warm smile. “Not for a second,” she said. “But my shift ends in twenty minutes. If you’re still around, I wouldn’t mind finding out what you really do.”
Kurt laughed. “In that case, I’ll take a Don Julio Silver on the rocks with salt on the rim and spend the next twenty minutes trying to come up with something interesting to tell you.”
She delivered the drink with a mischievous grin and then made her way to the far end of the bar. Kurt watched as she checked her makeup, let her hair down and shook it out.
He took a sip of the tequila. Perhaps being a hero had a few advantages after all.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Clive Cussler is the author or coauthor of more than seventy previous books in five best-selling series, including Dirk Pitt, NUMA Files, Oregon Files, Isaac Bell, and Sam and Remi Fargo. His life nearly parallels that of his hero Dirk Pitt. Whether searching for lost aircraft or leading expeditions to find famous shipwrecks, he and his NUMA crew of volunteers have discovered more than seventy-five lost ships of historic significance, including the long-lost Confederate submarine Hunley, which was raised in 2000 with much press publicity. Like Pitt, Cussler collects classic automobiles. His collection features more than eighty examples of custom coachwork. Cussler lives in Arizona.
Graham Brown is the author of Black Rain and Black Sun, and the coauthor with Cussler of Devil's Gate, The Storm, Zero Hour, Ghost Ship, The Pharaoh's Secret, and Nighthawk. A pilot and an attorney, he lives near Nashville.
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