“I’m no hero,” Crowhaven said dolefully. Pitt patted him on the shoulder, turned, and walked back to the cockpit.
Admiral Hunter glanced at his watch for the twentieth time in the last hour. He mashed out the cigarette he’d been nervously puffing, rose from his chair, and crossed the busy operations room to peer at the huge map covering the wall. Behind him Denver was slouched in a stiff-backed chair, his feet balanced on the back of another chair. Denver didn’t fool Hunter for a moment with his display of indifference. When the message came on the progress of the aircraft, he jerked upright almost instantly.
“Big Daddy, this is the Kid. Do you read? Over.” Pitt’s voice crackled through the amplifier mounted over the radio set.
Hunter and Denver were both leaning over the operator before he acknowledged.
“Big Daddy here, Kid. Go ahead. Over.”
“Prepare crew for pit stop. Am going for the checkered flag. Over.” It was Pitt’s signal that he was descending to wave top level and beginning his final dash prior to ditching the plane in the water over the seamount
The operator answered in the microphone. “Trophy awaits winner. Over.”
“See you in the winner’s circle, Big Dad . . .”
The voice over the speaker stopped in midword.
Hunter snatched the microphone. “Come in, Kid. This is Big Daddy. Over.”
There was a pause. Then the voice came in stronger with a slight change in tone. “Sorry, Big Daddy, for the delay. What are your instructions? Over.”
“Instructions?” asked Hunter slowly. “You request instructions?”
“Yes, please comply.”
As if in a trance, Hunter set the microphone down and switched off the transmission switch.
“Dear God, they’re onto us,” he said mechanically.
Denver couldn’t hide his shock. “That wasn’t Pitt’s voice,” he said incredulously. “Delphi’s transmitter must have invaded the frequency.”
Hunter slowly sunk into a chair. I should have never gone along on this insane scheme. Now there’s no way Crowhaven can communicate with us once he’s entered the Starbuck.”
“He could transmit in code through the communications computers,” Denver offered.
“Have you forgotten?” Hunter said impatiently. The communications computers weren’t installed in time for the Starbuck’s sea trials. The radio can only be operated on standard frequencies. Until the marines move in on Delphi’s transmitter, he’ll be monitoring every open frequency on the air. Ev
en if Delphi isn’t wise to our exact plans as of this moment, he’ll know he’s been had the instant Crowhaven begins sending...”
“And attack the Starbuck or blow it to pieces,” Denver finished.
Hunter’s voice dropped until it was barely distinguishable. “God help them,” he murmured. “He’s the only one who can now.”
Pitt ripped off his earphones and hurled them on the cockpit floor. “The bastard’s cut us off,” he snapped. “If Delphi guesses what we’re about, he’ll lay a trap sure as hell.”
“A wonderful feeling knowing that I’ve got friends like you,” Giordino said with a sarcastic smile.
“You are lucky.” There was no answering smile on Pitt’s face. “Chances are, Admiral Hunter is praying we’ll abort the mission.”
“No way,” Giordino said seriously. “You people overestimated this big yellow-eyed clown. Bet you a case of good booze we get in and out before it dawns on him that he’s been hit by the two greatest submarine thieves in the Pacific.”
“If you say so.”
“Face it,” Giordino said loftily. “Nobody in their right mind would voluntarily ditch an aircraft in the sea during the dead of night-except you, that is. This Delphi guy probably thinks we’re only on a reconnaissance flight. He won’t suspect anything before daylight.”
“I like your optimism.”
“Mom always said I had a way with words.”