Pacific Vortex! (Dirk Pitt 1)

“What nonsense is this?” Hunter fairly exploded. “You tell that nut to...” Suddenly Hunter’s lips froze and his eyes widened. “My God, Crowhaven.”

He snatched the receiver and talked rapidly with the voice on the other end of the line. Then he thrust the receiver back at the stunned officer and turned to Denver.

“Crowhaven is sending over the frequency of a Honolulu radio station.”

Denver’s expression was one of abject bewilderment “I don’t understand.”

“It’s brilliant. Positively brilliant,” Hunter said excitedly. “Delphi would never think to monitor the frequency of a commercial broadcast station, especially a rock ‘n roll program. Nobody but a handful of kids would be tuned in at this time of the morning.” He leaned over the radio operator. “Set your frequency to 1250.”

At first the concrete walls were greeted by a loud blast of music which assaulted the eardrums of everyone in the bunker. Then, before the confused staff crowded around the radio fully absorbed the shock, a high-pitched voice that spit words like a machine gun broke through the speaker.

“Hi-ho there, you early morning birdwatchers. This is Aloha Willie with the top forty tunes rockin your way across the tropical airwaves with some really great sounds for you disc hounds. Time now, three-fifty. Okay, are you ready, group? Glue your ears to the transistors and listen now as we play the flip side of the latest comedy record by Big Daddy and His Gang. Take it away Big Daddy.”

The radio operator in the bunker pushed the transmit button and cut in on the program. “Big Daddy calling Our Gang. Come in please. Over.”

“This is Our Gang, Big Daddy. Do you read? Over.”

Denver leaped to his feet. “That’s Crowhaven. He’s done it! He’s calling from inside the Starbuck”

“We read you, Our Gang. Over.”

“Here is the final score. Visitors: one run, one hit, three errors. Home Team: no runs, three hits, four errors.”

Hunter gazed emptily at the speaker. “The code for casualties. Crowhaven had taken control of the submarine but it cost him one dead and three wounded.”

“We acknowledge the score, Our Gang,” droned the radio man. “Our congratulations to the visiting team for their win. When can they leave the ballpark?”

The reply came back without hesitation. “The showers are steaming and the locker room should be emptied in another hour. Will load bus and leave stadium by 0400.”

Denver rapped the table with his fist and a big smile widened across his cherubic face. “The reactors are generating steam to the turbines and they’ll have the forward torpedo compartment pumped dry in an hour. Thank God, they’re ahead of schedule.”

Hunter reached over and took the microphone from the operator.

“Our Gang, this is Big Daddy. Where is the Kid?”

“The Kid and his sidekick went over the hill in search of a lost gold mine. No word since then. Assume they became lost in the desert and ran

out of water.”

Hunter silently set down the microphone. There was no need to translate. The message was all too clear.

“We’ll bring you up-to-date on the sports at 0500,” Crowhaven’s voice continued. “Our Gang, out.”

Aloha Willie cut back in without missing a beat.

“There you have it, group. Now for number twelve on the charts: Avery Anson Pants singing The Great Bikini Ripoff...”

The radio operator switched off the speaker. “That’s it, sir, until 0500.”

Admiral Hunter moved slowly away and sank in a chair. He stared dully at the wall.

“A high price to pay,” Hunter said softly.

“Pitt should have stayed with Crowhaven,” Denver said bitterly. “He should have never gone off in search of your daughter...” Denver caught himself too late.

Hunter looked up. “I did not give Pitt permission to look for Adrian.”

“I know, sir,” Denver shrugged helplessly. “I tried to discourage him., but he insisted on making the attempt. He does what he wants to do.”