Steiger looked steadily at Bass, perhaps seeing his Air Force career going up in smoke for the second time in as many weeks. "I get the feeling your choice of accomplices is backed by mad logic, Admiral. Myself, for instance-where do I fit in with the recovery of Vixen 03?"
Bass's tight smile loosened. "Believe it or not, Colonel, you're the critical man on the team. Your report alerted the Air Force to the existence of the aircraft. Fortunately, someone high in government found it inconvenient to pursue the matter further. Your job will be to see that any Pentagon interest remains negative."
There was understanding on Pitt's face now. "Okay, so Admiral Sandecker bankrolls the overall effort with NUMA resources while Giordino and I handle the actual salvage work. How do you intend to destroy QD's lethal properties once we raise the canisters?"
"We deep-six the warheads in the ocean," Bass replied without hesitation. "In time, as their exterior surface erodes, the water will neutralize the disease strain."
Pitt turned to Sandecker and found himself saying, "I can transfer Jack Folsom and his crew from the Chenago job and have 51
them on site at Table Lake with all necessary equipment inside forty-eight hours."
Admiral Sandecker was a realist. His choice was clear. He had known Bass well enough not to write off the old man as an alarmist. Every head angled toward the fiery little director of NUMA. He seemed lost in the blue cigar smoke that curled to the ceiling. Then at last he nodded.
"All right, gentlemen, we go."
"Thank you, James," Bass said, obviously pleased. "I fully realize the gamble you're taking merely on the word of a rusty old sea dog."
"I'd say those were pretty good odds," Sandecker replied.
"A thought just occurred to me," Giordino cut in. "If water kills this QD stuff, why don't we simply leave it on the bottom of the lake?"
Bass shook his head solemnly. "No thank you. If you found it, so can someone else. It's far better we deposit it for eternity where no human will ever set eyes on it. I can only thank God the canisters have gone undiscovered all these years."
"Which brings up another matter," Pitt said, noting the sudden uneasy lowering of Giordino's and Steiger's eyes.
Sandecker flicked an ash into an abalone-shell tray. "What is that?"
"According to the original flight plan, Vixen 03 departed Buckley Field with a crew of four. Is that correct, Admiral Bass?"
Bass's expression went quizzical. "Yes, there were four."
"Perhaps I should have brought this up sooner," Pitt said, "but I was afraid of complicating the issue at hand."
"You're not the type to beat around the bush," Sandecker said impatiently. "What are you getting at?"
"The fifth skeleton."
"The fifth what?"
"When I dove on the wreckage, I found the bones of a fifth man tied to the floor of the cargo section."
Sandecker looked at Bass. "Have you any idea who he's talking about?"
Bass sat like a man who had been slapped in the face. "A ground maintenance man," he murmured vacantly. "One must have somehow been left on board when the plane took off."
"Won't wash," said Pitt. "Flesh was still evident. The remains haven't been immersed as long as the others."
"You said the canisters were still sealed," replied Bass, snatching at threads.
"Yes, sir, I saw no evidence of tampering," Pitt reassured him.
"My God, my God!" Bass held his hands to his face. "Someone besides ourselves knows about the aircraft."
"We can't be sure of that," said Steiger.
Bass lowered his hands and stared
at Pitt through glazed eyes. "Bring her up, Mr. Pitt. For the sake of humanity, bring up Vixen 03 from the bottom of that lake-and do it quickly."