Bass leaned heavily against the bulkhead, the agony in his chest growing. "A minute to get my bearings. Then I'll take stock of the warheads."
Steiger approached Pitt, gingerly stepping around the canisters as though he were afraid to touch them. "Whenever you give the word I'll bring my men on board to recover the remains of the crew."
"Might as well begin with our unexplained guest." Pitt tilted his head at ajumble of loose canisters. "You'll find him strapped to the floor about ten feet to your right."
56
Steiger searched in the area Pitt instructed and shrugged, his facial expression blank. "I don't find anything."
"You're practically standing on top of him," Pitt said.
"What gives, for Christ's sake?" Steiger demanded. "I'm telling you there's nothing here."
"You must be blind." Pitt pushed Steiger aside and looked down. The straps were still attached to the cargo tie-down rings but the body in the old khaki uniform had vanished. Pitt stared dumbly at the space on the floor while his mind stumbled to grasp the reality of the missing remains. He knelt and picked up the rotting straps. They had been cut.
Steiger's eyes reflected doubt. "The water was like ice the day you dived. Perhaps your mind saw something . . ." His voice trailed off but the implication was clear.
Pitt rose to his feet. "He was here," he said, expecting no further argument and receiving none.
"Could he have washed out the aft opening during the lift operation?" Steiger offered lamely.
"Not possible. The divers who swam beside the wreck to the surface would have reported any debris falling free."
Steiger started to say something, but suddenly his eyes turned uncomprehending at a strangled gasping sound that emitted from the forward end of the compartment. "What in God's name is that?"
Pitt wasted no time in answering. He knew.
He found Admiral Bass lying on the wet floor, fighting for breath, his skin bathed in cold sweat. The unbearable severity of the pain contorted his face into a tormented mask.
"His heart!" Pitt called out to Steiger. "Find Giordino and tell him to get that helicopter back here."
Pitt began tearing the clothing away from the admiral's neck and chest. Bass reached up and grasped Pitt's wrist. "The . . . the warheads," he rasped.
"Rest easy. We'll soon have you on your way to a hospital."
"The warheads . . ." Bass repeated.
"All safe in their canisters," Pitt reassured him.
"No ... no ... you don't understand." His voice was a hoarse whisper now. "The canisters ... I counted them . . . twenty-eight."
Bass's words were becoming barely audible, and Pitt had to place his ear at the tremoring lips.
Giordino rushed up carrying several blankets. "Steiger gave me the word," he said tensely. "How is he?"
"Still hanging in there," Pitt said. He released the viselike grip from his wrist and gently squeezed Bass's hand. "I'll see to it, Admiral. That's a promise."
Bass blinked his dulled eyes and nodded in understanding.
Pitt and Giordino had covered him and cushioned his head with the blankets when Steiger reappeared, followed by two airmen carrying a stretcher. Only then did Pitt rise to his feet and step aside. The helicopter had already returned and landed when they carried the still-conscious Bass from Vixen 03.
Steiger took Pitt's arm. "What was he trying to tell you?"
"His inventory of the warhead canisters," Pitt answered. "He counted twenty-eight."
"I pray the old guy makes it," Steiger said. "At least he had the satisfaction of knowing the monstrosities were retrieved. Now all that's . left is to dump them in the ocean. End of horror story."
"No, I'm afraid it's only the beginning."