"Then why play God in Africa?" Loren said defiantly. "Why doesn't he fight to improve conditions for blacks in his own country?"
"Because Hiram fervently believes our race must have a firm base to rise from. The Jews look with pride toward Israel; you Anglo-Saxons have a rich British heritage. Our homeland, on the other hand, is still struggling to emerge from a primitive society.
It's no secret the blacks who have taken over most of Africa have made an unholy mess of it. Hiram Lusana is our one hope to steer the black race in the right direction. He is our Moses and South Africa is our Promised Land."
"Aren't you overly optimistic?"
Daggat looked at her. "Optimistic?"
"According to the latest military reports from South Africa, their Defence Forces crossed into Mozambique and destroyed the AAR and its headquarters."
"I read the same reports," said Daggat, "and nothing has changed. A temporary setback, perhaps; nothing more. Hiram Lusana is still alive. He will raise a new army, and I intend to do all in my power to aid him."
"Amen, brother," Felicia added.
The three of them were too wrapped up in their own thoughts to notice a car pulling in front of the limousine and then slowing down. At the next stoplight the driver swung the car to the curb and leaped out. Before Daggat's chauffeur could react, the man ran up to the limousine, jerked open the right rear door, and climbed in.
Daggat's mouth dropped open in surprise. Felicia froze, her mouth tensed. Only Loren seemed mildly puzzled.
"Who the hell are you?" Daggat demanded. Over the stranger's shoulder he saw the chauffeur reach into the glove compartment for a gun.
"How unobservant of you not to recognize me from my pictures," the man said, laughing.
Felicia tugged at Daggat's sleeve. "It's him," she whispered.
69
"Him who?" shouted Daggat, visibly upset.
"Pitt. My name is Dirk Pitt."
Loren looked at Pitt intently. She had not seen him for several days and she scarcely associated this man with the one who had made love to her. His eyes were ringed from lack of sleep and his chin was stubbled with beard. There were creases in his face she had never noticed before, creases of stress and exhaustion. She reached over and squeezed his hand.
"Where did you come from?" Loren asked.
"Coincidence," Pitt replied. "I was coming to see you and happened to be passing by the Capitol steps when I noticed you entering this car. As I drove alongside, I spotted Congressman Daggat in the back."
The chauffeur had lowered the window behind him and was holding a small revolver inches from the back of Pitt's head. Daggat relaxed noticeably. He felt in control again.
"Perhaps it's time we met, Mr. Pitt." He made a slight wave of his hand. The chauffeur nodded and lowered the gun.
"My very thoughts," said Pitt, smiling. "In fact, it saves me a trip to your office."
"You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, I've decided to order some reprints." Pitt produced a small stack of photographs and fanned them in one hand. "I've seen better results, of course. But then, these weren't exactly shot under ideal studio conditions."
Loren knotted one hand against her mouth. "You know about those awful pictures? I tried to keep you out of it."
"Let me see," Pitt said, as if Loren hadn't spoken. He began dropping the photographs in Daggat's lap one by one. "I'll take a dozen of these, and five of those-"
"I do not appreciate your pathetic attempt at humor," Daggat said, interrupting him.
Pitt gave him an innocent look. "I thought as long as you were in the dirty-picture-taking business, you wouldn't mind serving your clients-or should I say 'models.' Naturally, I expect a discount."
"What's your game, Mr. Pitt?" asked Felicia.
"Game?" Pitt looked amused. "There is no game."