Vixen 03 (Dirk Pitt 5)

"A bit early in the morning for a swim," said a huge bear of a man with his arm in a sling. "Or are you practicing for the English Channel?"

Pitt looked around and saw the shattered glass and shredded wood on the boat's bridge. "Where did you come from? The battle of Midway?"

The bear grinned and replied, "We were headed for our dock when we were ordered back to pick you out of the drink. I'm Kiebel, Oscar Kiebel, commander of what was once the cleanest boat on the Inland Waterway."

"Dirk Pitt. I'm with NUMA."

Kiebel's eyes narrowed. "How didyou come to be on the battleship?"

Pitt looked up at the boat's broken rigging. "LbelieVe I owe you.a hew radio aerial."

"That was you?"

"Sorry about the hit and run, but there was 09 time to fill out an accident report."

Kiebel motioned toward a doorway?-"Better cpme inside and get a bandage on your head. It looks as though you took a nasty crack."

It was then that Pitt saw a great pall of smoke rising around a bend in the Potomac. "The Iowa," he said. "What of the Iowa?"

"She blew herself up."

Pitt leaned heavily against the railing.

Kiebel gently put his good arm around Pitt as one of his men brought up a blanket. "Better take it easy and lie down. A doctor will be waiting when we dock."

"It doesn't matter," Pitt said. "Not anymore."

Kiebel steered him into the pilothouse and found Pitt a steaming cup of coffee. "Sorry there's no booze on board. Regulations and all that. A bit early for a shot anyway." Then he turned and spoke through an open doorway to his communications officer. "What's the latest on that helicopter?"

"She's over Chesapeake Bay, sir."

Pitt looked up. "What helicopter is that?"

"Why, one of yours," Kiebelsaid. "Damnedest thing. A shell from the Iowa's final salvo came down in a parachute and this idiot in a NUMA chopper nabbed it on the fly."

"Thank God!" Pitt said as the full implication hit him. "A radio. I need to borrow your radio."

Kiebel hesitated. He could read the urgency in Pin's eyes. "Allowing civilians to use military communications gear is hardly kosher. . . ."

Pitt held up a

hand and cut him off. The feeling was returning to his cold-numbed skin and he sensed something pressing into his stomach under the shirt. His face went blank as he removed a small packet and stared at it speculatively.

"Now where in hell did that come from?"

Steiger warily regarded the temperature gauge as the needle crept toward the red. The Atlantic coastline was still sixty miles away, and the last thing he wanted was a seized turbine bearing.

The call light on the radio blinked on and the admiral pressed the "transmit" button. "This is Sandecker. Go ahead."

"I'm ready for those scrambled eggs," Pitt said, his voice crackling over the headphones.

"Dirk!" Sandecker blurted. "Are you all right?"

"A trifle shopworn but still kicking."

"The other warhead?" Steiger asked anxiously. '

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