The guards, jolted out of their laxity, swung back and faced the salvage crew, their weapons aimed and steady again.
"My compliments, dear lady." Prevlov bowed. "Your little display of theatrics very nearly worked. A clever, clever deception."
There was a curious clinical satisfaction in Prevlov's expression; a functional chill as if his cunning had been called and he had easily won the hand.
He watched Dana, appraising her fractional show of defeat. The grin had remained on her face, as though painted there, and her shoulders huddled in a slight shiver, but she shook it off and straightened once again, proud and self-assured.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Of course not." Prevlov sighed. He stared at her for a moment, and then turned and said something to one of the guards. The man nodded, pulled out a knife and slowly advanced toward Dana.
Dana stiffened and paled, as though turned to salt. "What are you going to do?"
"I ordered him to cut off your left breast," Prevlov said conversationally.
Spencer stared openmouthed at Sandecker, his eyes pleading for the admiral to back down.
"Good God!" Sandecker uttered desperately. "You can't allow-you promised, no cruelty or torture-"
"I am the first to admit there is no finesse in savagery," Prevlov said. "But you leave me no choice. It is the only solution to your obstinacy."
Sandecker sidestepped around the nearest guard. "You'll have to kill me first-"
The guard jammed his machine pistol muzzle into Sandecker's kidney, and the admiral fell to his knees, his face twisted in agony, his breath coming in loud, sucking noises.
Dana clenched her hands at her sides until they turned ivory. She had played her hand down to the last card, and now she looked lost; those beautiful coffee-brown eyes were sick in abhorrence when she saw the guard's eyes suddenly reflect a look of confusion as a steel hand fell on her shoulder and pushed her aside. Pitt wal
ked slowly into the light.
66
Pitt stood frozen in time, like some unspeakable apparition that had risen from the depths of a watery hell. He was saturated from head to foot, his black hair plastered down across a bloodied forehead, his lips curled in a satanic smile. In the light of the lamps, the droplets of water sparkled as they trickled from his wet clothing and splattered on the deck.
Prevlov's face was a wax mask. Calmly, he pulled a cigarette from the gold case, lit it, and exhaled the smoke in a long sigh.
"Your name? May I assume that your name is Dirk Pitt?"
"That's what the fine print reads on the birth certificate."
"It seems you are an uncommonly durable man, Mr. Pitt, It was my understanding that you were dead."
"It just goes to prove you can't rely on shipboard gossip."
Pitt took off his damp jacket and gently draped it over Dana's shoulders. "Sorry, dear heart, it's the best I can do for the moment." Then he turned back to Prevlov. "Any objections?"
Prevlov shook his head. Pitt's offhand manner puzzled him. He scrutinized Pitt as a diamond cutter studies a stone, but saw nothing behind the veil of those sea-green eyes.
Prevlov gestured to one of his men who moved up to Pitt. "Simply a precautionary search, Mr. Pitt. Any objections?"
Pitt shrugged agreeably and held his hands in the air. The guard quickly, efficiently ran his hands up and down Pitt's clothing and then stepped back and shook his head.
"No arms," Prevlov said. "Very wise of you, but then I would have expected nothing less from a man of your reputation. I have read with considerable interest a dossier describing your exploits. I would have liked very much to have known you under less adversary circumstances."
"Sorry I can't return the compliment," Pitt said pleasantly, "but you're not exactly the type of vermin I'd like for a friend."
Prevlov stepped forward two paces and hit Pitt with all his strength with the back of his hand.
Pitt staggered back one step and stood there, a trickle of blood oozing from one corner of his still grinning lips. "Well, well," he said quietly, thickly. "The illustrious Andre Prevlov finally blew his cool."