"The rumor mill."
"News to me. Most of our Caribbean forces are conducting an amphibious landing exercise on Jamaica."
"Jamaica?"
"A little muscle-flexing display of military capability to shake up the Soviets and Cubans. Keeps Castro off balance, thinking we're going to invade one of these days."
"Are we?"
"What in hell for? Cuba is the best advertising campaign we've got running that promotes communism as a big economic bust. Besides, better the Soviet Union throws twelve million dollars a day down Castro's toilet than us."
"You've received no orders to keep an eye on a blimp that left on a flight from the Keys this morning?"
There was an ominous silence on the other end of the line.
"I probably shouldn't be telling you this, Jim, but I did receive a verbal order concerning the blimp. I was told to keep our ships and aircraft out of the Bahama Banks and to put a blackout on all communications coming from the area."
"The order come direct from the White House?"
"Don't press your luck, Jim."
"Thanks for setting me straight, Clyde."
"Any time. Let's get together next time I'm in Washington."
"I'll look forward to it."
Sandecker hung up, his face red with anger, his eyes fired with fury.
"God help them," he muttered through clenched teeth. "We've all been had."
Jessie's smooth, high cheekboned face was tense from the strain of fighting the wind gusts and rain squalls that pounded against the skin of the blimp. Her arms and wrists were turning numb as she orchestrated the throttles and the big elevator pitch control. With the added weight from the rain it was becoming nearly impossible to keep the wallowing airship level and steady. She began to feel the icy caress of fear.
"We'll have to head for the nearest land," she said, her voice uneven. "I can't keep her aloft much longer in this turbulence."
Pitt looked at her. "The nearest land is Cuba."
"Better arrested than dead."
"Not yet," Pitt replied from his seat to the right and slightly behind her. "Hang on a little longer. The storm will sweep us back to Key West."
"With the radio out, they won't know where to look if we're forced to ditch in the sea."
"You should have thought of that before you spilled coffee on the transmitter and shorted its circuitry."
She stole a glance at him. God, she thought, it was maddening. He was leaning out the starboard window, nonchalantly peering through a pair of binoculars at the sea below. Giordino was observing out the port side, while Gunn was taking readings off the VIKOR navigating computer and laying out their course on a chart. Every so often, Gunn calmly examined the stylus markings on the recorder of a Schonstedt gradiometer, an instrument for detecting iron by measuring magnetic intensity. All three men looked at though they didn't have a care in the world.
"Didn't you hear what I said?" she asked in exasperation.
"We heard," Pitt replied.
"I can't control her in this wind. She's too heavy. We've got to drop ballast or touch down."
"The last of the ballast was dumped an hour ago."
"Then get rid of that junk you brought on board," she ordered, gesturing to a small mountain of aluminum boxes strapped to the deck.