"Not one I'd recommend to tourists," Pitt replied.
"Can I get you something to eat or drink?" Brogan offered graciously. "A cup of coffee or breakfast maybe?"
"If you could find a bottle of cold beer. . ."
"Of course." Brogan picked up the phone and said something. "Be here in a minute."
The conference room was plain by business-office standards. The walls were a neutral beige color, the carpet the same, and the furniture looked as though it came from a discount store. No pictures, no decorations of any kind gave it life. A room whose only function was to serve as a place to work.
Pitt was offered a chair at one end of the table, but declined. His rear end did not feel up to sitting just yet. Every eye in the room stared at him, and he began to feel like an inmate at the zoo on a Sunday afternoon.
Brogan gave him a relaxed smile. "Please tell us everything you've heard and observed from the beginning. Your account will be recorded and transcribed. Afterward, we'll go for questions and answers. All right with you?"
The beer came. Pitt took a long pull, relaxed, and then started relating the events from the takeoff in Key West to elatedly seeing the submarine rise out of the water a few yards from his sinking tub. He left out nothing and took his time, going into every detail, no matter how minor, he could recall. It took him nearly an hour and a half, but they listened attentively without question or interruption. When he finally finished, he gently eased his aching body into a chair and calmly watched everyone check over their notes.
Brogan declared a short break while aerial photographs of Cayo Santa Maria, files on Velikov and Gly, and the copies of the transcription were brought in. After forty minutes of study, Brogan kicked off the questioning.
"You carried weapons in the blimp. Why?"
"Projections of the Cyclops' wreck site indicated it lay in Cuban waters. It seemed appropriate to carry a bulletproof shield and a missile launcher for protective insurance."
"You realize, of course, your unwarranted attack on the Cuban patrol helicopter was a breach of government policy." This from a man Pitt remembered as working for the State Department.
"I followed a higher law," said Pitt with a sardonic grin.
"And what law, may I ask, is that?"
"Comes from the Old West, something they called self-preservation. The Cubans fired first, about a thousand rounds, I would judge, before Al Giordino blew it away."
Brogan smiled. He could see Pitt was a man after his own heart. "Our main concern here is with your description of the Russians' installation on the island. You say the island is unguarded."
"Above ground the only guards I saw were stationed at the gate of the compound. None were patrolling the roads or the beaches. The only security measure was an electrified fence."
"That explains why infrared photography hasn't detected any signs of human activity," said an analyst eyeballing the photos.
"Unlike the Russians to step out of character," mused another CIA official. "They almost always give away a secret base by going overboard on security."
"Not this time," said Pitt. "They've gone to opposite extremes and it's paid off for them. General Velikov stated that it was the most sensitive military installation outside the Soviet Union. And I gather that no one in your agency was aware of it until now."
"I admit, we may have been taken in," said Brogan. "Providing what you've described to us is true."
Pitt gave Brogan a cold stare. Then he painfully rose from his chair and started for the door. "All right, have it your way. I lied. Thanks for the beer."
"May I ask where you're going?"
"To call a press conference," Pitt said, addressing Brogan directly. "I'm wasting precious time for your benefit. The sooner I announce my escape and demand the release of the LeBarons, Giordino, and Gunn, the sooner Velikov will be forced to halt their torture and execution."
There was a shocked quiet. None of the people at the conference table could believe Pitt was walking out, none except Sandecker. He sat there and smiled like the owner of a winning ball club. "You'd better pull your act together, Martin. You've just been presented with a top-of-the-line intelligence coup, and if no one in this room can recognize it, I suggest you all find another line of work."
Brogan may have been a brusque egotist, but he was no fool. He quickly rose and stopped Pitt at the doorway. "Forgive an old Irishman who's been burned more times than he can count. Thirty years in this business and you just naturally become a doubting Thomas. Please help us to fit the puzzle together. Then we'll discuss what's to be done for your friends and the LeBarons."
"It'll cost you another beer," Pitt said.
Brogan and the others laughed then. The ice was broken, and the questioning was resumed from all sides of the table.
"Is this Velikov?" asked an analyst, holding up a photograph.
"Yes, General Peter Velikov. His American-accented English was letter perfect. I almost forgot, he had my dossier, including a personality profile."