Iceberg (Dirk Pitt 3)

"Of course," he answered. "The species of shark found in colder waters can't be eaten fresh, so you slice it in strips and bury it in beach sand for twenty-six days and then cure it in the wind."

"You're eating it raw, you know?" Kirsti persisted.

"Is there any other way"' Pitt said as he forked another slice into his mouth. Didn't have an easy time trying to shock him, Miss Fyrie."

Sandecker cast a distasteful eye at the shark meat. "Dirk's hebby is gourmet cooking. His specialty is fish, and he is an expert on international seafood preparation."

"Actually, it's quite good," Pitt managed between mouthfuls. "However, I do think the Malaysian version has a better flavor.

They cure the shark meat wrapped in a seaweed called echidna. This gives it a slightly sweeter taste than the Icelandic delicacy."

"Americans usually order steak or chicken," Kirsti said. "You are the first I have known who prefers fish."

"Not entirely," Pitt said. "Like most of my countrymen, my favorite standby is still a good double hamburger with French fries and a chocolate malt."

Kirsti looked at Pitt and smiled. "I am beginning to think that you are blessed with an iron stomach."

Pitt shrugged. "I have an uncle who is San Francisco's leading bon vivant. In my own small way I'm trying to follow in his footsteps."

The rest of the meal was eaten with a minimum of small talk, everyone relaxed and comfortable in the atmosphere of friendliness and good food. Two hours later, during a strawberry and ice cream flambo, especially concocted by Pitt and an agreeable chef, Kirsti began to make apologies for an early departure.

"I hope you will not think me rude, Admiral Sandecker, but I am afraid I must leave you, Miss Royal and Major Pitt very shortly. My fiance has insisted on taking me to a poetry reading tonight, and since I am only a woman, it is difficult to refuse his wishes." She gave Tidi a soft female look of understanding. "I'm sure Miss Royal can appreciate my situation."

Tidi instantly grasped the romantic inference. "I envy you, Miss Fyrie. A fiance who loves poetry is a rare catch."

Admiral Sandecker beamed a felicitating smile.

"My sincerest wishes for your happiness, Miss Fyrie. I had no idea you were engaged. Who is the lucky man?"

The admiral held his composure exceedingly well, Pitt thought. He knew the Old man was stunned right down to his shoe soles. This development would call for a different set of ground rules-already Pitt found himself wondering what the competition was like.

"Rondheim-Oskar Rondheim," Kristi announced.

"My brother introduced v,.; in a letter. Oskar and I exchanged pictures and corresponded for two years before we finally met."

Sandecker stared at her. "Wait a minute," he said slowly. "I think I know of him. Isn't he the one who owns an international chain of canneries? Rondheim Industries? A fishing fleet the size of Spain's navy? Or am I thinking of some other Rondheim?"

"No, that's right," Kirsti said. "His executive offices are right here in Reykjavik."

"The fishing boats, painted blue, flying a red flag with an albatross?" Pitt inquired.

Kirsti nodded. "The P.I'oatross is Oskar's good luck symbol. Do you know his boats?"

"I've had occasion to fly over them," Pitt said.

38

Of course Pitt knew the boats and their symbol. So did every fisherman of every country north of the fortieth parallel.

Rondheim's fishing fleets were notorious for wiping out fishing grounds, almost to the verge of extinction, robbing the nets of the other fishermen, and dropping their own distinctive red-dyed nets inside the territorial boundaries of other countries. 'The Rondheim albatross carried as much respect as the Nazi swastika, "A merger between Fyrie Limited and Rondheim Industries would result in a most powerful empire," Sandecker said slowly, almost as if he were weighing the consequences.

Pitts mind was running along the same channels.

Suddenly, his train of thought was broken when Kirsti waved her hand.

"There he is. There!"

They turned and followed Kirsti's gaze to a tall, snow-haired, distinguished-looking figure vigorously stepping toward them.