Iceberg (Dirk Pitt 3)

"Inside, taped to the underside of the top." The driver's voice was soft, yet commanding. "There is a twenty-five caliber Colt derringer. Take it and get that damned screwdriver out of my ear."

Still using one hand, Pitt opened the breech of the derringer, rubbed his thumb over the primers of the two tiny cartridges to make sure the chambers were loaded, and then reclosed the breech and cocked the hammer.

"So far, so good. Now ease out of the car and keep your hands where I can see them." He loosened his grip on the screwdriver and withdrew it from the driver's ear cavity.

The driver slid from behind the wheel, walked to the front of the car and propped himself lazily against a fender. He lifted his right hand and massaged his ear, wincing. "A clever tactic, Major. It didn't come out of any book I know."

"You should read more," Pitt said. "Ramming an icepick through the eardrum into the brain of an unsuspecting victim is an old trick used by paid killers in gang wars long before either you or I were born."

"A rather painful lesson I'm not likely to forget."

Pitt got out and pushed the front door of the car open to its stop and stood behind the interior panel, using it for a shield, the gun in his hand trained on the driver's heart. "You said you talked to Admiral Sandecker in Washington. Describe him. Size, hair, mannerisms, layout of his office-everything."

The driver needed no further coaxing. He talked for several minutes and ended up by mentioning a few of Sandecker's pet slang terms, "Your memory is good-nearly letter-perfect."

"I have a photographic memory, Major. My description of Admiral Sandecker could have easily come from a file. Take a rundown of yourself for example: Major Dirk Eric Pitt. Born exactly thirty-two years, four months and twelve days ago at the Hogg Hospital in Newport Beach, California. Mother's name Barbara, father George Pitt, senior United States Senator from your home state." The driver droned on as if he might have been repeating a memorized spiel, as indeed he was. "No sense in going on about your three rows of combat ribbons which you never wear or your formidable reputation If you like, I can give you a complete account't of your actions since you left Washington."

Pitt waved the gun. "That will do. I'm impressed, of course, Mr.-ah-"

"Lillie. Jerome P. Lillie the Fourth. I'm your contact."

"Jerome P.-" Pitt made a good try but couldn't sul)press an incredulous laugh. "You've got to be kidding- " Lillie gestured helplessly. "Laugh if you will, Major, but the Lillie name has been highly esteemed in St. Louis for nearly a hundred years."

Pitt thought for a moment. Then it came to him.

"Lillie Beer. Of course, that's it. Lillie Beer. What's the slogan? Brewed for the gourmet's table."

"Proof that it pays to advertise," Lillie said. "I take it you're another one of our satisfied customers?"

"No. I prefer Budweiser."

"I can see you're going to be a hard man to get along with," Lillie moaned.

"Not really." Pitt released the derringer's hammer and threw the tiny gun to Lillie. "Be my guest. You couldn't possibly be one of the bad guys and come up with a story that wild."

Lillie fielded the gun. "Your trust is warranted, Major. I told you the truth."

"You're a long way from the brewery, or is that another story?"

"Very dull and very time-consuming. Some other time, perhaps, I'll pour out my biography over a glass of Dad's product."

He calmly retaped the gun to the inside of his cap as if it was an everyday occurrence. "Now then, you mentioned a third attempt on your life."

"You offered to give me a detailed, hour-by-hour account of my actions since I left Washington. You tell me."

"Nobody's perfect, Major. I lost you for two hours today."

Pitt did some fast mental arithmetic. "Where were you around noon?"

"On the southern shore of the island."

"Doing what?"

Lillie turned away and looked across the barren fields, his face empty of all expression. "At exactly ten minutes after twelve this afternoon I was pushing a knife into another man's throat."

"Then there were two of you keeping an eye on The Grimsi?"

"The Grimsi? Ah, of course-the name of your old boat. Yes, I stumbled into the other guy quite by accident. After you and the admiral and Miss Royal took off toward the southeast, I had a hunch your anchor would drop in the area where you and Dr.