Treasure (Dirk Pitt 9)

The Senator lifted his hands in resignation. "No heavy votes coming up in the Senate. My staff can cover for me. if you arrange for a government plane, I can leave here early Tuesday and arrive the following afternoon."

"Thank you, George, you're a good scout." The President paused, and then sprang the trap. "There is one other thing."

"There always is." The Senator sighed.

"I'd like you to inform President Hasan 'm private, under the strictest secrecy, that I will fully cooperate with him in the event he decides to remove Yazid."

The Senator's voice was shocked. "Since when does the White House deal in political assassination? I implore you, Mr. President, do not lower your office into the slime with Yazid and other terrorists."

"If someone had had the foresight to take Khomeini for a ride twelve years ago, the Middle East would be a far more peaceful place."

"King George might have said the same about George Washington and the colonies in 1778."

"Come now, George, we could spend all day making comparisons. The final decision is up to Hasan. He has to give the go-ahead."

"A bad idea," saidd the Senator resolutely. "I have grave doubts about such an offer. If this leaked out it could shatter your Presidency."

"I respect your advice and honesty. That's why you're the only man I can trust to deliver the message."

The Senator caved in. "I'll do as you ask and gladly brief Hasan on the Library proposal, but don't expect me to sell him on Yazid's murder even if it's deserved."

"I'll see that Hasan's staff is alerted to your arrival," said Nichols, stepping in diplomatically.

The President rose from behind his desk, signaling the end of the conference. He shook hands with the Senator.

"I'm grateful, old friend. I'll look forward to your report Wednesday afternoon. We'll have an early supper together."

"See you then, Mr. President."

"Have a good flight."

As Senator Pitt left the Oval Office he had a dire sense that the President might very well be dining alone Wednesday evening.

The Lady Flamborough slipped smoothly into the tiny harbor of Punta del Este just minutes before the sun fell over the western interior of the mainland. A soft breeze drifted in from the south that barely fluttered the Union Jack on her stern.

She was a beautiful cruise ship, trim and handsomely designed, with a streamlined superstructure. She broke with the traditional British black hull and more common white on her upper works. She was painted entirely in a soft slate blue with a sharply raked funnel banded in royal purple and burgundy.

One of the new breed of sleek, small cruise ships, the Lady Flamborough looked more like a posh motor yacht. Her trim 101-meter-long hull contained the most sumptuous luxuries afloat. With only fifty large suites, she carried just one hundred passengers, who were catered to by an equal number of crew members.

On this voyage, however, from her home port in San Juan, Puerto Rico, she sailed without passengers.

"Two degrees port," said the dark-skinned pilot.

"Two degrees port," acknowledged the helmsman.

The pilot stood in loose khaki shirt and shorts and kept a calculating eye on

the finger of land that sheltered the bay until it slipped behind the Lady Flamborough's stern.

"Begin coming around to starboard and hold steady at zero eight zero."

The helmsman dutifully repeated the command and the ship very slowly swung on its new course.

The harbor was crowded with yachts and other cruise ships riving flocks of colorful pointed and swallowtail pennants. Some vessels were chartered as floating hotels for the economic conference, others were filled with their usual complement of vacationing passengers.

Half a kilometer from the mooring site the pilot ordered the engines on

"dead stop." The luxurious ship slipped through the calm water on her momentum, eating up the distance and gradually easing to a halt.