Night Probe! (Dirk Pitt 6)

"Canada and Quebec must learn to live together without further friction," said Villon. "You and I should too."

"I'm willing to listen to reason." There was a subtle hardening in Sarveux's voice. "Sit down, Henri, and tell me what's on your mind."

Alan Mercier finished reading the contents of a folder marked MOST SECRET and then reread them.

He was stunned. Every so often he flipped the pages backward, attempting to keep an open mind, but finding it increasingly difficult to believe what his eyes conveyed. He had the look of a man who held a ticking bomb in his hands.

The President sat across from him, seemingly detached, patiently waiting. It was very quiet in the room; the only sound was an occasional crackle from a smoldering log in the fireplace. Two trays of food sat on the large coffee table that separated the two men. Mercier was too engrossed to eat, but the President consumed the late dinner hungrily.

Finally Mercier closed the folder and solemnly removed his glasses. He pondered for a moment, then looked up.

"I have to ask," he said. "Is this mad plot for real?"

"Right down to the period in the lase sentence."

"A remarkable concept," Mercier sighed. "I'll give it that."

"I think so."

"I find it hard to believe you took it so far in all these years without a leak."

"Not surprising when you consider only two people knew about it."

"Doug Oates over at State was aware."

"Only after the inauguration," the President acknowledged. "Once I possessed the power to put the wheels in motion, the first step, the obvious step, was to bring in the State Department."

"But not national security," said Mercier, a cool edge on his voice.

"Nothing personal, Alan. I only added to the inner circle as each stage progressed."

"So now it's my turn."

The President nodded. "I want you and your staff to recruit and organize influential Canadians who see things as I do."

Mercier dabbed a handkerchief at the sweat glistening on his face. "Good God. If this thing backfires and your announcement of national insolvency follows on its heels . . . ?" He let the implication hang.

"It won't," the President said grimly.

"You may have reached too far."

"But if it is accepted, at least in principle, think of the opportunities."

"You'll get your first indication when you spring it on the Canadian Parliament on Monday."

"Yes, it'll be out in the open then." Mercier laid the folder on the table. "I have to hand it to you, Mr.

President. When you sat silent and refused to intervene in Quebec's bid for independence, I thought you'd slipped a cog. Now I'm beginning to see the method behind your madness."

"We've only opened the first door"-the President waxed philosophical-"to a long hallway."

"Don't you think you're counting too heavily on finding the North American Treaty?"

"Yes, I suppose you're right." The President stared out the window at Washington without seeing it. "But if a miracle happens on the Hudson River by Monday, we may have the privilege of designing a new flag."

The sky hook was just what its name suggested: a helicopter capable of transporting bulky equipment to the tops of high buildings and heavy equipment across rivers and mountains. Its slender fuselage tapered to a length of 105 feet and the landing gear hung down like rigid stalks.

To the men on the salvage site the ungainly craft looked like a monstrous praying mantis that had escaped from a Japanese science fiction movie. They watched fascinated as it flew two hundred feet above the river, the huge rotor blades whipping the water into froth from shore to shore.