Night Probe! (Dirk Pitt 6)

"There's nothing in there but a piece of paper," said Pitt, maddened to the core.

The tourists began to gather around them, clicking their cameras, curious to see what the disturbance was about.

"We better get him out of here," said the Mountie, who snatched the travel bag.

Pitt had never felt such despair. "For God's sake, listen to me-"

He was in the process of being none too gently jerked away when a man in a conservative blue suit shouldered past the crowd. He gazed briefly at Pitt and turned to the Mountie.

"Having a problem, constable?" he asked, displaying a U.S. Secret Service ID. "Some radical trying to break into the Senate chamber-" Pitt suddenly broke loose and lurched forward. "If you're Secret Service, help me." He was yelling now but didn't realize it.

"Take it easy, pal," blue suit said, his hand snapping to the holstered gun under his armpit.

"I have an important document for the President. My name is Pitt. He's expecting me You've got to get me through to him."

The Mounties pounced on Pitt again, this time with fire in their eyes. The Secret Service agent held up a restraining hand.

"Hold on!" He stared at Pitt skeptically. "I couldn't take you to the President even if I wanted to."

"Then get me to Harrison Moon," Pitt snarled, getting fed up with the absurdity of it all.

"Does Moon know you?"

"You better believe it."

Mercier, Oates and Moon were sitting in the anteroom of the Senate, watching the President on a television monitor, when the door burst open and a horde of Secret Service men, Mounties and building guards, dragging Pitt with at least a half-dozen set of hands, flooded into the room like a tidal wave. "Call off the hounds," Pitt shouted. "I've got it!"

Mercier spun to his feet, open-mouthed. He was too stunned to react immediately. "Who is this man?"

Oates demanded.

"My God, it's Pitt!" Moon managed to blurt.

His arms pinned, an eye swelling from a sneak punch, Pitt nodded toward the battered old travel bag held by the Mountie. "The treaty copy is in there."

While Mercier vouched for Pitt and swept the security people from the room, Oates studied the contents of the treaty.

Finally he looked up hesitantly. "Is it real? I mean, there's no chance of a forgery?"

Pitt collapsed in a chair, tenderly probing the growing mouse under his eye, the long mission seemingly finished. "Rest easy, Mr. Secretary, you're holding the genuine article."

Mercier turned from closing the door and quickly thumbed through a copy of the President's speech.

"He's about two minutes away from his closing statement."

"We better get this to him, fast," said Moon.

Mercier looked down at the exhausted man in the chair. "I think Mr. Pitt should have that honor. He represents the men who died for it."

Pitt abruptly sat up. "Me? I can't go in front of a hundred million viewers watching the Canadian Parliament and interrupt a presidential address. Not looking like a masquerade party drunk."

"You won't have to," said Mercier, smiling. "I'll interrupt the President myself and ask him to step to the anteroom. You take it from there."

In the deep red setting of the Senate chamber, the leaders of the Canadian government sat stunned at the President of the United States' invitation to begin negotiations for merging the two nations. It was the first any of them had heard of it. Only Sarveux sat unperturbed, his face calm and unreadable.

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A wave of mutterings coursed through the chamber as the President's national security adviser stepped to the lectern and whispered in his ear. An interruption of a major address was a break in custom and was not to be taken without a minor fuss.