The Mediterranean Caper (Dirk Pitt 2)

“That will do. You must be his son, the person you claim to be. But what are you doing on Thasos?”

“NUMA’s Chief Director, Admiral James Sandecker, assigned Giordino and myself to investigate a series of strange accidents that have recently plagued one of our oceanographic research vessels.’

“Ah yes, the white ship anchored beyond Brady Field. Now I’m beginning to understand.”

“That’s nice,” Giordino said sarcastically from his uncomfortable stance. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but if my bladder isn’t relieved soon, you’re going to have an accident right here on the office floor.”

Pitt grinned at Zacynthus. “He’d do it too.”

A speculative look crossed Zacynthus’ eyes, then he shrugged and pressed a hidden button under the desk top. Instantly the door flew open,, revealing Zeno with the Glisenti firmly gripped in one hand.

“Trouble, my Inspector?”

Zacynthus ignored the question. ‘Put away your gun, remove the handcuffs and show—ah—Mister Giordino to our sanitation facilities.”

Zeno’s eyebrows lifted. “Are you certain—”

“It’s all right, old friend. These men are no longer our prisoners, they are our guests.’”

Without another word or any outward sign of surprise, Zeno holstered the automatic and released Giordino, escorting him down the hall.

“Now it’s my turn for answers,” Pitt said, exhaling a transparent cloud of bluish smoke. “What’s your connection with my father?”

“Senator Pitt is well known and respected in Washington. He serves honorably and efficiently on several senate committees. One of which is the Narcotic Drugs Committee.”

“That still doesn’t explain where you come in.”

Zacynthus pulled a well-worn tobacco pouch from a coat pocket and idly filled his pipe, carefully tamping it with a small coin.

“Because of my lengthy experience and my investigations in the field of narcotics I have often served as liaison between your father’s committee and my employer.”

Pitt looked up puzzled. “Employer?”

“Yes, Uncle Sam pays my salary just as he does yours, my dear Pitt.” Zacynthus grinned. “My apologies for the late formal introduction. I’m Inspector Hercules Zacynthus, Federal Bureau of Narcotics. My friends just call me Zac, I’d be honored if you do the same.”

All doubts flew from Pitt’s mind and the relief of certainty covered him like a comforting cool wave from the sea. His muscles relaxed, and he became aware of how tense he had been, how keyed-up his thoughts and nerves were against the unknown dangers of the situation. Carefully, holding back an urge to tremble, ho crushed his cigarette in an ashtray.

“Aren’t you a little out of your territory?”

“Geographically yes, professionally no.” Zac paused to puff his pipe into life. “About a month ago the Bureau received a report through INTERPOL that a massive shipment of heroin was loaded aboard a freighter in Shanghai. . .“

“One of Bruno von Till’s ships?”

“How did you know?” Zac’s voice was quizzical.

A wry smile crossed Pitt’s lips. “Just a guess. I’m sorry for interrupting, please continue.”

“The ship, a Minerva Lines freighter called the Queen Artemisia, left the Shanghai harbor three weeks ago with a seemingly innocent cargo manifest of soybeans, frozen pork, tea, paper and carpets.” Zac could not help grinning. “Quite a variety, I admit.”

“And the destination?”

“The first port of call was Colombo in Ceylon. Here the ship unloaded the Communist Chinese trade goods and took on a new cargo of grapbite and cocoa.

After a fuel stop at Marseille, the Queen Artemisia’s next and final port is Chicago via the Saint Lawrence Seaway.”

Pitt thought a moment. "Why Chicago? Surely New York, Boston or the other eastern seaboard ports are better equipped by the underworld to handle foreign drug shipments.”

“Why not Chicago?” Zac retorted. “The Windy City is the greatest distribution and transportation center in the good old United States. What better place to dump one hundred and thirty tons of uncut heroin.”