Trojan Odyssey (Dirk Pitt 17)

The channel was cleared and they were outward bound. A heading was set for Punta Perlas and the Cayos Perlas Islands beyond. The skies were clearing and the stars appeared through the clouds as they picked up a light southerly breeze. Pitt volunteered to take the midnight to three a.m. watch. He manned the pilothouse and let his thoughts wander while the computerized automated controls precisely followed the programmed course. For the first hour, it took all his willpower not to fall asleep.

His mind began to create a vision of Loren Smith. Theirs was an on-again, off-again relationship that had lasted almost twenty years. At least twice they had come within a shadow of marrying, but both were already wed to their jobs: Pitt to NUMA, Loren to Congress. But now that Loren expressed a desire not to run for a fifth term, perhaps it was time for him to retire to a less demanding job that didn't take him to the far reaches of the oceans. He had experienced too many brushes with death that had left scars both physical and mental. Chances were, he was now on borrowed time. His luck couldn't last forever. If he hadn't been suspicious of the woman in the Odyssey truck and struck by a sudden revelation about the explosives, he, his friend Giordino and the others would all be dead now. Maybe it was time to retire. After all, he was a family man now, with two grown children and responsibilities he'd never imagined two years earlier.

The only problem was that he loved the sea, above and below. There was no way he could simply turn his back and give it up. Somewhere there had to be a compromise.

He refocused on the current problem of the brown crud. Still only minor traces of it were on the chemical detection instruments, whose delicate sensors were mounted under the hull. Despite the fact that no ship's lights showed on the horizons, he picked up a pair of binoculars and idly scanned the darkness ahead.

At a comfortable cruising speed of twenty knots, Poco Bonito had left the Cayos Perlas Islands behind over an hour ago. Laying down the glasses and then studying a navigation chart, Pitt estimated that they were about thirty miles off the town of Tasbapauni on the Nicaraguan coast. He glanced at the instruments again. Their needles and digital numbers still stood unwavering on zero, and he began to wonder if they were on a wild-goose chase.

Giordino joined him with a cup of coffee. "Thought you might like a little something to keep you awake."

"Thank you. You're an hour early for your watch."

Giordino shrugged. "I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep."

Pitt gratefully sipped at the coffee. "Al, how come you never got married?"

The dark eyes squinted with curiosity. "Why ask me that now?"

"I've had nothing but time on my brain and it wanders to strange subjects."

"What's the

old line?" Giordino said with a shrug. "I never found the right girl."

"You came close once."

He nodded. "Pat O'Connell. We both had our reservations at the last minute."

"What if I told you I'm thinking about retiring from NUMA and marrying Loren?"

Giordino turned and looked at Pitt as if he'd taken an arrow through one lung. "Say again?"

"I think you get the drift."

"I'll believe that when the morning sun rises in the west."

"Haven't you ever wondered about packing it in and taking it easy?"

"Not really," said Giordino thoughtfully. "I've never entertained any great ambitions. I'm happy at what I do. The husband and father routine never turned me on. Besides, I'm away from home eight months out of the year. What woman would put up with that? No, I guess I'll keep things just as they are until they wheel me into a nursing home."

"I can't picture you expiring in a nursing home."

"The gunslinger Doc Holliday did. His last words were 'I'll be damned' when he looked at his bare feet and realized he wasn't dying with his boots on."

"What do you want on your tombstone?" Pitt asked, not without humor.

" 'It was a great party while it lasted. I trust it will continue elsewhere.' "

"I'll remember when your time comes--"

Suddenly, Pitt went silent as the instrument displays came to life and began detecting traces of chemical pollution in the water.

"Looks like we're picking up something."

Giordino turned for the stairway leading to the crew's cabins. "I'll wake Dodge."

A few minutes later, a yawning Dodge climbed to the pilothouse and began scanning the computer monitors and recordings. Finally, he stood back, seemingly perplexed. "This doesn't look like any man-made pollution I've ever seen."