Shock Wave (Dirk Pitt 13)

"I already have copies."

Pitt was tempted to believe Merchant, but he knew Posey well enough to trust his confidence. He decided Merchant was lying. It was an old Gestapo ploy, to make the victim think the accuser knew all there was to know. "Then why bother to inquire?"

"To find if you are in the habit of inaccurate statements."

"Am I under suspicion for some hideous crime?" asked Pitt.

"My job is to apprehend smugglers of illicit diamonds before they traffic their stones to European and Middle Eastern clearinghouses. Because you came here uninvited, I have to consider your motives."

Pitt observed the reflection of the guard in the windows of a glass cabinet. He was standing slightly behind Pitt, to his right, automatic weapon held across his chest. "Since you know who I am and claim to have bona fide documentation for my purpose for coming to the Queen Charlotte Islands, you cannot seriously believe that I'm a diamond smuggler." Pitt rose to his feet. "I've enjoyed the conversation, but I see no reason to hang around."

"I regret that you must be detained temporarily," Merchant said, brisk and businesslike.

"You have no authority."

"Because you are a trespasser on private property under false pretenses, I have every right to make a citizen's arrest."

Not good, Pitt thought. If Merchant dug deeper and connected him to the Dorsett sisters and the Polar Queen, then no lies, no matter how creative, could explain his presence here. "What about Stokes? Since you claim you know he's a Mountie, why not turn me over to him?"

"I prefer turning you over to his superiors," Merchant said almost cheerfully, "but not before I can investigate this matter more thoroughly."

Pitt didn't doubt now that he would not be allowed off the mining property alive. "Is Stokes free to leave?"

"The minute he finishes his unnecessary repairs to the aircraft. I enjoy observing his primitive attempts at surveillance."

"It goes without saying that he'll report my seizure."

"A foregone conclusion," said Merchant dryly.

Outside the hangar came the popping sound of an aircraft engine firing up. Stokes was being forced to take off without his passenger. If he was going to act, Pitt figured that he had less than thirty seconds. He noted an ashtray on the desk with several cigarette butts and assumed Merchant smoked. He threw up his hands in a gesture of defeat.

"If I'm to be detained against my wishes, do you mind if I have a cigarette?"

"Not at all," said Merchant, pushing the ashtray across the desk. "I may even join you."

Pitt had stopped smoking years before, but he made a slow movement as if to reach in the open breast pocket of his shirt. He doubled up his right hand into a fist and clasped it with his left. Then in a lightning move, pulling with one arm and pushing with the other for extra strength, he jammed his right elbow into the security guard's stomach. There came an explosive gasp of agony as the guard doubled over.

Merchant's reaction time was admirable. He pulled a small nine-millimeter automatic from a belt holster and unsnapped the safety in one well-practiced motion. But before the muzzle of the gun could clear the desktop, he found himself staring down the barrel of the guard's automatic rifle, now cradled in Pitt's steady hands, lined up on Merchant's nose. The security chief felt as though he were staring through a tunnel with no light at the other end.

Slowly, he placed his pistol on the desk. "This will do you no good," he said acidly.

Pitt grabbed the automatic and dropped it in his coat pocket. "Sorry I can't stay for dinner, but I don't wa

nt to lose my ride."

Then he was through the door and sprinting across the hangar floor. He threw the rifle in a trash receptacle, cleared the door and slowed to a jog as he passed through the ring of guards. They stared at him suspiciously, but assumed their boss had allowed Pitt to leave. They made no move to stop him as Stokes opened the throttle and the floatplane began moving down the runway. Pitt leaped onto a float, yanked open the door against the wash from the propeller and threw himself inside the cargo bay.

Stokes looked dumbfounded as Pitt slipped into the copilot's seat. "Good Lord! Where did you come from?"

"The traffic was heavy on the way to the airport," Pitt said, catching his breath.

"They forced me to take off without you."

"What happened to your undercover agent?"

"He didn't show. Security around the plane was too tight."

"You won't be happy to learn that Dorsett's security chief, a nasty little jerk called John Merchant, has you pegged as a snooping Mountie from the CID."