“Volume production of hydrogen hasn’t been perfected yet,” testified one expert. “Even if every man, woman, and child in the country had a hydrogen fuel cell car, there wouldn’t be enough hydrogen available to power a fraction of them.”
“How far off are we?” asked a representative from Missouri.
“Probably ten years,” the witness replied. A ripple of murmurs quickly spread across the gallery. The story was the same from each spokesperson. Advances in technology and product improvements were hitting the marketplace, but the progress was being made in baby steps, not leaps and bounds. There was no imminent breakthrough that would satisfy the President’s mandate and save the country, and the world, from the physical and economic devastation of accelerated global warming.
The final speaker was a short bespectacled man who headed up the GWU Environmental Research and Technology Lab in suburban Maryland. Loren leaned forward and smiled as she recognized Lisa Lane taking a seat next to Dr. Horace Maxwell. After the lab director made a preliminary statement, Loren jumped in with the initial questioning.
“Dr. Maxwell, your lab is at the forefront of alternate fuels research. Can you tell us what technological advances we might expect from your work in the near term?”
Maxwell nodded before speaking in a henlike voice. “We have several outstanding research programs in solar energy, biofuels, and hydrogen synthesis. But in answer to your question, I’m afraid we have no imminent product development that will satisfy the President’s tough new mandate.”
Loren noticed Lisa bite her lip at Maxwell’s last remark. The rest of the House panel took over and grilled Maxwell for another hour, but it was clear there was to be no noteworthy revelation. The President had gone out on a limb to challenge the brightest minds of industry and academia to solve the energy problem, but he was clearly striking out.
As the hearing was adjourned and the reporters rushed out of the chamber to file their stories, Loren stepped down and thanked Dr. Maxwell for his testimony, then greeted Lisa.
“Hi, roomie.” She smiled, giving a hug to her old college roommate. “I thought you were still at Brookhaven National Laboratory in New York.”
“No, I left a few months ago to join Dr. Maxwell’s program. He had more funds for blue sky research.” She grinned. “I’ve been meaning to call you since I moved back to Washington, but I’ve just been swamped.”
“I can sympathize. With the President’s speech, the work at your lab has suddenly become very important.”
Lisa’s face turned solemn, and she moved closer to Loren. “I really would like to talk to you about my own research,” she said in a low voice.
“Would dinner tonight work? My husband is picking me up in half an hour. We’d love to have you join us.”
Lisa thought for a moment. “I’d like that. Let me tell Dr. Maxwell that I’ll make my own way home tonight. Your husband won’t mind driving?”
Loren laughed. “Taking a pretty girl for a ride is one of his favorite pastimes.”
LOREN AND LISA STOOD on the north steps of the Rayburn Building as a string of limos and Mercedes sedans rolled through the dignitary lane, picking up the wealthier members of Congress and their ever-hovering lobbyists. Lisa was distracted by the appearance of the House Majority Leader and almost missed seeing a rakish antique convertible come barreling to the curb, nearly creasing her thigh with its high-turned fender. She stared wide-eyed as a rugged-looking man with ebony hair and sparkling green eyes hopped out of the car and grabbed Loren in a tight embrace, then kissed her passionately.
“Lisa,” Loren said, pushing the man away with a tinge of embarrassment, “this is my husband, Dirk Pitt.”
Pitt saw the look of surprise in Lisa’s eyes and smiled warmly as he shook her hand. “Don’t worry,” he laughed, “I only maul pretty women if they’re members of Congress.”
Lisa felt herself blush slightly. She saw an adventuresome glow in his eyes, tempered by a warm soul.
“I invited Lisa to join us for dinner,” Loren explained.
“Glad for you to come. I just hope you don’t mind a little wind,” Pitt said, nodding toward the car.
“That’s some set of wheels,” Lisa stammered. “What is it?”
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“A 1932 Auburn Speedster. I just finished rebuilding the brakes last night and thought it would be fun to take her out.”
Lisa gazed at the sleek car, painted in dual shades of cream and blue. The open cockpit offered cramped seating for two, and there was no backseat. Instead, the bodywork behind the driver’s compartment flared to a triangular point at the rear bumper, in the classic boattail shape.
“I don’t think there’s room for all of us,” she lamented.
“There is if somebody doesn’t mind riding in back,” Pitt replied. He walked over and pushed down on the flush topside surface of the boattail. A hideaway seat folded back, revealing a one-passenger compartment.
“Oh my, I’ve always wanted to ride in a rumble seat,” Lisa said. Without hesitation, she climbed onto a foot bracket and hopped into the compartment.
“My grandfather used to tell me how he rode in the rumble seat of his father’s Packard during the Depression,” she explained.
“No better way to see the world,” Pitt joked, winking at her before helping Loren into the front seat.