In death, if not in life, Sir Franklin had finally sailed the Northwest Passage.
94
PITT STARED OUT HIS OFFICE WINDOW AT THE POTOMAC River far below, his mind drifting aimlessly like the river’s current.
Since returning from the Arctic, he had been out of sorts, carrying a mild angst mixed with disappointment. Part of it was his injuries, he knew. His leg and arm wounds were healing well, and the doctors said he would make a full recovery. Though the pain was mostly absent, he still hated the loss of mobility. He had long since abandoned the crutch but still required the use of a cane at times. Giordino had lightened the need by providing a walking stick that contained a hidden vial of tequila inside. Loren had stepped up as well, performing her best Florence Nightingale routine by nursing him at every opportunity. But something still held him back.
It was the failure, he knew. He just wasn’t used to it. The quest for the ruthenium had momentous importance, yet he had come up dry. He felt like he had let down not only Lisa Lane but also every person on the planet. It wasn’t his fault, of course. He’d followed the clues as he found them, and would have done nothing differently. Crack geologists throughout the government were already on the hunt for new sources of ruthenium, but the near-term prospects were grim. The mineral just didn’t exist in quantity, and there was nothing he could do about it.
His instincts had been wrong for a change and it gave him doubts. Maybe he’d been at the game too long. Maybe it was time for a younger generation to take the reins. Perhaps he should go back to Hawaii with Loren and spend his days spearfishing.
He tried to conceal his melancholy when a knock came to the door and he called for the visitor to enter.
The door blew open and Giordino, Gunn, and Dahlgren came marching into his office like they owned it. Each man had a suppressed grin on his face, and Pitt noticed they were all hiding something behind their backs.
“Well, if it isn’t the three wise men. Or wise guys, in this case,” Pitt said.
“Do you have a minute?” Gunn asked. “There’s something we’d like to share with you.”
“My time is yours,” Pitt said, hobbling over to his desk and taking a seat. Eyeing the men suspiciously, he asked, “What is it that you are all trying to conceal?”
Dahlgren waved a short stack of plastic cups that he was carrying.
“Just thought we’d have a little drink,” he explained.
Giordino pulled out a bottle of champagne that he was hiding behind his stubby arms.
“I’m a bit thirsty myself,” he added.
“Hasn’t anyone told you about the rules regarding alcohol in a federal building?” Pitt admonished.
“I seem to have misplaced those,” Giordino replied. “Jack, do you know anything about that?”
Dahlgren attempted to look dumb and shook his head.
“All right, what is this all about?” Pitt asked, losing patience with the antics.
“It’s really Jack’s doing,” Gunn said. “He sort of saved the day.”
“You mean, he saved your rear,” Giordino said, grinning at Gunn. He slipped the foil off the neck of the champagne bottle and popped the top. Grabbing Dahlgren’s cups, he poured everyone a glass.
“It came down to the rock,” Gunn tried to explain.
“The rock . . .” Pitt repeated with growing suspicion.
“One of the samples from the thermal vent that we located off Alaska,” Giordino interjected, “just before the Canadian ice camp business. We put all of the rock samples in a bag that Rudi was supposed to bring here to headquarters for analysis. But he left the bag on the Narwhal when he departed Tuktoyaktuk.”
“I remember that bag,” Pitt replied. “Almost tripped over it every time I stepped onto the bridge.”
“You and me both,” Dahlgren muttered.
“Wasn’t it still on the bridge?” Pitt asked.
“Was and is,” Giordino said. “It’s still sitting with the Narwhal at the bottom of Victoria Strait.”
“That still doesn’t explain the champagne.”
“Well, it seems our good buddy Jack found a rock in his pocket when he got home,” Gunn said.