Flood Tide (Dirk Pitt 14)

cently.

"Anyone who does doesn't suffer from glaucoma or cataracts," Giordino said wearily.

A collector of old classic cars, Pitt appreciated the fine workmanship of the Rolls. "Chairman of the Board Cabrillo is an amazing man."

"The best scrounger in the business," said Seng as he braked to a stop beside the main guard gate in front of the Qin Shang Maritime Limited shipyard. "He made a deal with the concierge of Hong Kong's finest five star hotel. They use the limo to pick up and deliver celebrity guests to the airport."

The late-afternoon sun was still perched above the horizon when two guards came out of the security shack to stare at the 1955 Rolls-Royce Silver Dawn with Hooper coachwork. The elegant body lines exemplified the classic "razor edge" saloon style that was popular with British coach-built cars in the 1950s. The front fenders gracefully swooped downward across the four doors to the skirted fenders at the rear, matching the sloping rear roof and trunk known as the "French curve" that was copied by Cadillac in the early eighties.

Seng flashed the identification he'd taken from the captain of the security boat. Though the two men could have passed for cousins, he did not allow the guards to study the photo on the ID card too closely. "Han Wan-Tzu, captain of the dockside security," he announced in Chinese.

One of the guards leaned in the rear window and peered at the two passengers in the rear seat who were wearing conservative blue pinstripe business suits. His eyes slightly narrowed. "Who is with you?"

"Their names are Karl Mahler and Erich Grosse. They are respected marine engineers with the German shipbuilding firm of Voss and Hei-bert, here to inspect and consult on the turbine engines of the great ocean liner."

"I don't see them on the security list," said the guard, checking names on a clipboard.

"These gentlemen are here at the personal request of Qin Shang. If you have a problem with that, you can call him. Would you like his direct and personal number?"

"No, no," the guard stammered. "Since you accompany them, their entry must have been cleared."

"Contact no one," Seng ordered. "The services of these men are required immediately and their presence here is a closely guarded secret. Do you understand?"

The guard nodded fervently, backed away from the car, lifted the barrier and waved them through onto a road leading to the dock area. Seng steered the luxurious old car past several warehouses and parts depots and under tall gantries arched over the skeletons of ships under construction. He had little problem finding the United States. Her funnels towered over nearby terminal buildings. The Rolls came to a silent halt at one of the many gangways that led up and into the hull of the ship. The ship appeared strangely lifeless. There were no crewmen, shipyard workers or security guards anywhere to be seen. The gangways were deserted and unguarded.

"Odd," muttered Pitt. "All her lifeboats have been removed."

Giordino looked up at the wisps of light smoke trailing from the funnels. "If I didn't know better, I'd say she's getting ready to sail."

"She can't take passengers without carrying boats."

"The plot thickens," said Giordino, looking up at the silent ship.

Pitt nodded in agreement. "Nothing is what we were led to expect."

Seng came around and opened the rear door. "This is as far as I go. You guys are on your own. Good luck. I'll come back in thirty minutes."

"Thirty minutes," Giordino complained. "You've got to be kidding."

"A half an hour is not nearly enough time to inspect the interior of an ocean liner the size of a small city," protested Pitt.

"The best I can do. Chairman Cabrillo's orders. The sooner we abscond, the less chance we all have of being discovered as fakes. Besides, it'll be dark soon."

Pitt and Giordino stepped from the car and walked up a gangway leading through a pair of open doors and inside the ship. They entered what was once the purser's reception area. It seemed curiously bare of all furnishings and signs of life.

"Did I forget to mention," said Giordino, "that I can't speak with a German accent?"

Pitt looked at him. "You're Italian, aren't you?"

"My grandparents were, but what has that got to do with anything?"

"If you're confronted, talk with your hands. Nobody will know the difference."

"And you? How do you intend to pass as a kraut?"

Pitt shrugged. "I'll just say 'Ja' to anything I'm asked."

"We don't have much time. More territory can be covered if we split up."