Poseidon's Arrow (Dirk Pitt 22)

Zhou stared at Pitt, his face an empty slate. The Americans had always been considered an unspoken enemy. But he found admiration for this man, having observed the better part of his escape on his hidden video cameras. Though he had seen labor camps in China, he was repulsed by Bolcke’s hidden slave operation.

“Twenty-two hours from now,” he said.

“And the captives?”

Zhou shrugged, then casually aimed his assault rifle at Pitt.

“It is time to go. You travel west, as I am going east.” He pointed into the jungle. “Do not follow me.”

Pitt looked past the expressionless face into Zhou’s black eyes, where a hidden intelligence and compassion were barely revealed.

“Thank you,” Pitt said.

Zhou nodded and turned, disappearing into the bush.

60

YAEGER WAS STILL PARKED IN FRONT OF HIS mammoth video display when Gunn popped by for an update. In contrast to Yaeger’s casual attire, the NUMA Deputy Director was wearing a sport coat and tie.

“What’s up with the fine threads?” Yaeger asked.

“I got called over to a meeting with the Vice President. He’ll want to know the latest on the search for Pitt and Giordino.”

Yaeger shook his head. “Search-and-rescue ops continue to come up empty. The Navy has in fact informed us they will be calling off their search efforts at the end of the day.”

“Anything more on the Adelaide?”

“Nothing concrete. Our formal requests to INTERPOL and every Coast Guard organization between Alaska and Chile have produced nothing.”

“If she’s afloat, someone has to have seen her,” Gunn said. “Have Dirk and Summer arrived in Panama?”

“They were rushing to catch a red-eye to Panama City.” He glanced at the video board, whose numerous displays included a digital clock in the lower corner. “Presuming they made their flight, they should be landing about now.”

Gunn had followed Yaeger’s gaze to the screen and noticed an e-mail notice with Pitt’s name on it. “Mind if I ask what that is?”

“Not at all. In fact, I was just going to ask if it made any sense to you. It’s an e-mail that was sent to the NUMA website a few days ago. One of the girls in public relations forwarded it to me when she didn’t know how to respond. Probably somebody’s four-year-old playing on a keyboard.”

He enlarged the e-mail until its brief message was clearly displayed:

To Pitt. Abduc wsearr haytk lexkyann

“Looks like gibberish,” Gunn said, “except for the last word. Must have been penned by someone named Ann from Lexington, Kentucky.”

“That’s all I made out of it.”

&nbs

p; “I’d stick to your four-year-old theory.” He patted Yaeger on the shoulder. “Give me a shout if anything new on the ship comes in.”

“Will do. Give my regards to the admiral.”

Gunn took the Metro to downtown Washington, exiting at the Farragut West Station and walking the three blocks to Sandecker’s office in the Eisenhower Building. The Vice President welcomed him to a meeting table built from old ship timbers, where he introduced him to the DARPA security director, Dan Fowler, and a female FBI division director named Elizabeth Meyers.

Sandecker could see by Gunn’s weary face that Pitt’s disappearance weighed heavily on him. “What’s the latest on Pitt and Giordino?”

“Search-and-rescue teams still haven’t found a thing. The Navy’s calling off their efforts today.” He looked at Sandecker and waited for him to react.

He wasn’t disappointed. The Vice President’s face turned red, and he marched to his desk and buzzed his secretary. “Martha. Get me the Chief of Naval Operations on the line.”