Iceberg (Dirk Pitt 3)

He lay quietly, barely breathing, listening for a sound through the dense gray blanket. At first he could hear only the water lapping around his body. Then his ears picked up a faint gravelly voice . . . a voice singing a flat version of "My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean." Pitt cupped his ears, amplifying the sound, determining the direction.

He struck out with an easy energy-saving breast stroke fifty feet and then stopped. The offkey signaling had increased in volume. Five minutes later he touched the seaworn hull of The Grimsi and pulled himself on board.

"Have a nice swim?" Sandecker asked conversationally.

"Hardly enjoyable and barely profitible." Pitt unzipped the wet suit top, revealing a dense mat of black chest hair. He grinned at the admiral. "Funny thing. I could swear I heard a fog horn."

"That was no fog horn. That was a former baritone of the Annapolis Glee Club, class of '39."

"You were never in better voice, Admiral." Pitt looked Sandecker in the eye. "Thanks."

Sandecker smiled. "Don't thank me, thank Tidi. She had to sit through ten choruses.

"

She materialized out of the mist and hugged him.

"Thank God you're safe." She clung to him, the dampness trickling down her face, her hair falling in matted tendrils.

"It's nice to know I've been missed."

She stood back. "Missed? That's putting it mildly. Admiral Sandecker and I were beginning to come unglued."

"Speak for yourself, Miss Royal," Sandecker said sternly.

"You didn't fool me for a second, Admiral. You were worried."

"Concerned is the word," Sandecker corrected. "I take it as a personal insult when any of my men get themselves killed." He turned his gaze to Pitt. "Did you find anything of value?"

"Two bodies and little else. Somebody went to a hell of a lot of work to remove the plane's identification. Every serial number on every piece of equipment had been removed before the crash. The only markings were two letters scratched on the nose gear's hydraulic cylinder." He gratefully accepted a towel from Tidi.

"The boxes I sent up. Did you retrieve them?"

"It wasn't easy," Sandecker said. "They broke surface about forty feet away. Twenty tries later-I haven't cast with a pole in ears-I managed to reel them in."

"You opened them?" Pitt probed.

"Yes. They're miniature models of buildings . . . like dollhouses."

Pitt straightened. "Dollhouses? You mean threedimensional architectural exhibits?"

"Call them what you want." Sandecker paused to flip a cigar stub overboard. "Damned fine craftsmanship. The detab on each structure is amazing. They even break away by floors so you can study the interior."

"Let's take a look."

"We carried them to the galley," Sandecker said.

"It's as good a place as any to get you into some dry clothes and a cup of hot coffee into your stomach."

Tidi had already changed back into her own blouse and slacks. She demurely turned her back as Pitt finished stripping off the wet suit before he donned his colorful mod outfit.

He smiled while she busied herself over the galley stove. "Did you keep them warm for me?" he asked.

"Your gay threads?" She turned and stared at him, her face showing the beginning signs of a blush. "Are you kidding?

You're at least eight inches taller, and you outweigh me by nearly sixty pounds. I literally swam in the damn things. It was as if I was wearing a tent. The cold air swept up my legs and out my neck and arms like a hurricane."

"I sincerely hope it didn't cause any critical damage to your vital parts."