Vixen 03 (Dirk Pitt 5)

Loren flashed a provocative expression at him. "Would you like to open my apartment door for me? The lock always seems to stick."

He smiled. "How can I refuse?"

They got out of the car and strolled through the garden entrance in silence. The sidewalk was wet and reflected the glow from the streetlights. Loren nestled against his body as the cold drizzle attacked their hair and clothes. The doorman greeted them and held the elevator open. At her door she fished in her purse and handed Sawyer the key. He turned the lock and they entered.

"Fix yourself a drink," she said, shaking out her damp hair. "I'll be back in a minute."

Loren slipped into the bedroom and Sawyer went over to a small portable bar and poured himself a cognac. He was on his second when Loren came back into the room. She was wearing pajamas with a silvery-gray wrap top and pants that were lace edged. As she came through the doorway, the light from the bedroom silhouetted her lithe figure through the vaporous nylon. The combination of the pajamas, her cinnamon hair, and her violet eyes suddenly made Sawyer feel like a confused adolescent.

"You look ravishing," he managed to say.

"Thank you." She poured a Galliano for herself and sat down next to him on the couch. "It was a lovely dinner, Phil."

"My pleasure."

She moved closer and lightly caressed his hand. "You seem different tonight. I've never known you to be so relaxed. Not once did you mention the President."

"Six weeks and three days from now the new President-elect takes the oath and my eight-year battle with the gentlemen and ladies of the news media comes to an end. God, I never thought I would feel good about being part of a lame-duck administration."

"What are your plans after the inauguration?"

"My boss has the right idea. As soon as he turns over the reins of office, he's sailing a forty-foot ketch to the South Pacific, where he says he's going to drink and screw himself to death." Sawyer lowered his glass and stared into Loren's eyes. "Now, me, I prefer the Caribbean, particularly for a honeymoon."

An edge of anticipation began to form inside Loren. "Anyone special in mind?"

Sawyer set down their glasses and took Loren's hands in his. "Congresswoman Smith," he said with mock seriousness. "I respectfully implore you to cast your vote in favor of marriage to Phil Sawyer."

Loren's eyes grew somber and thoughtful. Though she'd been sure this moment would eventually come, she was still uncertain of her answer. Sawyer misread Loren's hesitancy.

"I know what's going through your mind," he said gently. "You're wondering what life would be like with an unemployed presidential press secretary, right? Well, rest your fears. I have it on good authority the party leaders want me to run for senator from my home state in the next election."

"In that case," she said resolutely, "the ayes have it."

Sawyer did not see the uneasiness in Loren's eyes. He took her head in his hands and gently kissed her on the lips. The room seemed to blur and the female scent that emanated from her body closed over him. He felt strangely at peace as he buried his face in her breasts.

Afterward, when Sawyer lay spent and asleep, Loren's tears stained the pillow. She had tried desperately, with all her soul. She had loved hard; even forcing the expected animal sounds from her throat. But nothing worked. Throughout their violent lovemaking she found herself comparing Sawyer to Pitt. There was no way of logically explaining the difference. They both felt the same inside her, and yet Pitt turned her into a savage, demanding animal, whereas Sawyer left her empty and unfulfilled.

She pressed the pillow against her face to muffle the sobs. Damn you, Dirk Pitt, she said silently. Damn you to hell!

"I'm not sure whose story comes off the craziest, Pitt said, "yours or mine."

Jarvis shrugged. "Who can say. The horror is that it's just possible your Quick Death warheads and my Operation Wild Rose might prove a match."

"An attack on a major coastal city with a battleship by South African blacks posing as terrorists of the AAR. It's lunacy."

"Wrong," said Jarvis. "The plan smacks of genius. A few bombs placed here or there, or another skyjacking, would hardly move an entire nation to see red. But an old battleship with flags flying, raining explosives on a helpless population, that's sensationalism at its best."

"What city?"

"None was specified. That part of the plan remains a mystery."

"Fortunately, the prime ingredient is missing."

"A battleship," Jarvis said.

"You said they've all been removed from active status."

&nb