Vixen 03 (Dirk Pitt 5)

"Giordino!" Steiger rasped.

Sandecker punched the "transmit" button. "Al, where are you calling from?"

"About a half mile back and two hundred feet below you."

Sandecker and Steiger exchanged stunned looks.

"You're supposed to be in the hospital," Sandecker said dumbly.'

"Pitt arranged my parole."

"Where is Pitt?" Steiger demanded.

"Looking up your ass, Abe," Pitt replied. "I'm at the controls of Giordino's Catlin M-two hundred."

"You're late," said Steiger.

"Sorry, these things take time. How's your fuel?"

"Sopping the bottom of the tank," answered Steiger. "I might squeeze another eighteen or twenty minutes if I'm lucky."

"A Norwegian cruise liner is standing by sixty miles, bearing two-seven-zero degrees. Her captain has cleared all passengers from the sun deck for your arrival. You should make it-"

"Are you crazy?" Steiger cut in. "Cruise ship, sun deck-what are you ranting about?"

Pitt continued quite unruffled. "As soon as we cut away the projectile, head for the cruise ship. You can't miss her."

"How I'll envy you guys," said Giordino. "Sitting around the poolside deck, sipping mai tais."

"Sipping mai tais!" repeated an awed Steiger. "My God, they're both crazy!"

Pitt turned to Giordino, ensconced in the copilot's seat, and nodded toward the plaster cast covering one leg. "You sure you can work the controls wearing that thing?"

"The only function it won't let me perform," said Giordino, giving the cast a light thump, "is scratching an itch from within."

"It's yours, then."

95

Pitt lifted his hands from the control column, climbed out of the seat, and moved back into the Catlin's cargo section. Intense cold whistled in from the open hatch. A light-skinned man with Nordic features and dressed in multicolored skiing togs was huddled over a long black rectangular object that was mounted on a heavy-legged tripod. Dr. Paul Weir was clearly not cut out to scramble around drafty airplanes in the dead of winter.

"We're in position," Pitt said.

"Almost ready," Weir replied through lips that were turning blue. "I'm hooking up the cooling tubes. If we don't have water circulating around the head and power supply, the unit will barbecue its anatomy."

"Somehow I expected a more exotic piece of equipment," said Pitt.

"Large-frame argon lasers are not spawned for science-fiction movies, Mr. Pitt." Dr. Weir went on talking as he made a final check of the wiring connector. "They are designed to emit a coherent beam of light for any number of practical applications."

"Has it the punch to do the job?"

Weir shrugged. "Eighteen watts concentrated in a tiny beam that releases a mere two kilowatts of energy doesn't sound like much, but I promise you it's ample."

"How close do you want us to the projectile?"

"The beam divergence makes it necessary to be as near as possible. Less than fifty feet."

Pitt pressed his mike button. "Al?"