Vixen 03 (Dirk Pitt 5)

"Hiram is counting on worldwide popular support and economic sanctions to strangle the white ruling class into submission."

Daggat rested his chin on his huge hands. "Is he a communist?"

Felicia tilted her head back and laughed. "Hell, Hiram made his fortune as a capitalist. He's too ingrained with making money to embrace the reds."

"Then how do you explain his Vietnamese advisers and the free supplies from China?"

"The old P. T. Barnum sucker routine. The Vietnamese are so revolution happy they'd air-freight guerrilla-warfare specialists into the Florida swamps if someone sent them an invitation. As for Chinese generosity, after getting booted out of eight different African nations in as many years, they'll kiss anybody's ass to keep a toehold on the continent."

"He could be miring himself in quicksand without realizing it."

"You underestimate Hiram," said Felicia. "He'll send the Asians packing the minute they've outlived their usefulness to the AAR."

"Easier said than done."

"He knows what he's doing. Take my word for it. Hiram Lusana will be sitting in the Prime Minister's office in Cape Town nine months from now."

"He has a schedule?" Daggat asked incredulously.

"To the day."

Slowly Daggat picked up the papers on the desk and shuffled them neatly into a stack.

"Pack your things."

Felicia's neatly plucked brows raised. "We're leaving Nairobi?"

"We're flying to Washington."

She was taken aback by his sudden air of authority. "Why should I return stateside with you?"

"You have nothing better to do. Besides, arriving home on the arm of a respected congressman after shacking for a year with a known radical revolutionary might go a long way in restoring your image in the eyes of your fans."

Outwardly Felicia pouted. But Daggat's logic made sense. Her record sales had fallen off and calls from producers had taken a noticeable downward turn. It was time, she quickly deduced, to put her career back on its track.

"I'll be ready in half an hour," she said.

Daggat nodded and smiled. An edge of excitement began tp form inside him. If, as Felicia indicated, Lusana was the odds-on favorite to become South Africa's first black leader, Daggat, by championing a winning cause on Capitol Hill, could assure himself of immense congressional stature and voter respect. It was worth the gamble. And if he was careful, and chose his words and programs cleverly, he might . . . just might. . . stand a shot at the vice-presidency, the major stepping-stone to his ultimate goal.

24

Lusana brought his hand up to eye level and then snapped the rod forward with a deft wrist action. The small wad of cheese clung to the hook, plopped daintily into the river, and then sank out of sight. The fish were there. Lusana's instincts began to vibrate in anticipation. He stood thigh deep amid the shadows of the trees leaning over the bank and slowly reeled in the line.

On his eighth cast he had a strike, a hard, splashing strike that nearly tore the rod from his relaxed grip. He had hooked a tiger fish, an Old World relative of the ferocious piranha of the South American Amazon. He gave the fish its head and eased out more line. He had little choice; the rod was nearly bent double. Then, abruptly, before the battle had a chance to warm up, the tiger fish circled a sunken tree stump, broke the line, and escaped.

"I did not think it possible that anyone could entice a tiger fish with a bit of cheese," said Colonel Jumana. He was sitting on the ground, his back resting against a tree. He held the envelope containing the brief outline of Operation Wild Rose in his hand.

"The bait is irrelevant if the prey is hungry," said Lusana. He waded back to shore and began tying a new leader to his line.

Jumana rolled on his side and scanned the landscape to see if Lusana's security guards were properly stationed and alert. It was a wasted gesture. No soldiers served with greater fervor and loyalty. They were lean and hard, picked by Lusana personally, not so much for their fearlessness and rugged physiques as for their intelligence. They stood poised in the underbrush, their weapons held in determined, steady hands.

Lusana turned to resume his casting. "What do you make of it?" he asked.

Jumana stared at the envelope and twisted his face in a skeptical expression.

"A rip-off. A two-million-dollar rip-off."

"You don't buy it, then?"