Vixen 03 (Dirk Pitt 5)

"Always hated the sport."

"Don't you want the Jeep?"

"The nature hike was your idea, remember?" he yelled over his shoulder.

Loren watched until Pitt disappeared through a clump of lodgepole pines before she shook her head at the incomprehensible whims of men and ran back inside the cabin to escape the early-fall chill.

Maxine Raferty had the look of the West about her. She was heavyset and wore a loose print dress, rimless glasses, and a net over her bluish-silver hair. She sat bundled up on the front porch of a cedar cabin, reading a paperback mystery. Lee Raferty, a string bean of a man, was down on his haunches, greasing the front-axle bearings of a battered old International flatbed truck, when Pitt trotted up and greeted them.

"Good afternoon."

Lee Raferty removed an unlit, well-chewed cigar stub from his mouth and nodded. "Hello there."

"Nice day for exercise," said Maxine, scrutinizing Pitt over the top of • her book. j

"The cool breeze helps," said Pitt. i

The friendliness was there in their faces, but so was the backcountry wariness of strangers who trespassed, especially strangers 7

who wore the look of the city. Lee wiped his hands on a greasy rag and approached Pitt.

"Can I help you with somethin'?" "You can if you're Lee and Maxine Raferty." That brought Maxine out of her chair. "We're the Rafertys." "My name is Dirk Pitt. I'm a guest of Loren Smith, down the road." The uneasy expressions were replaced with broad smiles. "Little Loren Smith. Of course," Maxine said, beaming. "We're all pretty proud of her around these parts, what with her representing us in Washington and all."

"I thought perhaps you might give me some information concerning the area."

"Be glad to," replied Lee.

"Don't stand there like a tree," Maxine said to her husband. "Get the man something to drink. He looks thirsty."

"Sure, how about a beer?"

"Sounds good," Pitt said, smiling.

Maxine opened the front door and hustled Pitt through. "You'll stay for lunch." It was more a command than a request and Pitt had no out but to shrug in acquiescence.

The living room of the house had a high-beamed ceiling with a bedroom loft. The decor was an expensive conglomeration of art deco furnishings. Pitt felt as though he had stepped back into the nineteen thirties. Lee scurried into the kitchen and quickly returned with two opened beers. Pitt couldn't help noticing there were no labels on the bottles.

"Hope you like home brew," said Lee. "Took me four years to get just the right blend between too sweet and too bitter. Runs about eight percent alcohol by volume."

Pitt savored the taste. It was different from what he expected. If he hadn't detected a slight trace of yeast, he would have pronounced the taste fit for commercial sale.

Maxine set the table and waved for them to come around. She set out a large bowl of potato salad, a pot of baked beans, and a platter of thinly sliced rounds of meat. Lee replaced the rapidly emptied beer bottles with two fresh ones and started passing the plates.

The potato salad was hearty with just the right amount of tartness. The baked beans were thick with honey. Pitt did not recognize the meat or its taste, but found it delicious. In spite of the fact that he had eaten with Loren only an hour before, the aroma of the home-cooked meal inspired him to put it away like a farmhand.

"You folks lived here long?" Pitt asked between mouthfuls.

"We used to vacation in the Sawatch as far back as the late fifties," said Lee. "Moved here after I retired from the Navy. I was a deep-water diver. Got a bad case of the bends and took an early discharge. Let's see, that must have been in the summer of seventy-one."

"Seventy," Maxine said, correcting him.

Lee Raferty winked at Pitt. "Max never forgets anything."

"Know of any wrecked aircraft, say within a ten-mile radius?"

"I don't recollect any." Lee looked at his wife. "How 'bout it, Max?"

"Honest to Pete, Lee, where's your mind? Don't you remember that poor doctor and his family that was all killed when their plane crashed behind Diamond? . . . How's the beans, Mr. Pitt?"