Dragon (Dirk Pitt 10)

"Jolly well done," Pitt mimicked. He switched on computer control and called up a series of geographical displays on the monitor. "A miracle we broke out with no pressure leaks or mechanical damage."

"My dear fellow, my faith in you is as deep as the sea. . . ah, we're under. I didn't doubt your fortitude for a minute."

Pitt spared him a curious stare. "If you're taken in that easily, I have a bridge in New York I'd like to sell you."

"What was that about a bridge'?"

"Do you play?"

"Yes, I'm quite good. Won more than a few tournaments. And you?"

"I deal a mean hand of Old Maid."

The exchange was slightly less than bizarre considering their predicament, but they were men absorbed in their element and well aware of the danger of being trapped in the abyssal depths. If either Pitt or Plunkett felt any fear, he didn't show it.

"Now that we've escaped the landslide, what's the plan?" asked Plunkett as calmly as if he was requesting another cup of tea.

"The plan is to go up," Pitt answered, pointing toward the roof.

"Since this magnificent old crawler has no buoyancy and we've a good five kilometers of ocean above us, how do you expect to accomplish the impossible?"

Pitt grinned.

"Just sit back and enjoy the seascape. We're going to take a little ride through the mountains."

"Welcome aboard, Admiral." Commander Morton gave a razor-edge salute and extended his hand, but the greeting was purely official. He was not happy and made no attempt at hypocrisy. "A rare occasion when we're ordered to surface at sea during a cruise to take on visitors. I have to tell you I don't like it."

Sandecker smothered a smile as he stepped from the Shanghai Shelly's launch onto the bridge of the partially surfaced sail tower of the Tucson. He shook Morton's hand with a casual unconcern and a dominating posture that, if anything, made his presence seem like an everyday affair.

"I didn't pull strings to have you deviate from operational procedure so I could drop in for cocktails, Commander. I'm here on presidential order. If it's an inconvenience, I'll be happy to return to the junk."

A pained expression crossed Morton's face. "No offense, Admiral, but Soviet satellites--"

"Will photograph us in vivid color for the entertainment of their intelligence analysts. Yes, yes, but we don't really care what they see or think." Sandecker turned as Giordino climbed aboard. "My assistant project director, Al Giordino."

Unconsciously almost, Morton acknowledged Giordino with a half salute and showed them through a hatch down to the control center of the sub. They followed the commander into a small compartment with a transparent plotting table with a recessed interior that provided a three-dimensional sonar view of the seabed.

Lieutenant David DeLuca, the Tucson's navigation officer, was leaning over the table. He straightened as Morton made the introductions and smiled warmly. "Admiral Sandecker, this is an honor. I never missed your lectures at the academy."

Sandecker beamed. "I hope I didn't put you to sleep.

"Not at all. Your accounts of NUMA projects were fascin

ating.

Morton flicked a glance at DeLuca and nodded down at the table. "The admiral is most interested in your discovery."

"What can you show me, son?" Sandecker said, placing a hand on DeLuca's shoulder. "The message was you've picked up unusual sounds on the seabed."

DeLuca faltered for a moment. "We've been receiving strange music--"

" 'Minnie the Mermaid?' " Giordino blurted.

DeLuca nodded. "At first, but now it sounds like John Philip Sousa marches."

Morton's eyes narrowed. "How could you possibly know?"

"Dirk," Giordino said definitely. "He's still alive."