Inca Gold (Dirk Pitt 12)

Everyone was on an outside deck now. All afraid to ask the question that might have an answer they dreaded to hear.

Giordino accelerated his wheelchair up to the loading ramp as if it were a super fuel dragster. He apprehensively yelled over to the powerboat. "Was he alive?"

"The Mexicans said he was in pretty poor shape, but came around after the boat owner's wife pumped some soup into him."

"Pitt's alive!" gasped Shannon.

Duncan shook his head in disbelief. "I can't believe he made it through to the Gulf!"

"I do," murmured Loren, her face in her hands, the tears flowing. The dignity and the poise seemed to crumble. She leaned down and hugged Giordino, her cheeks wet and flushed red beneath a new tan. "I knew he couldn't die."

Suddenly, the Mexican investigators were forgotten as if they were miles away and everyone was shouting and hugging each other. Sandecker, normally taciturn and reserved, let out a resounding whoop and rushed to the wheelhouse, snatched up the Iridium phone and excitedly called the Mexican Navy Fleet Command for more information.

Duncan frantically began poring over his hydrographic charts of the desert water tables, impatient to learn what data Pitt had managed to accumulate during the incredible passage through the underwater river system.

Shannon and Miles celebrated by breaking out a bottle of cheap champagne they had found in the back of the galley's refrigerator, and passing out glasses. Miles reflected genuine joy at the news, but Shannon's eyes seemed unusually thoughtful. She stared openly at Loren, as a curious envy bloomed inside her that she couldn't believe existed. She slowly became aware that perhaps she had made a mistake by not displaying more compassion toward Pitt.

"That damned guy is like the bad penny that always turns up," said Giordino, fighting to control his emotions.

Loren looked at him steadily. "Did Dirk tell you he asked me to marry him?"

"No, but I'm not surprised. He thinks a lot of you."

"But you don't think it's a good idea, do you?"

Giordino slowly shook his head. "Forgive me if I say a union between you two would not be made in heaven."

"We're too headstrong and independent for one another. Is that what you mean?"

"There's that, all right. You and he are like express trains racing along parallel tracks, occasionally meeting in stations but eventually heading for different destinations."

She squeezed his hand. "I thank you for being candid."

"What do I know about relationships?" He laughed. "I never last with a woman more than two weeks."

Loren looked into Giordino's eyes. "There is something you're not telling me."

Giordino stared down at the deck planking. "Women seem to be intuitive about such things."

"Who was she?" Loren asked hesitantly.

"Her name was Summer," replied Giordino honestly. "She died fifteen years ago in the sea off Hawaii."

"The Pacific Vortex affair. I remember him telling me about it."

"He went crazy trying to save her, but she was lost."

"And he still carries her in his memory," said Loren.

Giordino nodded. "He never talks about her, but he often gets a faraway look in his eyes when he sees a woman who resembles her."

"I've seen that look on more than one occasion," Loren said, her voice melancholy.

"He can't go on forever longing for a ghost," said Giordino earnestly. "We all have an image of a lost love who has to be put to rest someday."

Loren had never seen the wisecracking Giordino this wistful before. "Do you have a ghost?"

He looked at her and smiled. "One summer, when I was nineteen, I saw a girl riding a bicycle along a sidewalk on Balboa Island in Southern California. She wore brief white shorts and a soft green blouse tied around her midriff. Her honey-blond hair was in a long ponytail. Her legs and arms were tanned mahogany. I wasn't close enough to see the color of her eyes, but I somehow knew they had to be blue.