Havana Storm (Dirk Pitt 23)

Admiral Raphael Semmes awoke with a start. His ears prickled at a distant sound and he let out a low growl.

The twenty-pound tabby cat rose from his floor pillow, stretched his legs, and hopped onto a king-sized bed. Approaching his sleeping master, he brushed his whiskers against the man’s cheeks and began meowing.

St. Julien Perlmutter roused from a dream and pushed the cat from his face. “What is it, Admiral?”

The cat responded with a loud meow, then hopped off the bed and waited near the doorway. Perlmutter took notice and dragged himself out of bed. His cat wasn’t prone to feeble neediness. Indeed, he had proven himself something of a fine house guard. Once, he had alerted Perlmutter to a forgotten strudel burning in the oven. Another time, he garnered his owner’s attention when some neighborhood kids tried to take his vintage Rolls-Royce for a joyride.

Pulling on a robe and slippers, Perlmutter walked to the door, then hesitated when he heard a sound downstairs. From a display shelf above his dresser, he pulled down a large marlinespike. Nearly the size of a nightstick, the polished metal pin had been used by seamen during the age of sail to splice heavy ropes. With his de

facto weapon, Perlmutter stepped down the stairs as quietly as his large frame could muster.

At the base of the stairs, he saw the glow of a penlight coming from his study. He stepped to the doorway and was reaching for the light switch when Admiral Semmes meowed loudly. The penlight’s beam swung to the doorway, shining in Perlmutter’s eyes.

He shielded his eyes from the light. “What’s going on here?” the marine historian boomed.

He heard a scurrying of papers, so he reached once more for the light switch.

Before he could flick the switch, a heavy book was flung at him and struck the side of his face.

Perlmutter shook off the blow and charged into the dark room, shouting, “Heathen!”

The penlight blinked off, but Perlmutter stepped toward its source and swung the marlinespike in front of him in a wide arc. He cut only air, then was struck hard by a body blow to the side.

He reacted with a swipe of his free hand, clasping the jacket of the black-clad robber. Perlmutter yanked and the man flew into him. He was barely half Perlmutter’s size and squirmed like a snake.

Perlmutter brought the marlinespike around and jabbed the blunt end into the man’s ribs, causing a sharp cry. He tried to put his weight to use by grasping the man in a bear hug, but the intruder slipped free and retaliated with a kick to Perlmutter’s knee.

Perlmutter buckled and staggered back, stepping on the tail of his cat. Admiral Semmes shrieked and clawed the floor as Perlmutter tried to dance clear. His feet became entangled and he tripped to one side. His head caught a corner of his desk and he crashed to the floor as the intruder bolted out the front door.

The next thing Perlmutter felt was Admiral Semmes’s tongue lapping his face. He slowly sat up and rubbed the bump on his head. After a few minutes, the throbbing pain eased enough for him to stand. He flicked on the lights to inventory the room.

A front window had been jimmied open, providing the burglar entry. Yet little in the study had been disturbed. Valuable antiques and ship artifacts were left untouched, as was his collection of rare books. Everything was in its place, except for the leather-bound copy of Moby-Dick that had been hurled at him.

He checked his desk drawers, but they had not been touched. As he examined the desktop, he realized there was something missing—his file on Ellsworth Boyd and the sinking of the Maine.

He sat down and was about to call the police when Admiral Semmes jumped in his lap.

“Well, Admiral, it would seem the Pitts have stirred up a bit of trouble with the Maine and the Aztec artifact. It’s a good thing I had already digested the complete file.”

The cat poked his head at Perlmutter’s hand and he obliged by stroking the cat’s back.

“I will say our tag team wrestling left a bit to be desired. But your early-warning system was superb. It’s extra milk for you in the morning, my good friend.”

Admiral Semmes looked at him and purred.

51

Pitt spied a flurry of activity around the dockside facility. The ore barge had been emptied of its original cargo and was now being loaded with small wooden crates and large bins filled with heavy canvas sacks.

He stopped in the shadows and watched a team of men in a guarded storage pen load the sacks, which resembled dry concrete mix. Red signs marked Explosivos hung nearby. The sacks likely contained ANFO, or ammonium nitrate/fuel oil, a common industrial bulk explosive, while the small crates contained TNT. The explosives would soon be on their way to the Sea Raker for blasting open the thermal vents.

Pitt made his way past the pen to the two-story building. He saw that the lower level was used for operations support. An equipment locker and a machine shop faced the water on the near side. At the far end was an open garage with a utility cart parked out front. The upper level looked to be barracks for the soldiers—a likely holding place for Summer.

He spotted a side stairway, crept to its base, and started climbing.

When he was halfway up, the door to the second level burst open and a soldier rushed out with a toolbox. There was little Pitt could do, so he simply lowered his head and picked up his pace. The soldier stormed past him without a glance.

At the top landing, Pitt took a deep breath and stepped inside. A dim corridor stretched before him, with multiple rooms on either side. All the doors were open except for one at the far end. Opposite the room, two soldiers leaned against the wall, smoking cigarettes.