"And your present, Cousin Warren," Collins said, grinning with every tooth, "must be none other than Captain Andre Prevlov."

    "It's imperative that I get on board the derelict as soon as possible," Nicholson said to Kemper. "How soon can you arrange transportation for me, Admiral?"

    Kemper's hand was already reaching for the phone. "Inside thirty minutes I can have you on a Navy jet that will land you on the Beecher's Island. From there you can take a helicopter to the Titanic. "

    The President stepped over to a large window and gazed out at the rising sun as it crept above the eastern horizon and fingered its rays across the lazy waters of the Potomac. He yawned a long comfortable yawn.

72

    Dana leaned over the forward railing of the Titanic's bridge and closed her eyes. The ocean breeze whipped her honey hair and tingled the skin on her upturned face. She felt soothed and free and completely relaxed. It was as though she were flying.

    She knew now that she could never go back and slip into the painted puppet that had been the Dana Seagram of two days ago. She had made up her mind she would divorce Gene. Nothing between them mattered any more, at least to her. The girl he had loved was dead, never to return. She reveled in the knowledge. It was her rebirth. To begin again, start fresh with no holds barred.

    "A dollar for your thoughts."

    She opened her eyes and was greeted by the grinning and freshly shaven face of Dirk Pitt.

    "A dollar? I thought it used to be a penny."

    "Inflation strikes everything, sooner or later."

    They stood for a while without saying anything and watched the Wallace and the Morse as they strained at the great leash that led to the Titanic's bow. Chief Bascom and his men were checking the tow cable and dabbing grease to the fair-lead to ease the chafing. The chief looked up and waved to them.

    "I wish this voyage would never end," Dana murmured as they both waved back. "It's so strange and yet so wonderful." She turned suddenly and laid her hand on his. "Promise me we'll never see New York. Promise me that we'll sail on forever, like the Flying Dutchman."

    "We'll sail on forever."

    She flung her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his. "Dirk, Dirk!" she whispered urgently. "Nothing makes any sense any more. I want you. I want you now, and I don't really know why."

    "It's because of where you are," Pitt said quietly.

    He took her by the hand and led her down the grand staircase and into one of the two parlour suite bedrooms on B Deck. "There you are, madame. The finest suite of rooms on the entire ship. Cost for a one-way voyage came to better than four thousand dollars. Those were, of course, 1912 prices. However, in honor of the light in your eyes, I'll provide you with a handsome discount." He swept her up and carried her to the bed. It had been cleaned of the slime and rot and was covered with several blankets.

    Dana , looked at the bed with wise eyes. "You prepared this?"

    "Let's just say that like the little old ant who moved the rubber tree plant, I had high hopes."

    "You know what you are?"

    "A bastard, a lecher, a satyr-- I could think of a dozen apt descriptions."

    She looked at him with a secret, womanly smile. "No, you're none of those. Even a satyr would not have been so thoughtful."

    He pulled her lips to his and kissed her so hard she moaned.

    Her performance in bed fooled him. He expected a body that would merely give response. Instead, he found himself merged with thrashing, undulating waves of flesh, piercing screams that he muffled with his hands, nails that dug oozing red trenches in his back, and finally soft, wet sobbings into his neck. He couldn't help wondering if all wives blossom with such abandon when they make love for the first time with someone other than their husbands. The storm lasted for nearly an hour, and the humid perfume of sweating skin began to soak the air of that old rotted, ghostly bedroom.

    Finally she pushed him away and sat up. She raised her knees and hunched herself over them, feet crossed. "How was I?"

    "Like a spastic tiger," Pitt said.

    "I didn't know it could be like this."

    "I wish I had a dime for every girl who said those very same words every time she turned on."

    "You don't know what it's like to have your guts churning in both agony and delight at the same time."

    "I dare say I don't. A woman's release burns from the inside. A man's erotic senses are mostly exterior. Anyway you look at it, sex is a female's game."

    "What do you know about the President?" she suddenly asked in a soft nostalgic tone.

    Pitt looked at her in amused surprise. "The President? What made you think of him at a time like this?"

    "I hear he's a real man."

    "I couldn't say. I've never slept with him."

    She ignored his remark. "If we had a woman President and she wanted to make love to you, what would you do?"

    "My country right or wrong," Pitt said. "Where is all this talk leading?"

    "Just answer the question. Would you go to bed with her?"

    "Depends?"

    "On what?"

    "President or not, I couldn't make my gun stand at attention if she was seventy, fat, and had skin like a prune. That's why men never make good prostitutes."

    Dana smiled slowly and closed her eyes. "Make love to me again."

    "Why? So you can let your imagination run wild and fancy that you're being laid by our Commander-in-Chief?"

    Her eyes narrowed. "Does that bother you?"

    "Two can play the same game. I'll just pretend that you're Ashley Fleming."

73

    Prevlov looked up from his huddled position on the floor of stateroom C-95 as the SEAL guarding the passageway outside turned the newly oiled lock and swung the door open. The SEAL, his M-24 held at the ready, visually checked Prevlov, and then stepped aside to allow another man to enter.

    He was carrying an attache case and wore a business suit that begged to be pressed. A faint smile crossed his lips as Prevlov studied him with a speculative gaze of surprised Recognition.

    "Captain Prevlov, I am Warren Nicholson."

    "I know," Prevlov said as he uncoiled to his feet and gave a very correct half-bow. "I was not prepared to entertain the Chief Director of the Central Intelligence Agency himself. At least not under these rather awkward circumstances."

    "I've come personally to escort you to the United States."

    "I am flattered."

    "It is we who are flattered, Captain Prevlov. You are considered a very big catch indeed."

    "Then it is to be an internationally publicized trial, complete with grave accusations against my government for attempted piracy on the high seas."

    Nicholson smiled again. "No, except for a few high-ranking members of your government and mine, I'm afraid your defection will remain a well-kept secret."

    Prevlov squinted. "Defection?" This was clearly not what he had expected.

    Nicholson nodded without answering.

    "There is no method by which you can make me willingly defect," Prevlov said grimly. "I shall deny it at every opportunity."

    "A noble gesture." Nicholson shrugged. "However, since there will be no trial and no interrogation, a request for political asylum becomes your only escape clause."