Pacific Vortex! Part 24

"A fitting end for the man who came unnervingly close to destroying an undertaking that has been brilliantly designed and executed for over thirty years."

"Spare me the ego," Pitt growled. "What about Adrian? It might look funny if we both drowned while shaving in the tub."

"Ease your mind. Miss Hunter is not destined to be harmed. Tm taking her as a hostage. Admiral Hunter will think twice before he continues his quest for the Pacific Vortex."

"That won't stop Hunter for more than two minutes.

Duty takes priority to family in his book. You're wasting your time. Let her go."

"I'm also a man of discipline," said Delphi. "I never deviate once I've drafted my plans. My goals are elementary. I simply wish to be free from the destructive designs of the Communist countries and the imperialistic impulses of the United States. Between them they will destroy civilization. I intend to survive."

Time, Pitt thought He had to keep the giant talking. Another few minutes and Hunter's men would be at the door. Talk was his only weapon.

"You're insane," Pitt said coldly. "You've gotten away with ma.s.s murder for decades in the name of survival. Spare me the old trite phrases about communism and imperialism. You're nothing but an anachronism, Delphi. Your kind went out of style along with Karl Marx, slicked-down hair, and buggy whips. You've been buried half a century and don't know it."

Dirk Pitt 1 - Pacific Vortex

Delphi's studied calm cracked slightly at the edges; a taut flush touched the wide cheekbones, but he immediately gained control again.

"Philosophical detachment is for the ignorant, Major. In a few minutes your irritating hara.s.sment will be mine no longer." He nodded. One of the guards went into the bathroom to turn on the water in the bathtub. Pitt tried moving his hands. Although his wrists were wrapped many times, they were loose enough so as not to leave telltale bruises on the skin.

Then, suddenly, Pitt thought his senses were deceiving him; the sweet, fragrant smell of plumeria began to envelope him. It was impossible, yet he knew she was there. Summer was in the room.

Delphi silently pointed to Adrian, and the man who

had tied Pitt pulled a small case from his pocket, inserted a needle into a hypodermic, and then lifted the the hem of Adrian's short muumuu, unceremoniously jabbing the needle into one well-rounded b.u.t.tock's cheek. She stirred slightly, sighed, frowned, and then within seconds went into a sleep bordering on a coma. Quickly, Delphi's a.s.sistant placed the hypodermic case back in his pocket and lifted Adrian up in his arms, waiting expectantly for new orders from his master.

"I'm afraid this is good-bye," said Delphi.

"You're leaving before the main event?"

"There is little to see that interests me further."

"You'll never get her out of the building."

"We have a car waiting in the bas.e.m.e.nt garage," Delphi said smugly. He stepped over to the door, opened it a crack, and peered into the hall. As Delphi was halfway through the doorway, Pitt yelled out.

"One final question, Delphi"

The giant hesitated, turned and glared at Pitt.

"The girl who called herself Summer, who is she?"

Delphi grinned evilly. "Summer is my daughter." He waved a salute. "Good-bye, Major."

Pitt desperately tried one last parting shot "Give my regards to the gang on Kanoli."

Delphi's eyes hardened. Some unformulated doubt seemed to cloud his mind for a moment, then it quickly dispersed as he stared at Pitt.

"Good-bye," he said, and then he pa.s.sed into the hallway like a shadow.

Pitt had failed to delay Delphi and to prevent Adrian's abduction. He sat there, agonized, as the man in the bathroom came out, nodded, and then returned. The other guard set down his gun in a chair and approached Pitt, his round, ordinary features masking any dark hint of s.a.d.i.s.tic traits.

Pitt saw the blow coming, but was too late to duck. He could only bow his head. The guard's fist connected solidly on the top of Pitt's cranium, smas.h.i.+ng him out of the chair to the floor against the balcony curtain.

Blackness tightened its hold on his brain but Pitt shook it off and pushed himself groggily to his feet He dimly perceived the guard kneeling on the carpet, holding a deformed wrist in one hand, and heard him whining like a wounded animal. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d broke his wrist, Pitt concluded. A grim smile touched Pitt's face as he realized the pain from the growing knot on his head was nothing compared to a fractured bone.

Pitt stood without moving. Then a hand from behind the curtains touched his arm. He felt a back and forth motion as the cord that bound his arms and wrists was cut The aroma of plumeria swept over him like a warm and releasing wave. In an instant the bonds were gone and a small double-edged knife was carefully slipped into the palm of his right hand. He didn't dare turn to her, to pull away the curtains that concealed her. Instead he grasped the knife tightly and wiggled his hands to be sure he could call upon them without any numbness or restricting stiffness.

The guard stopped his low wail and began crawling across the carpet toward Pitt. His partner in the bathroom went about his business, not aware of anything above the gush of the bathtub faucet Then the guard eased the broken limb into his lap, reached toward the chair with his good hand, and grabbed his gun, swinging the muzzle in a short arc and aiming at Pitt's chest, his pain and hate wiping away all thought of obeying Delphi's orders for an accidental death.

Sweat drained from every pore on Pitt's body. The guard was too far away to make any land of a move; the projectile from the gun would ventilate his torso before he could even leap half the distance between them. The guard sat for an agonizingly long time, merely staring at Pitt. Then he began inching closer, pus.h.i.+ng one knee in front, then the other, half a foot at a time, narrowing the gap to five feet. Still too far.

Pitt was going through the tortures of the d.a.m.ned. Three feet; Pitt needed three feet between them before he could strike with any hope of drawing blood first. An arm's length. It would take an arm's length, he told himself as he gauged the required distance.

The guard crept closer. He kept the gun pointed at Pitt's chest, letting it wander from time to time to the forehead. Once a smirk crossed his face as he leveled it in the direction of Pitt's genitals.

Patience, Pitt told himself over and over. Patience. The two most important words in the English language, he repeated in his mind, were patience and hope. He just might be able to bring it off; the guard had almost moved into range now. Pitt waited tensely a few seconds longer for insurance. If he rushed the moment, he might not be able to shove the gun far enough away from his body before it discharged, and he had no doubt that the guard's reflexes would squeeze the little firing b.u.t.ton at the slightest contact His only chance of success lay in surprise. He still held his freed hands behind his back, lulling the guard into the security of an easy kill. This had to be it. He let his jaw fall lower and lower and forced his eyes wide in mock terror.

Then Pitt lunged. He knocked the gun upward with his left arm, ignoring the hiss of the projectile as it pa.s.sed a scant inch over his shoulder, while in nearly the same motion, he swung his right hand in a short sweeping arc, the sharp blade of the knife slas.h.i.+ng the guard's throat to the windpipe. A hideous rasping sound came from the gash in the guard's throat as blood spurted over his chest, over the carpet, over Pitt's arms. The guard's eyes looked on Pitt in glazed shock before they rolled up beneath the lids, and then his body gave a convulsive heave as he slowly collapsed.

Pitt sat transfixed for an instant at the sight of the dead guard. Then he retrieved the gun from the floor and stepped softly toward the bathroom. He could hear the whirring of the electric razor as the other guard readied the instrument for Pitt's execution. The tub was full and waiting. Pitt kept his eyes on the bathoom door as he quietly advanced along the wall.

Suddenly the doorbell chimes echoed through the apartment. Pitt, jolted by the unexpected sound, jerked up and froze as the guard charged from the bathroom, stopping in mute shock at the ghastly sight of his dead comrade laying on the floor. Then he turned and stared blankly at Pitt.

"Drop the gun and freeze," Pitt said sharply.

Delphi's executioner stood still and squinted at the small automatic in Pitt's hand. The door chimes sounded again. The man leaped sideways and, as he brought up his gun to fire. Pitt shot his a.s.sailant in the heart.

The guard remained standing, gaping at Pitt through stunned and vacant eyes. His hands fell limp; the projectile gun dropped softly to the carpet as he slowly sank to his knees before toppling sideways and ending in a fetal position on the floor.

Pitt remained immobile, listening to the frantic pounding on the front door, his eyes taking in the debris of death at his feet The four walls of the room seemed to close in on him. Something was missing. His mind refused to cooperate; the last few minutes had left him confused and numb. Someone else should have been there...

Summer!

He threw back the curtains that bordered the balcony, finding nothing but the wall behind them. Frantically he searched the room, calling her name. She did not answer. The balcony, he thought She must have followed Delphi and his men from the roof. It was empty, but a rope was tied to the railing that led to the terrace of the apartment below. She had escaped the same way as before.

Then his eyes caught a small flower laying in one of the lounge chairs. It was a delicate plumeria blossom; its exquisite white bloom flushed yellow on the inside. He held it up, studying it as one might study a rare b.u.t.terfly. Delphi's daughter, he thought to himself. How was it possible?

He was still standing there on the balcony with the flower in one hand and the gun in the other, gazing out over the brilliant blue rippling ocean when Hunter's security men broke through the door.

"Mr. Pitt..." The attractive young WAVE spoke hesitantly. "The admiral's expecting you. Oh, by the way," she said, lowering her eyes, "we're all proud to have you in the 101st for what you did on the Martha Ann."

"How's the admiral taking his daughter's kidnapping?" He hadn't meant to sound so brusque.