Clive Cussler - Vixen 03

At last, with the exertion of a man twice his age, he rose from his chair.

"I pray to God," he said, his eyes filled with sadness, 'I am the last man in history who willfully orders a nuclear strike."

Then he turned and slowly made his way toward the elevator that would take him up to the White House.

The heat from the early-morning sun made itself felt as two men gently slipped the cradle ropes through their hands and lowered the wooden box to the floor of the grave. Then the ropes were pulled free, making a soft rustling sound as they snaked around the sharp, unsanded edges of the coffin.

"Sure you don't want me to fill it in?" asked an ebony-skinned gravedigger as he coiled the rope around a sinewy shoulder.

"Thanks, I'll take care of it," Pitt said, holding out several South African rand notes.

"No pay," said the gravedigger. "The captain was a friend. I could dig a hundred graves and never repay the kindness he rained upon my family when he was alive."

Pitt nodded in understanding. "I'll borrow your shovel."

The digger obliged, shook Pitt's hand vigorously, and flashed an enormous smile.

Then with a wave he set foot over a narrow path that led from the cemetery to the village.

Pitt looked around. The landscape was lush but harsh. Steam from the damp undergrowth wisped above the plants as the sun rose higher in the sky. He rubbed a sleeve over his sweat-soaked forehead and stretched out under a mimosa tree, studying its blossoming yellow fluffy balls and long white thorns and listening to the honking of hornbills in the distance. Then he turned his attention back to the large granite stone sitting at the head of the grave site.

HERE LIE THE FAMILY FAWKES

Patrick McKenzie

Myrna Clarissa

Patrick McKenzie, Jr.

Jennifer Louise

Joined together for all eternity

1988

A prophetic man, the captain, Pitt thought. The stone had been carved in its entirety months before Fawkes's death on board the Iowa. He brushed away a vagrant ant and dozed for the next two hours. He was awakened by the sound of a car.

The uniformed driver, a sergeant, braked the Bentley, slipped from behind the wheel, and opened the rear door. Colonel Joris Zeegler stepped out, followed by Defence Minister Pieter De Vaal.

"Seems peaceful enough," said De Vaal.

"This sector has been quiet since the Fawkes massacre," Zeegler replied. "I believe the grave is this way, sir."

Pitt rose to his feet and brushed himself off as they approached. "It was good of you gentlemen to come so far," he said, extending his hand.

"No great effort, I assure you," De Vaal said arrogantly. He ignored Pitt's outstretched hand and sat irreverently on the Fawkes headstone. "By coincidence, Colonel Zeegler had arranged an inspection tour of Northern Natal Province. A short detour, a brief stop-off in the schedule. No harm done."

"This won't take long," said Pitt, casually checking his dark glasses for smudges. "Did you know Captain Fawkes?"

"I appreciate the fact your rather strange request to meet me in a rural cemetery came down from high sources in your government, but I want it understood that I'm here out of courtesy, not to answer questions."

"Understood," Pitt said.

"Yes, I once met Captain Fawkes." De Vaal gazed into space. "Back in October, I believe it was. Soon after his family were murdered. I expressed my condolences on behalf of the Defence Ministry."

"Did he accept your offer to command the raid on Washington?"

De Vaal didn't bat an eye. "Pure rot. The man was mentally unbalanced by the death of his wife and children. He planned and conducted the raid entirely on his own."

"Did he?"

"My position and rank do not have to tolerate rudeness." De Vaal came to his feet. "Good day, Mr. Pitt."

Pitt let him walk nearly twenty feet before he said, "Operation Wild Rose, Minister. Our intelligence people knew about it almost from the beginning."

De Vaal stopped in midstride, turned, and looked at Pitt. "They knew?" He walked back until he was standing face to face with the man from NUMA. "They knew about Wild Rose?"

"That shouldn't surprise you, of all people," Pitt said affably. "After all. it was you who leaked it to them."

De Vaal's haughty composure cracked and he looked to Zeegler for support. The colonel's eyes were unblinking and his face was as hard as stone. "Preposterous," De Vaal said. "You're making a wild accusation based on the wind."

"I admit to a few holes in the net," said Pitt. "But I came into the game late. A neat scheme, and whatever the outcome, you won., Minister. The plan was never meant to succeed. Blaming the AAR for the raid in order to drum up sympathy for the South African white minority was a smoke screen. The real purpose was to embarrass and topple Prime Minister Koertsmann's party so the Defence Ministry could have an excuse for stepping in with a new military government headed by none other than Pieter De Vaal."

"Why are you doing this?" De Vaal said savagely. "What do you hope to gain?"

"I don't like to see traitors prosper," Pitt retorted. "Incidentally, how much did you and Emma salt away? Three, four, five million dollars?"

"You're chasing shadows, Pitt. Colonel Zeegler, here, can tell you. Emma was a paid agent for the AAR."

"Emma sold doctored reports from your Defence Ministry files to any black revolutionary sucker enough to pay for them and split the take with you. A most lucrative side venture, De Vaal."

"I do not have to stand here and listen to his garbage," the Minister hissed. He nodded at Zeegler and gestured toward the waiting Bentley.

Zeegler did not move. "I'm sorry, Minister, but I think Mr. Pitt should be heard out."

De Vaal was nearly choking with rage. "You have served me for ten years, Joris. You well know I punish insubordination to the extreme."

"I'm aware of that. sir. but I think we should stay, particularly in light of the circumstances." Zeegler pointed toward a black man who was threading his way between the gravestones. He wore a grim, determined face and was dressed in the uniform of the AAR. A long, curved Moroccan knife was gripped loosely in one hand.

"The fourth actor in the drama," said Pitt. "Permit me to introduce Thomas Machita, the new leader of the African Army of Revolution."

Though the Minister's entourage carried no weapons. Zeegler stood unconcerned. De Vaal spun and shouted to his chauffeur while gesturing wildly at Machita. "Sergeant! Shoot him! For God's sake, shoot him! "

The sergeant looked through De Vaal, as though the Minister were transparent. De Vaal turned to Zeegler, his eyes sick with a mounting fear. "Joris, what goes on?"

Zeegler did not answer; his face was an emotionless void.

Pitt pointed into the open grave. "It was Captain Fawkes who blew the whistle on your shifty act. He may have been unhinged by the death of his family and blinded by revenge, but it struck him that he had been horribly and pitifully duped when you sent Emma to kill him. A necessary part of your plan. Captured alive. he might have revealed your direct involvement. Also, you couldn't take the chance he could somehow become wise that it was you who masterminded the attack on his farm."

"No!" The word scratched from De Vaal's throat.

"Captain Patrick McKenzie Fawkes was the only man in South Africa who could pull off Wild Rose. You ordered the murders of his wife and children knowing a griefstricken man would seek retribution. The massacre was a stroke of cunning. Even your own people at the Ministry were at a loss to connect the raiders with any known insurgent organization. It never dawned on them their boss sneaked in a team of black mercenaries from Angola."