Clive Cussler - Shock Wave

“You and your men are to be commended.” Dorsett nodded approvingly. “A liberal bonus will be forthcoming to all involved.”

“That is most kind of you, sir,” Merchant purred.

“Please leave us now.”

Merchant stared at Pitt and Giordino warily. “They are men who should be watched carefully,” he protested mildly. “I do not advise taking chances with them.”

“You think they’re going to try and take over the yacht?” Dorsett laughed. “Two defenseless men against two dozen who are armed? Or are you afraid they might jump overboard and swim to shore?” Dorsett motioned through a large window at the narrow tip of Cape Farewell, on New Zealand’s South Island, which was rapidly disappearing in the wake behind the yacht. “Across forty kilometers of sea infested with sharks? I don’t think so.”

“My job is to protect you and your interests,” said Merchant as he slid his hand from the gun, buttoned his sport coat and stepped quietly toward the door. “I take it seriously.”

“Your work is appreciated,” Dorsett said, abruptly becoming curt with impatience.

As soon as Merchant was gone, Maeve lashed out at her father. “I demand you tell me if Sean and Michael are all right, unharmed by your rotten mine superintendent.”

Without a word, Boudicca stepped forward, reached out her hand in what Pitt thought was a show of affection, but brought it viciously across Maeve’s cheek, a blow with such force it almost knocked her sister off her feet. Maeve stumbled and was caught by Pitt as Giordino stepped between the two women.

Shorter by half, Giordino had to look up into Boudicca’s face as if he were staring up at a tall building. The scene became even more ludicrous, because he had to peer up and over Boudicca’s bulbous breasts. “There’s a homecoming for you,” he said drolly.

Pitt was familiar with the look in his friend’s eye. Giordino was a keen judge of faces and character. He saw something, some infinitesimal oddity that Pitt missed. Giordino was taking a risk that in his estimation was justified. He grinned slyly as he looked Boudicca up and down. “I’ll make you a wager,” he said to her.

“A wager?”

“Yes. I’ll bet you don’t shave your legs or your armpits.”

There was a moment of silence, not borne by shock but more from curiosity. Boudicca’s face suddenly twisted with fury, and she pulled back her fist to strike. Giordino stood complacently, expecting the blow but making no move to dodge or ward it off.

Boudicca hit Giordino hard, harder than most Olympic boxers. Her balled fist caught Giordino on the side of the cheek and the jaw. It was a savage blow, a damaging roundhouse blow, not one that was expected from a woman, and it would have knocked most men off their feet, cold. Most men would have been unconscious for twenty-four hours, most, that is, that Boudicca had ever struck in ungoverned fury. Giordino’s head snapped to one side and he took a step backward, shook his head as if to clear it and then spat out a tooth onto the expensive carpet. Incredibly, against all comprehension, he stepped forward until he was under Boudicca’s protruding bosom again. There was no animosity, no expression of vengeance in his eyes. Giordino simply gazed at her reflectively. “If you had any sense of decency and fair play, you’d let me have a turn.”

Boudicca stood in confused amazement, massaging a sore hand. Uncontrolled outrage was slowly replaced with cold animosity. The look came into her eye of a rattlesnake about to strike with deadly purpose. “You are one stupid man,” she said coldly.

Her hands lashed out and clamped around Giordino’s neck. He stood with his fists clenched at his sides, making no move to stop her. His face drained of all color and his eyes began to bulge and still he made no effort to defend himself. He stared at her without any malice at all.

Pitt well remembered the strength in Boudicca’s hands; he still had the bruises on his arms to attest to it. At a loss as to Giordino’s out-of-character display of passivity, he moved away from Maeve in readiness to kick Boudicca in a kneecap, when her father shouted.

“Release him!” Arthur Dorsett snapped. “Do not soil your hands on a rat.”

Giordino still stood like a statue in a park, when Boudicca released her grip around his throat and stepped back, rubbing the knuckles she had scraped on his face.

“Next time,” she snarled, “you won’t have my father to save your filthy hide.”

“Did you ever think of turning professional?” Giordino rasped hoarsely, tenderly touching the growing discoloration marks around his neck. “I know this carnival that could use a geek—”

Pitt put his hand on Giordino’s shoulder. “Let’s hear what Mr. Dorsett has to say before you sign up for a rematch.”

“You’re wiser than your friend,” said Dorsett.

“Only when it comes to averting pain and associating with criminals.”

“Is that what you think of me? That I’m a common criminal?”

“Considering that you’re responsible for murdering hundreds of people, an unqualified yes.”

Dorsett shrugged imperviously and sat down behind his desk. “Regrettably, it was necessary.”

Pitt felt feverish with anger against Dorsett. “I can’t recall a single justification for cold-bloodedly cutting short the lives of innocent men, women and children.”

“Why should you lose sleep over a few deaths, when millions in the third world die every year from famine, disease and war?”

“It was the way I was brought up,” said Pitt. “My mother taught me life was a gift.”

“Life is a commodity, nothing more.” Dorsett scoffed. “People are like old tools that are used and then thrown away or destroyed when they have no more purpose. I pity men like you who are burdened with morals and principles. You are doomed to chase a mirage, a perfect world that never was and never will be.”

Pitt found himself staring at stark, unfettered madness. “You’ll die chasing a mirage too.”

Dorsett smiled humorlessly. “You’re wrong, Mr. Pitt. I will grasp it in my hands before my time comes.”

“You have a sick, warped philosophy of life.”

“So far it has served me very well.”

“What’s your excuse for not stopping the mass killing caused by your ultrasonic mining operations?”

“To mine more diamonds, what else?” Dorsett stared at Pitt as though he were studying a specimen in a jar. “In a few weeks I will make millions of women happy by providing them with the most precious of stones at a cost a beggar can afford.”

“You don’t strike me as the charitable type.”

“Diamonds are really nothing but bits of carbon. Their only practical asset is they happen to be the hardest substance known to man. This alone makes them essential for the machining of metals and drilling through rock. Did you know the name `diamond’ comes from the Greek, Mr. Pitt? It means indomitable. The Greeks, and later the Romans, wore them as protection from wild beasts and human enemies. Their women, however, did not adore diamonds as women do now. Besides driving off evil spirits, they were used as a test for adultery. And yet when it comes to beauty, you can get the same sparkle from crystal.”

As Dorsett spoke of diamonds his stare didn’t falter, but the throbbing pulse in the side of his neck gave away his deep feeling on the subject. He talked as if he had suddenly risen to a higher plane that few could experience.

“Are you also aware that the first diamond engagement ring was given by Archduke Ferdinand of Austria to Mary of Burgundy in the year 1477, and the belief that the ‘vein of love’ runs directly from the brain to the third finger of the left hand was a myth that came out of Egypt?”