Clive Cussler: Raise the Titanic

Dana slipped her hands through the men's arms. "My two favorite people consorting behind my back. What gives?"

Seagram met Sandecker's eyes. "I once called the Admiral and requested a bit of information. That's all there was to it."

Sandecker patted Dana's hand and said, "Why don't you make an old man eternally grateful and find him a scotch and water."

She hesitated a moment, then kissed Sandecker lightly on the cheek and obediently began worming her way through the scattered groups of guests milling around the bar.

Seagram shook his head in wonder. "You have a way with women. If I had asked her to get me a drink, she'd have spit in my eye."

"I pay her a salary," Sandecker said. "You don't."

They made their way out on the balcony and Seagram lit a cigarette while Sandecker puffed to life an immense Churchill cigar. They walked in silence until they were alone beneath a tall column in a secluded corner.

"Any word on the First Attempt from your end?" Seagram asked quietly.

"She docked at our Navy's submarine base in the Firth of Clyde at thirteen hundred hours, our time, this afternoon."

"That's nearly eight hours ago. Why wasn't I notified?"

"Your instructions were quite clear," Sandecker said coldly. "No communications from my ship until your agent was safely back on U.S. soil."

"Then how?..."

"My information came from an old friend in the Navy. He phoned me only a half an hour ago, madder than hell, demanding to know where my skipper got off using naval facilities without permission."

"There's been a screw-up somewhere," Seagram said flatly. "Your ship was supposed to dock at Oslo and let my man come ashore. Just what in hell is she doing in Scotland?"

Sandecker gave Seagram a hard stare. "Let's get one thing straight, Mr. Seagram, NUMA is not an arm of the CIA, FBI, or of any other intelligence bureau, and I don't take kindly to risking my people's lives just so you can poke around Communist territory playing espionage games. Our business is oceanographic research. Next time you want to play James Bond, get the Navy or the Coast Guard to do your dirty work. Don't con the President into ordering out one of my ships. Do you read me, Mr. Seagram?"

"I apologize for your agency's inconvenience, Admiral. I meant nothing derogatory. You must understand my uneasiness."

"I'd like to understand." There was a slight softening in the admiral's face. "But you'd make things a damned sight simpler if you would take me into your confidence and tell me what it is you're after."

Seagram turned away. "I'm sorry."

"I see," Sandecker said.

"Why do you suppose the First Attempt bypassed Oslo?" Seagram said.

"My guess is that your agent felt it was too dangerous to catch a civilian plane out of Oslo and decided on a military flight instead. Our nuclear sub base on the Firth of Clyde has the nearest airfield, so he probably ordered the captain of my research vessel to skip Norway and head there."

"I hope you're right. Whatever the reason, I'm afraid that the deviation from our set plan can only spell trouble."

Sandecker spied Dana standing in the balcony doorway with a drink in one hand. She was searching for them. He waved and caught her eye, and she started to move toward them.

"You're a lucky man, Seagram. Your wife is a bright and lovely gal."

Suddenly, Mel Donner appeared, rushed past Dana, and reached them first. He excused himself to Admiral Sandecker.

"A naval transport landed twenty minutes ago with Sid Koplin on board," Donner said softly. "He's been taken to Walter Reed."

"Why Walter Reed?"

"He's been shot up pretty badly."

"Good God." Seagram groaned.

"I've got a car waiting. We can be there in fifteen minutes."

"Okay, give me a moment."

He spoke quietly to Sandecker and asked the admiral to see that Dana got home and to make his regrets to the President. Then he followed Donner to the car.

7

"I'm sorry, but he is under sedation and I cannot allow any visitors at this time." The aristocratic Virginia voice was quiet and courteous, but there was no hiding the anger that clouded the doctor's gray eyes.

"Is he able to talk?" Donner asked.

"For a man who regained consciousness only minutes ago, his mental faculties are remarkably alert." The cloud remained behind the eyes. "But don't let that fool you. He won't be playing any tennis for a while."

"Just how serious is his condition?" Seagram asked.

"His condition is just that serious. The doctor who operated on him aboard the NUMA vessel did a beautiful job. The bullet wound in his left side will heal nicely. The other wound, however, left a neat little hairline crack in the skull. Your Mr. Koplin will be having headaches for some time to come."

"We must see him now," Seagram said firmly.

"As I've told you, I'm sorry, but no visitors."

Seagram took a step forward so that he was eye to eye with the doctor. "Get this into your head, Doctor. My friend and I are going into that room whether you like it or not. If you personally try to stop us, we'll put you on one of your own operating tables. If you yell for attendants, we'll shoot them. If you call the police, they will respect our credentials and do what we tell them." Seagram paused and his lips curled in a smug grin. "Now then, Doctor, the choice is yours."

Koplin lay flat on the bed, his face as white as the pillowcase behind his head, but his eyes were surprisingly bright.

"Before you ask," he said in a low rasp, "I feel awful. And that's true. But don't tell me I look good. Because that's a gross lie."

Seagram pulled a chair up to the bed and smiled. "We don't have much time, Sid, so if you feel up to it, we'll jump right in."

Koplin nodded to the tubes connected to his arm. "These drugs are fogging my mind, but I'll stay with you as long as I can."

Donner nodded. "We came for the answer to the billion dollar question."

"I found traces of byzanium, if that's what you mean?"

"You actually found it! Are you certain?"

"My field tests were by no stroke of the imagination as accurate as lab analysis might have been, but I'm ninety nine-per-cent positive it was byzanium."

"Thank God." Seagram sighed. "Did you come up with an assay figure?" he asked.

"I did."

"How much . . . how many pounds of byzanium do you reckon can be extracted from Bednaya Mountain?"

"With luck, maybe a teaspoonful."

At first Seagram didn't get it, then it sunk in. Donner sat frozen and expressionless, his hands clenched over the armrests of the chair.

"A teaspoonful," Seagram mumbled gloomily. "Are you certain?"

"You keep asking me if I'm certain." Koplin's drawn face reddened with indignation. "If you don't buy my word for it, send somebody else to that asshole of creation."

"Just a minute." Donner's hand was on Koplin's shoulder. "Novaya Zemlya was our only hope. You took more punishment than we had any right to expect. We're grateful, Sid, truly grateful."

"All hope isn't lost yet," Koplin murmured. His eyelids drooped.

Seagram didn't hear. He leaned over the bed. `What was that, Sid?"

"You've not lost yet. The byzanium was there."

Donner moved closer. "What do you mean, the byzanium was there?"

"Gone . . . mined...."

"You're not making sense."

"I stumbled over the tailings on the side of the mountain." Koplin hesitated a moment. "Dug into them. . ."

"Are you saying someone has already mined the byzanium from Bednaya Mountain?" Seagram asked incredulously.

"Yes.

"Dear God." Donner moaned. "The Russians are on the same track."

"No . . . no . . ." Koplin whispered.

Seagram placed his ear next to Koplin's lips.

"Not the Russians-"

Seagram and Donner exchanged confused stares.