Night Probe! - Clive Cussler

Epstein shrugged and then laughed. "I thought you'd appreciate a touch of the macabre."

"You have copies of all this?"

"Sure. I figured you'd want them. There's five pounds of material on the sinking of the Empress and the investigation following the Hudson River bridge failure. I also scrounged up the names and addresses of a few people who make a hobby out of researching old ship and train disasters. It's all neatly packaged in an envelope out in the car." Epstein motioned toward the parking lot of the shooting range. "I'll get it for you."

"I appreciate your time and effort," said Pitt.

Epstein stared at him steadily. "One question, Dirk, you owe me that."

"Yes, I owe you that," Pitt acquiesced.

"Is this a NUMA project or are you on your own?"

"Strictly a personal show."

"I see." Epstein looked down on the ground and idly kicked a loose rock. "Did you know that a descendant of Richard Essex was recently found dead?"

"John Essex. Yes, I know."

"One of our reporters covered the story." Epstein paused and nodded in the direction of Pitt's Cobra. "A man matching your description, driving a red sports car, and asking directions to Essex's house was seen by a neighbor an hour before an anonymous phone call to the police tipped them off about his death."

"Coincidence," Pitt shrugged.

"Coincidence your ass," said Epstein. "What in hell are you up to?"

Pitt took a few steps in silence, his face set in a grim expression. Then he smiled slightly, and Epstein could have sworn the smile was tinged with foreboding.

"Believe me, my friend, when I say you don't want to know."

Graham Humberly's house sprawled over the top of a hill in Palos Verdes, a posh bedroom community of Los Angeles. The architecture was a blend of contemporary and California Spanish with rough coated plaster walls and ceilings, laced with massive weathered beams covered by a roof of curved red tile.

A large fountain splashed on the main terrace and spilled into a circular swimming pool. A spectacular panoramic view overlooked a vast carpet of city lights to the east, while the rear faced down on the Pacific Ocean and Catalina Island to the west.

Music from a mariachi band and the tidal current of babble from a hundred voices greeted Shaw as he entered Humberty's home. Bartenders were feverishly mixing gallons of tequila margaritas while the caterers busily replenished spicy Mexican dishes on a buffet table that seemed to stretch into infinity.

A small man with a head too large for his shoulders approached. He was wearing a black dinner jacket with an oriental dragon embroidered on the back.

"Hello, I'm Graham Humberly," he said with a glossy smile. "Welcome to the party."

"Brian Shaw."

The smile remained glossy. "Ah, yes, Mr. Shaw. Sorry for not recognizing you, but our mutual friends didn't send me a photograph."

"You have a most impressive home. Nothing quite like it in England."

"Thank you. But the credit belongs to my wife. I preferred something more provincial. Fortunately, her taste surpassed mine."

Humberly's accent, Shaw guessed, hinted of Cornwall. "Is Commander Milligan present?"

Humberly took his arm and led him away from the crowd. "Yes, she's here," he said softly. "I had to invite every officer of the ship to make sure she'd come. Come along, I'll introduce you around."

"I'm not much for social dribble," said Shaw. "Suppose you point her out and I'll handle things on my own."

"As you wish." Humberly studied the mass of bodies milling around the terrace. Then his gaze stopped and he -nodded toward the bar. "The tall, rather attractive woman with blond hair in the blue dress."

Shaw easily picked her out in an admiring circle of white uniformed naval officers. She looked to be in her mid-thirties and radiated a warmth that escaped most women. She seemed to accept the attention naturally without any sign of caprice. Shaw liked what he saw at first glance.

"Perhaps I can smooth the way by separating her from the horde," said Humberly.

"Don't bother," replied Shaw. "By the way, do you have a car I might borrow?"

"I have a fleet. What have you got in mind, a chauffeured limousine?"

"Something with more spirit."

Humberly thought a moment. "Will a Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible be appropriate?"

"It should do nicely."

"You'll find it in the drive. A red one, The keys will be in the ignition."

"Thank you."

"Not at all. Good hunting."

Humberly returned to his duties as host. Shaw moved toward the bar and shouldered his way up to Heidi Milligan. A blond young lieutenant gave him an indignant stare. "A bit pushy, aren't you, dad?"

Shaw ignored him and smiled at Heidi. "Commander Milligan, I'm Admiral Brian Shaw. May I have a word with you…... alone."

Heidi studied his face a moment, trying to place him. She gave up and nodded. "Of course, Admiral."

The blond lieutenant looked as if he'd discovered his fly was open. "My apologies, sir. But I thought…..."

Shaw flashed him a benevolent smile. "Always remember, lad, it pays to know the enemy."

"I like your style, Admiral," Heidi shouted over the roar of the wind.

Shaw's foot pressed the accelerator another half inch, and the Rolls surged north along the San Diego freeway. He'd had no specific destination in mind when he left the party with Heidi. Thirty years had passed since he last saw Los Angeles. He drove aimlessly, depending only on the direction signs, not at all sure where they would take him.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Her eyes were wide and sparkling from exhilaration. He felt her hand grip his arm. "You better slow down," she yelled, "before you're stopped by a cop."

That he didn't need. Shaw eased off the gas pedal and let the car coast down to the legal speed limit. He turned on the FM radio and a Strauss waltz settled over the car. He started to change the station, but she touched his hand.

"No, leave it." She leaned back in the seat and gazed up at the stars. "Where are we going?"

"An old Scottish ploy," he laughed. "Abduct females to distant places…... that way they must become interested in you if they want to get home."

"Won't work." She laughed. "I'm already three thousand miles away from home."

"Without a uniform too."

"Naval regulation: Lady officers are allowed to dress in civilian attire for social functions."

"Three cheers for the American navy."

She looked at him speculatively. "I've never known an admiral who drove a Rolls-Royce."

He smiled. "There are dozens of us on-the-beach, old British sea dogs who wouldn't be caught in any other car."

"Three cheers for your navy," she laughed.

"Seriously, I made a few wise investments when I commanded a naval depot in Ceylon."

"What do you do now that you're retired from service?"

"Write mostly. Historical books. Nelson at the Battle of the Nile, The Admiralty in World War I, that sort of thing. Hardly the stuff best-sellers are made of, but there's a certain amount of prestige attached to it."

She looked at him strangely. "You're putting me on."

"I beg your pardon."

"Do you really write historical naval books?"

"Of course," he said innocently. "Why should I lie?"

"Incredible," murmured Heidi. "I do too, but I've yet to be published."

"I say, that is incredible," Shaw said, doing his best to appear properly amazed. Then he groped for her hand, found it and gave a light pressure. "When must you return to your ship?" He could feel her tremble slightly. "There's no rush."

He glanced at a large green sign with white letters as it flashed past. "Have you ever been to Santa Barbara?"

"No," she said in almost a whisper. "But I hear it's beautiful.

In the morning it was Heidi who ordered breakfast from room service. As she poured the coffee, she experienced a glowing warmth of delight. Making love to a stranger only a few hours after meeting him gave her an inner thrill she had not known before. It was a sensation that was peculiar to her.