“Kurt’s gotten himself involved in something down under.”
A grin lit upon Sandecker’s face. “I heard he smashed up the Opera House pretty good,” he said, barely suppressing a laugh.
“What’s so funny about that?” Pitt asked.
“They’re like grandchildren,” Sandecker explained. “Paying you back for the havoc you and Al used to cause me. When I think of all the things I had to smooth over or sweep under the rug…”
Sandecker laughed again and shook his head. “You know the IRS still wants to tax you on that Messerschmitt you brought back from Germany.”
Pitt cut his eyes at Sandecker. “Considering all the money I’ve put into it, that thing’s more of a liability than an asset anyway.”
The answer rolled off Pitt’s lips almost subconsciously, he wasn’t really focused on the conversation anymore. He was scanning the text as it was decrypted by the security software on the phone. In other company, he might have kept his emotions hidden. But around one of his oldest friends, it wouldn’t have mattered.
“Something’s wrong,” Sandecker guessed.
“Nine members of the ASIO killed in an ambush. It looks like Kurt and Joe stumbled onto the scene and managed to save two others and a scientist of some kind. Kurt wants to talk on scrambled satellite feed. Says he’s at the air force base in Alice Springs.”
“Alice Springs,” Sandecker said. “Interesting.”
Pitt looked up. “Interesting like the senator’s joke? Or interesting for real?”
“Interesting for real,” Sandecker said, though he didn’t elaborate.
Dirk slid the phone back into his pocket. “I assume you have somewhere in this building I can talk to Kurt?”
“The Situation Room is available,” Sandecker said, pulling out his phone and firing off a text. “I’ll have the communications team set it up. The lights will be on and the coffee piping hot by the time we get there.”
“We?”
“I can’t let you walk around the White House unattended,” Sandecker explained, as if Pitt were part of a tour group or something. “Besides, I need an excuse to get out of here before I pummel someone and sully the reputation of my office.”
Twenty minutes later, Pitt and Sandecker were in a secondary area of the Situation Room, a smaller section no larger than an average household den. A single large monitor and three smaller ones were set into a wall. Two rows of comfortable chairs completed the kit. All in all, it felt like an upscale home theater.
True to Sandecker’s word, some of the best coffee Pitt could remember was ready and waiting. He sipped it as a technician from the communications crew finished the setup and stepped out.
Pitt sat front and center, Sandecker took a seat beside him.
Seconds later, an incoming signal was locked, and the stubble-covered face of Kurt Austin appeared on the screen.
“Two-way link established,” the tech’s voice said over the intercom. “You can see and hear them, they can see and hear you.”
“Thanks, Oliver,” the Vice President said.
On-screen, Austin straightened. “Mr. Vice President?” he said. “Didn’t expect to see you on this call.”
“Would you have shaved if you’d known?”
“If they’d loan me something sharper than a butter knife, absolutely.”
Sandecker flashed a smile. “Not to worry. By the way, the good people of Pickett’s Island send you their best. We recently swore them in as United States citizens. They’ve chosen to keep the island as it is, for the most part, with one notable exception. They’ve renamed the cove where they found you. It’s now called Austin’s Bay.”
“Sounds terrific,” Kurt said. “Hope I live to see it again.”
Pitt spoke next. “You’ve been on vacation for less than a week, Kurt. So far, you’ve managed to destroy a world-famous landmark, got yourself and Joe Zavala tangled up in a matter of Australian national security, and, apparently, landed yourselves in the hospital. I’m starting to worry about your definition of recreation.”
“I shouldn’t have involved Joe,” Kurt admitted.
“Probably shouldn’t have involved yourself,” Pitt corrected. “On the other hand, you’ve saved lives. That has a tendency to even things up.”