“I’m sorry, Brian. But that’s not the answer I’m looking for.”
Dirk Pitt was the Director of NUMA, a post he’d held for several years since his mentor and friend, Admiral James Sandecker, had gone on to be Vice President of the United States.
At six foot three, Pitt was lean and a little on the lanky side. His opaline eyes conveyed an intensity and a sense of mirth equally well. With thick dark hair, broad shoulders, and a square jaw, he cut a striking figure. That was especially true tonight, clad in a tuxedo, freshly shaved, and doused with a splash of musky cologne.
A charity ball for wounded military veterans was on the agenda for the evening, a cause Pitt was glad to be part of. He would give a speech, present an award, and submit a private donation anonymously. For the rest of the night, he’d mix and mingle with a crowd of interesting people. Despite all that, Pitt knew the true star of the night would be his wife, Loren Smith.
She’d chaired the ball, overseen the committees and the invitations, and even chosen the orchestra. With her striking beauty and effortless charm, she would captivate all whom she encountered. No doubt she’d look resplendent in whatever she wore, and most of the attendees might remember Pitt only as that handsome gentleman who stood beside her. Which suited him just fine.
The only drawback was dressing for the evening. They were going to be late if Loren wasn’t ready soon.
Rather than badger her—which would only slow the process further—he stood calmly among a group of perfectly restored antique cars. The vehicles were part of his collection. They graced the ground floor of the aircraft hangar he lived in at Washington National Airport.
As the current Director of NUMA, and the head of the Special Projects Division prior to that, Pitt had been all around the world on various missions and expeditions. Many of the vehicles in the hangar had come back with him or were delivered shortly afterward by grateful colleagues or thankful governments.
To the victor went the spoils.
Before he could decide which of the magnificent vehicles to drive tonight, the intercom system buzzed. Pitt glanced at a monitor on the wall. He saw the face of an old friend with a neatly trimmed Vandyke beard standing at the door. Two larger men loomed behind him, no doubt members of the Secret Service.
Pitt touched a button that released the locks on the steel door. It swung open and the Vice President of the United States walked in. The bodyguards tried to follow, but Sandecker waved them back.
“At ease, men,” he said.
“Mr. Vice President,” Pitt said. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later on this evening. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I thought you might have some time to talk before the event,” Sandecker said.
Pitt glanced up the spiral staircase to the apartment above. No sign of Loren yet. “I think we’re onto the third wardrobe change,” he said. “You probably have at least one more before the big reveal.”
Sandecker grinned. “I played the odds. You have anything in this joint to quench a weary traveler’s thirst?”
Pitt walked Sandecker to the bar and filled a couple of shot glasses with Johnnie Walker Blue Label scotch.
After handing a glass to the Vice President, Pitt opened the questioning. “Why doesn’t this seem like a social call?”
“Because I’m here on business,” Sandecker said. “Specifically, that business Kurt pulled this morning on Brian Westgate.”
Pitt nodded. “I’ve been fielding some blowback from that myself.”
“It didn’t put NUMA in a good light.”
If there was anything to get Sandecker riled up, it was bad publicity for NUMA, the organization he’d built from the ground up and still protected like an avenging angel.
“True,” Pitt said. “But I think Kurt’s earned a free pass or two at this point.”
Sandecker narrowed his gaze. “Is that what you told David Forrester? I heard he called y
ou.”
Pitt grinned mischievously and took a sip of the scotch. “What I told Forrester,” he began, “shouldn’t be repeated in good company. But the gist of it went like this: If he was going to go after Kurt, he was going to have to get through me first.”
Sandecker grinned. “I should have guessed. Lucky for Kurt.”
“Kurt screwed up,” Pitt admitted, “but I’m not throwing him to the wolves. If it comes to a shoving match, I’ve got his record to stand on. That’s good enough for me.”
Sandecker nodded. There was an unmistakable sense of pride in his eyes. “I wouldn’t have expected anything else. Loyalty’s a two-way street and Kurt’s never let us down. So you’ll have my support. But there’s a bigger issue. What’s your take on Kurt’s state of mind?”
Pitt wasn’t sure how to answer. And he wasn’t used to Sandecker beating around the bush. “What are you getting at?”