“Your wound,” Sandecker nodded at Pitt’s leg. “Healing all right?”
“It’s still a bit stiff,” Pitt answered. “Nothing a thirty day medical leave won’t cure.”
The Admiral eyed Pitt shrewdly for a moment through a blue haze of cigar smoke. “Two weeks.” The tone reeked of cool authority. “I have more faith in your recuperative powers than you have.”
The Director cleared his throat. “I’ve read Inspector Zacynthus’ report with a great deal of interest. There is, however, one point he didn’t cover. It isn’t
important. but out of personal curiosity, I wonder if you
could tell me. Major how you came to the conclusion
that Minerva Lines ships had the capacity to carry submarines?”
Pitt smiled with his eyes. “I guess you might say, sir, the secret was written in the sand.”
The Director’s lips curled in a humorless smile. He wasn’t used to indirect answers.. “Very Homeric, Major, but hardly the answer I had in mind.”
“Strange but true,” Pitt said. “After finding no sign of the heroin on board the Queen Artemisia, I swam to the beach and began doodling with a stick in the sand. A detachable submarine seemed like an abstract idea at first. but the more
I doodled, the more concrete it became.”
The Director leaned back in his chair and shook his head sadly. “Forty years, a hundred agents from twelve different nations all struggling under the most adverse conditions imaginable to break von Till’s smuggling operation. Three of those agents gave up their lives in the struggle” He looked gravely across the desk at Pitt “Somehow it almost seems a tragic joke that our efforts overlooked a solution that was so apparent to someone standing on the outside looking in.”
Pitt stared at him in silence.
“By the way,” the Director continued suddenly cheerful, “I don’t suppose you’ve had a chance to hear the results of our Galveston stakeout?”
“No sir.” Pitt carefully tapped an ash in an ashtray. “Until five minutes ago I haven’t seen or talked to Inspector Zacynthus since we parted on Thasos. nearly three weeks ago I’ve had no way of knowing whether my small assist paid off for you in Galveston or not.”
Zacynthus looked at the Director. “May I fill Major Pitt in, sir?”
The Director nodded.
Zacynthus turned to Pitt.
“Everything went according to plan. Five miles outside the harbor we were met by a small fleet of von Till’s fishing boats—a bit tricky at this point, not knowing the proper identification signals. Luckily I persuaded the Queen Jocasta’s captain—with the threat of castration with a rusty knife-—to desert the enemy and join our side.”
“Did anyone come aboard?” Pitt asked.
“There was no danger of that,” Zacynthus replied.
“A boarding party would have looked too damned suspicious to a passing patrol boat. The fishermen merely stood off and signaled us to detach the sub. Interesting piece of machinery, that sub. The Navy engineers who studied it coming across the Atlantic were quite impressed.”
“What made it so unique?” “It was fully automatic.”
“A drone?” Pitt asked incredulously.
“Yes, another one of von Till’s clever innovations. You see, if the sub had an accident or was detected by the Harbor Patrol before it reached the cannery there was no way in hell it could be traced or connected to Minerva Lines. And without a crew there would be no one to interrogate.”
Pitt was intrigued. “Then it was controlled by one of the fishing boats.”
Zacynthus nodded. “Right up the middle of the harbor’s main channel and under the pilings of the cannery. Only this trip the sub carried several uninvited stowaways: myself and ten marines on loan from the Mediterranean Tenth Fleet I might add that the cannery was surrounded by thirty of the Bureau’s best agents.”
“If Galveston had more than one cannery,” Giordino said thoughtfully, “you’d have been in big trouble.”
Zacynthus grinned knowingly. “As a matter of fact, Galveston boasts a total of four canneries, all located on pilings over the water.”
Giordino didn’t have to ask the obvious question. It was written all over his face.
“I’ll put your mind at ease,” Zacynthus said. “The Bureau’s Gulf Ports Department had each cannery under surveillance for two weeks before the Queen Jocasta’s arrival. The tip-off came when one of them received a shipment of sugar.”
Pitt raised an eyebrow. “Sugar?”
“Sugar,” the Director offered, “is often used to adulterate the heroin and boost the quantity. By the time pure heroin is cut by the middle man and cut again by the dealer, the original supply is increased by a substantial amount.”
Pitt thought for a moment “So the one hundred and thirty tons was only a beginning?”
“It could have been the beginning,” Zacynthus answered, "if it wasn’t for you, old friend. You’re the only one who saw through von Till’s plan. If you and Giordino hadn’t arrived at Thasos when you did, the rest of us would be sitting up in Chicago about now, forming a daisy chain and kicking each other into Lake Michigan.”
Pitt grinned. “Write it off to luck.”
“Call it what you will,” Zacynthus retorted. “As things stand at the moment, we have over thirty of the biggest illegal drug importers in the country waiting for indictment, including everyone connected with the trucking company that transported the goods. And that’s only the half of it. When we searched the cannery office we found a book with the names of nearly two thousand dealers from New York to Los Angeles. For the Bureau it was comparable to a prospector discovering the mother lode.”
Giordino let out a long whistle. “It’s going to be a bad year for the addicts.”
“That’s right,” Zacynthus said. “Now that their main source is dried up, and the local law enforcement agencies are rounding up the dealers, the users are about to face the worst drug famine to come along in the last twenty years.”
Pitt’s eyes left the zoom and gazed out the window, seeing nothing. “There is just one more question.”
Zacynthus looked at him. “Yes?’
Pitt didn’t reply immediately. He fiddled with his cane a moment. “What became of our old friend? I’ve seen no mention of him in the newspapers.”
“Before I answer you, take a look at these.” Zacynthus pulled a pair of photographs from a briefcase and laid them in front of Pitt side by side on the desk.
Pitt leaned over and studied them carefully. The first was a snapshot of a light-haired man who wore the uniform of a German naval officer He was caught in a relaxed pose, standing on the bridge of a ship and peering out to sea, his hands resting carelessly on a pair of binoculars that hung around his neck The face in the second photograph stared back at Pitt with the familiar leer of a shaven-skulled Erich von Stroheim. A huge white dog stood at the lower half of the picture, crouched as if ready to spring. An involuntary chill crept through Pitt’s body as he remembered— remembered all too vividly.
“There doesn’t seem to be much of a resemblance.”
Zacynthus nodded. “Admiral Heibert did a remarkable job—scars, birthmarks, even his dental fillings matched von Till’s.”
“what about fingerprints?"
“Impossible to prove anything. There were no known records of von Till’s prints, and Helbert had his altered by surgery.”
Pitt sat back puzzled. “Then how can we be sure—”
“The uninvited detail,” Zacynthus said slowly. “No matter how exhaustingly they try or how diligently they plan, all criminals get their tails pinned to the wall by the uninvited detail. In Heibert’s case it was von Till’s scalp?”
Pitt shook his head. “I don’t follow you.”
“When von Till was a young man, he contracted a skin disease called Alpecia areata which caused complete baldness Heibert didn’t know this. He thought von Till had shaved his head in the Prussian tradition, so quite naturally he t
ook to the razor. It didn’t take the War Criminals investigators long to spot the growth. There was, of course, later evidence that confirmed Admiral Heibert’s identity, but the hair was the first nail in the coffin.”
Pitt suddenly felt a vague mixture of relief and satisfaction. “Has he swung yet?”
“Four days ago,” Zacynthus said matter of factly. “You saw nothing in the newspapers because there was nothing The Germans kept his capture and death quiet. They’re sick and tired of having the mud of their Nazi past rubbed in their faces every time an old war criminal is ferreted out. Besides, Heibert didn’t have the same notoriety as Bormann and a few others of Hitler’s personal clique.”
“Makes you wonder how many more are scattered around the world,” Pitt murmured.
The telephone on the desk buzzed, and the Director picked it up. “Yes.. . yes, I'll pass along the good news, thank you.” He replaced the telephone in its cradle, his pitted face split in a wide grin, and he turned to Sandecker. “That was your office, Admiral. Allow me to be the first to offer my congratulations.”
Sandecker rolled the cigar to one side of his mouth. “What in hell for?”
The Director, still grinning, stood up and laid his hand on the Admiral’s shoulder. “It seems that your marine oddity turned out to be a viviparous female. Consequently, you, sir, are now the proud papa of a bouncing baby Teaser.”
The steaming heat was beginning to fade, and the lengthening shadows were stretching far behind the late afternoon sun when Pitt limped out onto the sidewalk He paused a moment and looked at the city. The streets were busy with homeward bound traffic, and soon all the surrounding buildings would be mute and deserted.
He looked toward the Capitol building in the distance, its white dome transformed into a blazing gold tint from the falling sun, and he remembered another scene on a faraway beach and a white ship and a vibrant blue sea. It seemed so long ago, nearly an eternity.
Giordino and Zacynthus came down the steps and joined him.
Zacynthus spoke jovially. “Gentlemen, I suggest that since we are all single, debonair men-about-town we combine forces and engage in a bit of fun and frolic.”
“I’ll buy that,” Giordino volunteered.
Pitt shrugged in mock sadness. “It wounds me deeply, but I must decline your intriguing invitation. I already have a previous engagement.”
“I think this is where I came in,” Giordino moaned.
Zacynthus laughed. “You’re making a big mistake. I happen to possess a little black book which contains the phone numbers of some of Washington’s fairest—”
Zacynthus suddenly stopped in midsentence and stared at the Street, his eyes wide in blank astonishment.
A gargantuan black-and-silver car rolled silently
up to the curb and stopped. Elegant in design, majestic in appearance, the regal coachwork seemed out of place beside the more modern mechanized traffic, like a
queen of the realm amid a bustling crowd of foul-smelling rabble. And as a fitting touch, the piece de resistance, a lovely dark-haired girl graced the steering wheel.
“Good lord,” Zacynthus gasped. “Von Till’s Maybach.” He turned to Pitt. “How did you get it?”
"To the victor belong the spoils,” Pitt grinned slyly.
Giordino raised an eyebrow. “Now I see what you meant by a bulky souvenir. I might add that your other souvenir isn’t half bad either.”
Pitt opened the front door of the car. “I think you both know my ravishing chauffeur.”
“She reminds me of a girl I once met in the Aegean,” Giordino said smiling. “But this one is much better looking.”
The girl laughed. “Just to show that flattery has its reward, I forgive you for that rough ride through the labyrinth. Only next time give me warning so I can put on some decent clothes.”
Giordino looked genuinely sheepish. “I promise.”
Pitt turned to Zacynthus. There was a faint smile in Pitt’s eyes. “Do me a favor, will you Zac?"
“if I can.”
"I'd like to borrow the services of one of your agents for a couple of weeks. Do you think you can arrange it?”
Zacynthus looked down at the girl and nodded. “I think so. The Bureau owes you that much.”
Pitt climbed Into the front seat and closed the door. Then he handed his cane out to Giordino. “Here, I don’t think I’ll be needing this anymore.”
Before Giordino could make an appropriate reply, the girl engaged the clutch, and the big town car slipped into the moving line of traffic.
Giordino watched the high-roofed car until it rounded a distant corner and was lost from sight. Then he turned and looked at Zacynthus.
“How are you at whipping up scallops with mushrooms in white wine sauce?”
Zacynthus shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ve never graduated beyond frozen TV dinners.”
“In that case, you can buy me a drink.”
“You forget, I’m only a poor civil servant.”
“Then look upon me as an item on your expense account."
Zacynthus tried to look serious but tailed. Then he shrugged. “Shall we?”
“Lets.”
So arm in arm, much to the amusement of passerbys, the tall Zacynthus and the short Giordino, looking all the world like Mutt and Jeff, began walking down the sidewalk In the direction of the nearest bar.
Clive Cussler, The Mediterranean Caper
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