“Yes, you’re a weird breed of cat, Delphi. What other man would have sent his own flesh and blood out in the dead of night to commit murder? Hardly the Father of the Year. Even your hired help wander around like robots. What’s your trick, Delphi? You sprinkle mind-deadening drugs in their cornflakes, or do you mesmerize them with those phony yellow eyes?”
Delphi looked unsure; Pitt wasn’t acting like a man who’d come to the end of his string.
“You push too far.” Delphi leaned forward and locked a hypnotic gaze on Pitt’s eyes.
Pitt’s deep green eyes never hesitated, meeting Delphi’s stare with burning intensity. “Don’t strain yourself, Delphi. I’m not the least impressed. As I’ve said, they’re phony. Yellow contact lenses, nothing more. You can’t cast a spell over a man who’s laughing at you. You’re a fraud from top to bottom. Lavella and Roblemann. Who’re you trying to kid? You’re not fit to wipe their blackboards. Hell, you can’t even do a decent impression of Frederick Moran...”
Pitt broke off abruptly, dodging to the side as Delphi, clenched teeth bared in rage, leaped from behind the desk and swung in a wide, windmilling arc with his fist. The blow carried every ounce of Delphi’s immense strength, but the blinding haze of anger blurred his timing and the fist soared past without making a connection. He stumbled, recovered, and then lost his balance, going down on his hands and knees with a grunt of agony as Pitt’s foot caught him on the side of his body. He stayed where he was, swaying from side to side.
There was a moment of stunned silence throughout the room as Delphi rose unsteadily, supporting himself on the top of the heavy desk. His breath was coming in gasps, his mouth a taut white line.
Pitt stood frozen, cursing himself for overplaying his hand. There was no doubt in his mind-there could be no doubt in the mind of all who were in the room- that Delphi meant to kill him and Al. Delphi reached behind the desk, pulling open a drawer and lifting out a gun. Not one of the projectile pistols, but an automatic, Pitt noticed uneasily-a heavy dark blue .44 Colt revolver-hardly the gun he expected Delphi to wield. Unhurriedly, Delphi broke the gun open, checked the shells, and snapped it shut again. The yellow eyes hadn’t yet changed-they were as expressionless and icy as ever. Pitt turned and looked down at Giordino who met his eyes with a wry grin. They tensed their bodies, waiting for the end. But Delphi’s yellow eyes strayed over his targets, toward the door.
“No, Father!” Summer implored. “Not that way!”
She stood at the door, wearing a green robe that came to mid thigh, her beautifully tanned and smooth skin radiating warmth and self-assurance. Pitt’s blood began to pump rapidly through his veins. She moved into the room, her eyes touching Delphi with a confident, challenging gaze.
“Do not interfere,” Delphi whispered, “This matter does not concern you.”
“You just can’t shoot them down here,” Summer persisted. “You just can’t!” Her great gray eyes suddenly became soft and pleading. “Not within these walls!”
“Their blood can be washed away.”
“It’s no good, Father. You’ve had to kill to maintain our sanctuary. But that was outside in the sea. You must not bring death into your own house.”
Delphi hesitated and slowly dropped the gun.
“You’re quite right, Daughter.” He smiled, “Death from a bullet is too quick, too merciful, and too unclean. We’ll set them free on the surface. We’ll give them a chance to survive.”
“Fat chance,” Pitt growled. “Hundreds of miles to the nearest land. Man-eaters waiting for a bite of human flesh. You’re all heart.”
“Enough of this morbid talk.” The giant’s face wore a sardonic expression. “I still wish to hear how you came to be here, and I haven’t time for any more of your wit.”
Pitt casually studied his watch. “About thirty-one minutes to be exact.”
“Thirty-one minutes?”
“Yes, that’s when your precious sanctuary caves in.”
“Back with the jokes again, are we, my friend?” He walked over to the portal, staring at the moray eel, before turning abruptly. “How many other men were in your aircraft?”
Pitt snapped another question back. “What became of Lavella, Roblemann, and Moran?”
“You persist in toying with me.”
“No, I’m dead serious,” Pitt said. “You answer a couple of questions and I’ll tell you what you want to know. My word.”
Delphi thoughtfully looked at the gun. Then he laid it on the desk “I believe you.”
To begin with, Major, my name really is Moran.”
“Frederick Moran would have to be in his eighties to be alive now!”
“I am his son,” Delphi said slowly. “I was a young man when he set out with Dr. Lavella and Dr. Roblemann to find the lost island of Kanoli. You see, my father was a pacifist. After the second world war had ended in the inferno of the atomic bomb, he knew it would only be a question of time before mankind destroyed itself in a nuclear holocaust. When countries arm for war, the arms never go unused, he once said. He began researching areas that would be safe from radiation and far from target sectors, eventually discovering that a base under the sea provided the ideal retreat. When the island of Kanoli sank into the sea many centuries ago, it dropped suddenly, without volcanic activity or major cataclysm. This indicated that the ceremonial caves and tunnels recorded in the legends might still be intact. Lavella and Roblemann sympathized with my father; they joined him in his search for the lost isle. After nearly three months of sounding the seafloor, they found it, and immediately began plans for pumping the passages dry. It took them nearly a year before they were able to set up quarters within the seamount.”
“How was it possible to work so long in secret?” Pitt asked. “The records list the expedition’s ship as missing only a few months after it left port.”
“Secrecy was no great problem,” Delphi continued. The ship’s hull had been modified so that divers and equipment would be able to pass in and out of the sea. A few alterations like changing the name on the bow, and painting the superstructure, and the ship simply became another unnoticed steamer plying the Western trade route. Not secrecy, but financing, became the major problem.”
The rest I know,” Pitt said with an unnerving degree of certainty.
Delphi looked up. Summer took a step forward, the identical expression of doubt showing in their faces.
“How odd you didn’t catch onto the fact that the entire 101st Fleet, the entire Navy Department, discovered your setup.”
“What purpose do you serve by lying?” Delphi demanded.
“You should have guessed, Delphi. Remember when you left my apartment? I mentioned Kanoli, yet you hardly batted an eye. Probably because you knew I was about to die so my little revelation was of no consequence.”
“How... how could you?...”
The curator at the Bishop Museum. He remembered your father. But that was only the beginning. The pieces are all there, Delphi, and they all neatly finish the puzzle.” Pitt walked over and knelt down beside Giordino. Then he faced Delphi again. “You kill because of greed, nothing else. You’ve even imbedded the same cold-blooded philosophy in your own daughter. Your father might have been a pacifist, but what Dr. Moran began for strictly scientific and humanitarian reasons, unwittingly became, in your hands, the slickest hijack operation in maritime history.”
“Don’t stop,” Delphi said grimly. “I want to hear it all.”
“You want to hear it told from the other side?” Pitt asked, his tone neutral “Want to hear how you’re put down in the files? Very well. Before continuing, however, I’d appreciate it if you could make Giordino here a bit more comfortable. If s embarrassing for him to have to lie on the floor like an animal.”
Delphi nodded reluctantly to the guards, who lifted Giordino by the arms and carried him to the red-cushioned couch. Only when Giordino was sitting more comfortably did Pitt continue. The next few minutes wouldn’t make much sense unless he could
guess enough of the plot behind Delphi’s strange organization. If they were to have even one chance in a hundred of escaping the crush of the coming explosion, he’d have to get Giordino and Summer out of that room. The great crystal portal would be the first to go, unleashing a million gallons of seawater. He could only pray for an interruption. He took a deep breath, hoped his imagination was operating in high gear, and began.
“The Explorer, your father’s ship, had outlived her usefulness by the time the scientists had made the seamount livable. Dr. Moran needed money to buy equipment in order to continue underwater construction, so he resorted to the world’s most common con game-taking an insurance company. Screwing the establishment out of a few bucks in the name of science consoled his conscience. And what the hell did he care? He and Lavella and Roblemann had dropped out of society anyway. So he sailed the Explorer to the States, loaded the holds with worthless junk, insured the ship and cargo to the hilt, all this under a different name and registry, of course. Then he sailed the ship back to Kanoli where he opened the sea cocks and became the first victim of the Vortex. He immediately applied for the insurance.
“The scheme worked so smoothly, Delphi, that you couldn’t resist opening up for business in a big way after the good scientists died off and could offer no objections. Only this time, you refined the operation. You used ships that didn’t belong to you. There was more loot in this method, as you weren’t out the original cost of the ship. It must have been one hell of a profitable scheme. And still is, for that matter. It’s almost ridiculously simple. You arrange for a few of your men to sign on as crew members on a merchantman heading west from the mainland to the Indies and the Orient. Why always west? The western steamer lane cuts right over your backyard, and not only does Kanoli lie near its path, but goods stamped MADE IN THE U.S.A. are easier to sell in the backwater black markets. All your clandestine crew had to do was deviate the ship a few degrees off its course, signal ‘All Stop’ to the engine room, and then stand by while you and your merry band of pirates climbed aboard and murdered the loyal crew.
“No trace of the vessel is ever found. How could it be? The bodies were weighted and dumped over the side, the hull was repainted from stem to stem, a few prominent areas of its superstructure were altered, and presto, you had a new ship. Then it was only the small matter of selling the cargo-unless it was easily traceable and too hot to handle, in which case it was expediently dropped in the sea. You made a few honest trade runs under a new registry before you then reinsured it, and then you sunk it on the summit of the seamount so you could always get at the remains for spare parts needed to make phony modifications on future acquisitions to your ill-gotten fleet God, how all the buccaneers of the Spanish Main would have envied your organization, Delphi. Next to you, they were nothing but a gang of muggers. Why hell, you’ve got half the world fooled into thinking there’s almost thirty ships out there on the bottom, when in reality, there’s only half that many. Every one of them was listed as missing twice. Once under their original name, and again when you scuttled them under yours.”
“Very penetrating,” the scoff in Delphi’s tone was belied by the deep absorption in his eyes.
“The Lillie Marlene,” Pitt went on in a quiet voice, “that was a clever hoax. Things were getting a little too hot around the seamount; too many private pleasure crafts cruising about, trying to treasure hunt the missing ships. It was only a matter of time before a Fathometer or sonar picked up the outline of the hulks. So you cooked up the Lillie Marlene affair to get the heat off your operation.
The Coast Guard, the Navy, the Merchant Marine were all taken in by the eerie discovery on board the yacht. You’d make a great press agent, Delphi That description of the dead bodies with green skin and burned faces put the fear of the unknown into every superstitious seaman sailing the Pacific. Ships and crews began avoiding these parts like the plague. You had them all conned. No one considered the notion of a trumped-up facade. You sent that phony message from the Lillie Marlene’s radio. The operator was already dead. The crew of the Spanish freighter, the San Gabriel, had murdered him and everyone on the yacht”
Pitt paused to let his words sink in. “That was a neat touch, having the Lillie Marlene blow herself and the boarding crew to shreds. In reality, there was no explosion; the yacht had been captured and sailed away to the seamount for a complete facelift. She was too pretty a ship to scuttle. You’ve probably got her tied up this minute at one of the Honolulu yacht marinas under a new name and registered to the same outfit, on paper at any rate, that owns your other ships. What’s the name again? The Pisces Pacific Corporation?”
Delphi suddenly stiffened. “You know about Pisces Pacific?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Pitt asked. “I can easily inform you that everything you own outside the seamount is under custody at this moment. Your amphibian aircraft, corporation offices, the radio transmitter on Maui, to mention a few.” Pitt realized that his imagination had hit home. “You had a good thing going, Delphi. Every contingency was covered. Even if one of your victims managed to get off a Mayday signal, your transmitter on the island effectively garbled it and then rebroadcast a confused message that just happened to mention the ship’s position, a position over a hundred miles away from where the actual act of piracy actually took place.”
Delphi’s face was a mask of malevolence. “You should have died, Pitt You should have died in triplicate.”
“Ah yes,” Pitt shrugged. “The slimy crud in the gray panel truck for one. A damnably crude attempt for someone of your finesse. But I suppose you were pressed for time, especially since Cinana had informed you that I was placed on duty with Admiral Hunter and his staff that morning. After the botched job by Summer the night before, it would have been awkward if I’d launched an investigation of my own, or worse yet, if Adrian Hunter let slip a few choice remarks about her affair with Cinana. It all totaled to one conclusion: Pitt had to get flushed, and fast.”
“You’re a cunning man,” Delphi said slowly. “Far more cunning than I gave you credit for. But it makes little difference now. You’ve played a bluffing game. Your guesswork is fairly accurate. You missed target on my father, however. He was a good man. He and his fellow scientists were all killed when a pump failed and they drowned in a flood tunnel shortly before their work was finished. Credit for the missing ships belongs only to me. I planned and conceived the entire operation beginning with the Explorer. I made mistakes, but none that couldn’t be glossed over. Yes, Mr. Pitt, you are bluffing. Captain Cinana kept me informed right up until his unfortunate passing. Admiral Hunter could not possibly have put the entire story together in the last twenty-four hours.”
Delphi passed his hand over his brow and rubbed his closed eyes. It was as though he was trying to erase a past error. “You were my most inexcusable mistake. Three decades of perfect isolation and you nearly destroyed it.”
“Thirty years is a long time to get away with so awesome a crime,” said Pitt. “You destroyed yourself, Delphi. You bit off more than you can chew. Your worst blunder was capturing the Starbuck. It’s one thing to hijack a merchant vessel or pleasure boat. The Coast Guard seldom conducts any more than a surface search in the area of the last-known position of the missing ship. But when a naval vessel vanishes, the Navy never stops scouring the sea, no matter how far or how deep, until they find the remains.”
Delphi stared out the portal for a long moment. “If Commander Dupree had only kept on his original course, instead of deviating and discovering our sanctuary, he and his crew would still be alive.”
Pitt’s eyes were like round chunks of ice. “How did you do it? How did you capture a nuclear submarine while it was underwater?”
“Really quite simple,” Delphi answered. “My men stretched heavy steel cable in the sub’s path, snagging the propellers. When she drifted to a stop, we forced open several of her outside ballast vents, allowing water to enter her air tanks while flooding two interior compartments. As the Starbu
ck sank to the bottom, its low frequency radio signals were jammed and the escape hatches were sealed from the outside. Months later, when the food stocks ran out and the crew were weakened by starvation, my people entered and disposed of them.”
“Really quite simple,” Pitt repeated grimly. “The Starbuck was the greatest prize of the century, the crowning zenith of criminal plunder. And you were home free. The Navy was searching hundreds of miles away. It took only a few days to clean out the flooded compartments, and there sat the Starbuck as good as new in only ninety feet of water. Except you had a problem, Delphi. I couldn’t figure it at first; it didn’t make sense. Here you have the world’s most advanced nuclear submarine, including her missiles complete with warheads, sitting a few hundred yards from your doorstep, and you never moved her as much as an inch because you didn’t know how to operate her. The Starbuck is a highly complex piece of machinery. After your father and the other scientists were killed, you were the only one left with any smattering of intelligence. Your entire organization is built on blind obedience to you. None of your people have one ounce of smarts. That’s why you let Seaman Farris live-hoping he could be tortured into training your men to at least deliver the Starbuck to a Russian or Chinese port where she could be sold. But Farris’s mind was gone. The ordeal of watching his crewmates and officers either die or disappear until he was the only one left, was too much. He snapped. He’ll never fully recover.”