Shock Wave

  "Why haven't the prices of colored stones matched that of diamonds?" asked Pitt.

  "Because the diamond cartel has always managed to push color into the shadows," Dorsett told him with the fervor of a zealot. "For decades, De Beers has spent enormous sums of money in high-powered research to study and survey international markets. Millions were spent advertising diamonds and creating an image of eternal value. To keep prices fixed, De Beers created a demand for diamonds to keep pace with the mushrooming supply. And so the web of imagery capturing a man showing his love for a woman through the gift of a diamond was spun through a shrewd advertising campaign that reached its peak with the slogan, `Diamonds are forever.' " He began to pace the room, gesturing with his hands for effect. "Because colored gemstone production is fragmented by thousands of independent producers, all competing and selling against each other, there has been no unified organization to promote colored stones. The trade has suffered from a lack of consumer awareness. I intend to change all that after the price of diamonds plunges."

  "So you've jumped in with both feet."

  "Not only will I produce colored stones from the mines," declared Dorsett, "but unlike De Beers, I will cut and merchandise them through the House of Dorsett, my chain of stores on the retail market.

  Sapphires, emeralds and rubies may not be eternal, but when I'm through, they will make any woman who wears them feel like a goddess. Jewelry will have achieved a new splendor. Even the famous Renaissance goldsmith Benvenuto Cellini proclaimed the ruby and emerald more glorious than diamonds."

  It was a staggering concept, and Pitt carefully considered the possibilities before he asked, "For decades women have bought the idea that diamonds have an undeniable tie to courtship and a lifetime relationship. Do you really think you can switch their desire from diamonds to colored stones?"

  "Why not?" Dorsett was surprised that Pitt could express doubt. "The notion of a diamond engagement ring did not take hold until the late 1800s. All it takes is a strategy to revamp social attitudes.

  I have a top creative advertising agency with offices in thirty countries ready to launch an international promotional campaign in unison with my operation to send the cartel down the drain. When I'm finished, colored stones will be the prestige gems for jewelry. Diamonds will merely be used for background settings. '

  Pitt 's gaze traveled from Boudicca to Deirdre and then Maeve. "Like most men, I'm a poor judge of women's inner thoughts and emotions, but I know it won't be easy convincing them that diamonds are not a girl's best friend."

  Dorsett laughed dryly. "It's the men who' buy precious stones for women. And as much as they want to impress their true love, men have a higher regard for value. Sell them on the fact that rubies and emeralds are fifty times more rare than diamonds, and they'll buy them."

  "Is that true?" Pitt was skeptical. "That an emerald is fifty times more rare than a comparable diamond?"

  Dorsett nodded solemnly. "As the deposits of emeralds dry up, and they will in time, the gap will become much higher. Actually, it could safely be said of the red emerald, which comes only from one or two mines in the state of Utah, that it is over a million times as rare."

  "Cornering one market while destroying another, there has to be more in it for you than mere profit."

  "Not `mere profit,' my dear Pitt. Profits on a level unheard of in history. We're talking tens of billions of dollars."

  Pitt was incredulous at the staggering sum. "You couldn't achieve that kind of money unless you doubled the price of colored gemstones."

  "Quadrupled would be closer to the truth. Of course, the raise would not take place overnight, but in graduated price hikes over a period of years."

  Pitt moved until he was standing directly in front of Dorsett, peering up closely at the taller man. "I have no quarrel with your desire to play King Midas," he said with quiet steadiness. "Do what you will with the price of diamonds. But for God's sake shut down the ultrasonic excavation of your mines. Call your superintendents and order them to stop all operations. Do it now before another life is lost."

  There came a strange stillness. Every pair of eye, turned toward Dorsett in expectation of an outburst of wrath at being challenged. He stared at Pitt for long seconds before turning to Maeve.

  "Your friend is impatient. He does not know me, does not recognize my determination." Then he again faced Pitt. "The assault on the diamond cartel is set for February twenty-second, twenty-one days from now. To make it work I need every gram, every carat, my mines can produce until then. Worldwide press coverage, advertising space in newspapers and time on television is purchased and scheduled.

  There can be no change, there will be no change in plans. If a few rabble die, so be it."

  Mental derangement, Pitt thought, those were the only words to describe the eerie malignity in Dorsett's coalblack eyes. Mental derangement and total indifference to any thought of remorse. He was a man totally without conscience. Pitt felt his skin crawl from just looking at him. He wondered how many deaths Arthur Dorsett was accountable for. Long before he began excavating diamonds with ultrasound, how many men had died who stood in his way to becoming rich and powerful? He felt a sharp chill at knowing the man was a sociopath on the same level as a serial killer.

  "You will pay for your crimes, Dorsett," Pitt said calmly but with a cold edge in his voice. "You will surely pay for the unbearable grief and agony you have caused."

  "Who will be the angel of my retribution?" Dorsett sneered. "You, maybe? Mr. Giordino here? I do not believe there will be ordained retaliation from the heavens. The possibility is too remote. The only certainty I can bank on, Mr. Pitt, is that you won't be around to see it."

  "Execute the witnesses by shooting them in the head and throwing their bodies overboard, is that your policy?"

  "Shoot you and Mr. Giordino in the head?" There was no trace of emotion, of any feeling in Arthur Dorsett's voice. "Nothing so crude and mundane, nor so merciful. Thrown in the sea? Yes, you may consider that a foregone conclusion. In any event, I will guarantee you and your friend a slow but violent death."

  After thirty hours of pounding through the sea at incredible speeds, the powerful turbodiesels fell off to a muffled throb, and the yacht slowed and began to drift amid a sea of gentle swells. The last sight of the New Zealand shoreline had long since disappeared in the yacht's wake. To the north and west dark clouds were laced with forks of lightning, the thunder rumbling dully across the horizon. To the south and east there were no clouds and thunder. The skies were blue and clear.

  Pitt and Giordino had spent the night and half the next day locked in a small supply compartment aft of the engine room. There was barely enough room to sit on the deck with knees drawn up to their chins.

  Pitt kept awake most of the time, the clarity of his mind heightened, listening to the revolutions of the engines, the thump of the swells. Casting aside all thoughts of restraint, Giordino had wrenched the door off its hinges only to be confronted by four guards with the muzzles of their automatic weapons pushed into his navel. Defeated, he promptly dropped off to sleep before the door was rehung.

  Angered and blaming only himself for their predicament, Pitt was very self-critical, but no fault could really be attached to him. He should have out-thought John Merchant. He had been caught with his guard down because he miscalculated their fanatic desire to lure Maeve back into their clutches. He and Giordino were mere sideline pawns. Arthur Dorsett considered them little more than a minor annoyance in his insane crusade for an absurd accumulation of wealth.

  There was something weird and ominous about their unmoving concentration on such a complex plan to ensnare a daughter and eliminate the men from NUMA. Pitt wondered dimly why he and Giordino had been kept alive, and he had no sooner done so when the damaged door creaked open and John Merchant stood leering on the threshold. Pitt automatically checked his Doxa watch at seeing his nemesis. It was eleven-twenty in the morning.

  Time to board your vessel," Merchant a
nnounced pleasantly.

  "We're changing boats?" asked Pitt.

  "In a manner of speaking."

  "I hope the service is better than on this one," said Giordino lazily. "You will, of course, take care of our luggage."

  Merchant dismissed Giordino with a brisk shrug. "Please hurry, gentlemen. Mr. Dorsett does not like to be kept waiting."

  They were escorted out onto the stern deck, surrounded by a small army of guards armed with a variety of weapons designed to inflict bodily harm but not kill. Both men blinked in the fading sunlight just as the first few raindrops fell carried ahead of the advancing clouds by a light breeze.

  Dorsett sat protected under an overhang in a chair at a table laden with several savory dishes laid out in silver serving bowls. Two uniformed attendants stood at his elbow, one ready to pour at the slightest indication that his wineglass required refilling, the other to replace used silverware. Boudicca and Deirdre, seated on their father's left and right, didn't bother looking up from their food as Pitt and Giordino were brought into their divine presence. Pitt glanced around for Maeve, but she wasn't to be seen.

  "I regret that you must leave us," said Dorsett between bites of toast heaped with caviar. "A pity you couldn't have stayed for brunch."

  "Don't you know you're supposed to boycott caviar?" said Pitt. Poachers have nearly driven sturgeon to extinction."

  Dorsett shrugged apathetically. "So it costs a few dollars more."

  Pitt turned, his eyes staring over the empty sea, starting to look ugly from the approaching storm. "We were told we were to board another boat."

  "And so you shall."

  "Where is it?"

  "Floating alongside."

  "I see," Pitt said quietly. "I see indeed. You plan to set us adrift."

  Dorsett rubbed food from his mouth with a napkin with the savoir-faire of an auto mechanic wiping his greasy hands. "I apologize for providing such a small craft, one without an engine, I might add, but it's all I have to offer."

  "A nice sadistic touch. You enjoy the thought of our suffering."

  Giordino glanced at two high-performance powerboats that were cradled on the upper deck of the yacht. "We're overwhelmed by your generosity."

  You should be grateful that I'm giving you a chance to live."

  "Adrift in a part of the sea devoid of maritime traffic, directly in the path of a storm." Pitt scowled. "The least you should do is supply pen and paper to make out our last wills and testaments."

  "Our conversation has ended. Goodbye, Mr. Pitt, Mr. Giordino, bon voyage." Dorsett nodded at John Merchant. "Show these NUMA scum to their craft."

  Merchant pointed to a gate in the railing that was swung open.

  "What, no confetti and streamers?" muttered Giordino.

  Pitt stepped to the edge of the deck and stared down at the water. A small semi-inflatable boat bobbed in the water beside the yacht. Three meters in length by two meters wide, it had a fiberglass V-hull that appeared sturdy. The center compartment, however, would barely hold four people, the neoprene outer flotation tube taking up half the boat. The craft had mounted an outboard engine at one time, but that had been removed. The control cables still dangled from a center console. The interior was empty except for a figure in Pitt's leather jacket huddled in one end.

  Cold rage swept Pitt. He took Merchant by the collar of his yachting jacket and cast him aside as easily as if he'd been a straw scarecrow. He stormed back to the dining table before he could be stopped. "Not Maeve too," he said sharply.

  Dorsett smiled, but it was an expression completely lacking in humor. "She took her ancestor's name, she can suffer as her ancestor did."

  "You bastard!" Pitt snarled with animal hate. "You fornicating scab-!" That was as far as he got. One of Merchant's guards rammed the butt of his automatic rifle viciously in Pitt's side, just above the kidney.

  A tidal wave of agony consumed Pitt, but sheer wrath kept him on his feet. He lurched forward, grabbed the tablecloth in both hands, gave a mighty jerk and wrenched it into the air. Glasses, knives, forks, spoons, serving dishes and plates filled with gourmet treats exploded over the deck with a great clatter. Pitt then threw himself across the table at Dorsett, not with the mere intent to strike him or choke him to death. He knew he'd have one, and only one, chance at maiming the man. He extended his index fingers and jabbed just as he was smothered in guards. A maddened Boudicca slung her hand down in a ferocious chop to Pitt's neck, but she missed and caught him on the shoulder. One of Pitt's fingers missed its target and scraped over Dorsett's forehead. The other struck home, and he heard an agonized primeval scream. Then he felt the blows raining on him in every bone of his body, then nothing as the crazy melee snapped into blackness.

  Pitt woke and thought he was in some bottomless pet or a cave deep in the earth. Or at least in the depths of some underground cavern where there was only eternal darkness. Desperately, he tried to feel his way out, but it was like stumbling through a labyrinth. Lost in the throes of a nightmare, doomed to wander forever in a black maze, he thought vaguely. Then suddenly, for no more than the blink of an eye, he saw a dim light far ahead. He reached out for it and watched it grow into dark clouds scudding across the sky.

  "Praise be, Lazarus is back from the dead." Giordino's voice seemed to come from a city block away, partially drowned out by the rumble of traffic. "And just in time to die again, by the look of the weather."

  As he became fully conscious, Pitt wished he could return to the forbidding labyrinth. Every square centimeter of his body throbbed with pain. From his skull to his knees, it seemed every bone was broken. He tried to sit up, but stopped in mid-motion and groaned in agony. Maeve touched his cheek and. cradled his shoulders with one arm. "It will hurt less if you don't try to move."

  He looked up into her face. The sky-blue eyes were wide with caring and affection. As if she were weaving a spell, he could feel her love falling over him like gossamer, and the agony slipped away as if drawn from his veins.

  "Well, I certainly made a mess of things, didn't I?" he murmured.

  She slowly shook her head, the long blond hair trailing across his cheeks. "No, no, don't think that.

  You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for me."

  "Merchant's boys worked you over pretty good before throwing you off the yacht. You look like you were used for batting practice by the Los Angeles Dodgers."

  Pitt struggled to a sitting position. "Dorsett?"

  "I suspect you may have fixed one of his eyes so he'll look like a real pirate when he slips on his eye patch. Now all he needs is a dueling scar and a hook."

  "Boudicca and Deirdre carried him inside the salon during the brawl," said Maeve. "If Merchant had realized the full extent of Father's injury, there is no telling what he might have done to you."

  Pitt's gaze swept an empty and ominous sea through eyes that were swollen and half closed "They're gone?"

  "Tried to run us over before they cut and ran to beat the storm," said Giordino. "Lucky for us the neoprene floats on our raft, and without an engine that's all you can call it, rebounded off the yacht's bows. As it was, we came within a hair of capsizing."

  Pitt refocused his eyes on Maeve. "So they left us to drift like your great-great-great-grandmother, Betsy Fletcher."

  She stared at him oddly. "How did you know about her? I never told you."

  "I always investigate the women I want to spend the rest of my life with."

  "And a short life it'll be," said Giordino, pointing grimly to the northwest. "Unless my night-school class in meteorology steered me wrong, we're sitting in the path of what they call in these parts a typhoon, or maybe a cyclone, depending how close we are to the Indian Ocean."

  The sight of the dark clouds and the streaks of lightning followed by the threatening rumble of thunder was enough to make Pitt lose heart as he peered across the sea and listened to the increasing wind. The margin between life and death had narrowed to a paper's, thickness. Already the sun was blotted out
and the sea turned gray. The tiny boat was minutes away from being swallowed by the maelstrom.

  Pitt hesitated no longer. "The first order of the day is to rig a sea anchor." He turned to Maeve. "We'll need my leather jacket and some line and anything that will help create a drag to keep us from capsizing in heavy seas."

  Without a word, she slipped out of the coat and handed it to him while Giordino rummaged in a small storage locker under a seat. He came up with a rusty grappling hook attached to two sections of nylon line, one five meters, the other, three meters. Pitt laid open the jacket and filled it with everyone's shoes and the grappling hook, along with some old engine parts and several corroded tools Giordino had scrounged from the storage locker.

  Then he zipped it up, knotted the sleeves around the open waistband and collar and tied the makeshift bundle to the shorter nylon line. He cast it over the side and watched it sink before tying the other end of the line solidly to the walk-around console mounted with the useless controls for the missing outboard engine.

  "Lie on the floor of the boat," ordered Pitt, tying the remaining line around the center console. "We're in for a wild ride. Loop the line around your waists and tie off the end so we won't lose the boat if we capsize and are thrown in the sea."

  He took one last look over the neoprene buoyancy tubes at the menacing swells that swept in from a horizon that lifted and dropped. The sea was ugly and beautiful of the same time. Lightning streaked through the purple-black clouds, and the thunder came like the roll from a thousand drums. The tumult fell on them without pity. The full force of the gale, accompanied by a torrential rain, a drenching downpour that blocked out the sky ant turned the sea into a boiling broth of foam, struck them less then ten minutes later. The drops, whipped by a wind that howled like a thousand banshees, pelted them so hard it stung their skin.

  Spray was hurled from wave crests that rose three meters above the troughs. All too quickly the waves reached a height of seven meters, broken and confused, striking the boat from one direction and then another. The wind increased its shrieking violence as the sea doubled its frightening onslaught against the frail boat and its pitiful passengers. The boat was stewing and corkscrewing violently as it was tossed up on the wave crests before being plunged into the troughs. There was no sharp dividing line between air and sea. They couldn't tell where one began and the other left off.