"It's that very damned secret project that's come between us," she burst out angrily.
"That and a few other problems-such as your refusal to bear children."
She looked at him thunderstruck. "How could you possibly know all this?"
"The usual methods. It makes no difference how. What matters is that you stick with Gene for the next sixteen months and give him all the tender loving care you can find in your soul to give."
Nervously, she folded and unfolded her hands. "It's that important?" she asked in a faint voice.
"It's that important," he said. "Will you help me?"
She nodded silently.
"Good." He patted her hands. "Between us, maybe we can keep Gene on the track."
"I'll try, Mr. President. If it means so much, I'll try. I can promise no more."
"I have complete confidence in you."
"But I draw the line at having a baby," she said defiantly.
He grinned the famous grin so often captured by photographers. "I can order a war, and I can order men to die, but not even the President of the United States has the power to order a woman to become pregnant."
For the first time, she laughed. It seemed so strange, talking intimately with a man who wielded such incredible power. Power was indeed an aphrodisiac and she began to feel the bitter disappointment of not being taken to bed.
The President rose and took her arm. "I must go now. I have a meeting with my economic advisers in a few minutes." He began guiding her toward the door. Then he stopped and drew her face to his and she felt the firmness of his lips. When he let her go, he looked into her eyes and said, "You are a very desirable woman, Mrs. Seagram. Don't you forget that."
He escorted her to the elevator.
20
Dana was waiting on the concourse when Seagram departed his plane.
"What gives?" He eyed her questioningly. "You haven't met me at the airport in ages."
"An overwhelming impulse of affection." She smiled.
He claimed his luggage and they walked to the parking lot. She held his arm tightly. The afternoon seemed a faraway dream now. She had to keep reminding herself that another man had found her alluring and had actually kissed her.
She took the wheel and drove onto the highway. The last of the rush-hour traffic had faded away, and she made good time through the Virginia countryside.
"Do you know Dirk Pitt?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Yes, he's Admiral Sandecker's special projects director. Why?"
"I'm going to burn the bastard's ass," he said.
She glanced at him in astonishment. "What's your connection with him?"
"He screwed up an important part of the project."
Her hands tightened on the wheel. "You'll find him a tough ass to burn," she said.
"Why do you say that?"
"He's considered a legend around NUMA. His list of achievements since he joined the agency is second only to his outstanding war record."
"So?"
"So, he's Admiral Sandecker's fair-haired boy."
"You forget, I carry more weight with the President than Admiral Sandecker."
"More weight than Senator George Pitt of California?" she said flatly.
He turned and looked at her. "They're related?"
"Father and son."
He slouched in a morose silence for the next several miles.
Dana put her right hand on his knee. When she stopped at a red light, she leaned over and kissed him.
"What was that for?"
"That's a bribe."
"How much is it going to cost me?" he grumbled.
"I have this great idea," she announced. "Why don't we take in that new Brando film, and afterward we can have a scrumptious lobster dinner at the Old Potomac Inn, then go home, turn out the lights and-"
"Take me to the office," he said. "I have work to do."
"Please, Gene, don't push yourself," she pleaded. "There's time for your work tomorrow."
"No, now!" he said.
The chasm between them was uncrossable, and from now on, things would never be the same again.
21
Seagram looked down at the metal attache case on his desk, then up at the colonel and the captain who were standing across from him. "There's no mistake on this?"
The colonel shook his head. "Researched and verified by the Director of Defense Archives, sir."
"That was fast work. Thank you."
The colonel made no attempt to leave. "Sorry, sir, I am to wait and return to the Department of Defense with the file on my person."
"By whose orders?"
"The Secretary," the colonel answered. "Defense Department policy dictates that all material classified as Code Five Confidential must be kept under surveillance at all times."
"I understand," Seagram said. "May I study the file alone?"
"Yes, sir. My aide and I will wait outside, but I must respectfully request that no one be allowed to enter or leave your office while the file is in your possession."
Seagram nodded. "All right, gentlemen, make yourselves comfortable. My secretary will be at your service for coffee and refreshments."
"Thank you for your courtesy, Mr. Seagram."
"And, one more thing," Seagram said, and smiled faintly. "I have my own private bathroom, so don't expect to see me for a while."
Seagram sat motionless for several moments after the door closed. The final vindication of five years work lay before his eyes. Or did it? Maybe the documents within the case would only lead to another mystery, or, worse yet, a dead end. He inserted the key into the case and opened it. Inside there were four folders and a small notebook. The labels on the folders read:
CD5C 7665 1911 Report on the scientific and monetary value of the rare element byzanium.
CD5C 7687 1911 Correspondence between Secretary of War and Joshua Hays Brewster examining the possible acquirement of byzanium.
CD5C 7720 1911 Memorandum by Secretary of War to the President regarding funds for Secret Army Plan 371-990-R85.
CD5C 8039 1912 Report of closed investigation into the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of Joshua Hays Brewster.
The notebook was simply entitled "Journal of Joshua Hays Brewster."
Logic dictated that Seagram study the folders first, but logic was set aside as he settled back in his chair and opened the journal.
Four hours later, he stacked the book neatly on top of the folders and pushed a button on the side of his intercom. Almost immediately a recessed panel in a side wall swung open and a man in a white technician's coat entered.
"How soon can you copy all this?"
The technician thumbed through the book and peeked in the folders. "Give me forty-five minutes."
Seagram nodded. "Okay, get right on it. There's someone in my outer office who's waiting for the originals."
After the panel closed, Seagram pushed himself wearily from his chair and staggered into the bathroom. He closed the door and leaned against it, his face twisted in a grotesque mask.
"Oh God, no," he moaned. "It's not fair, it's not fair."
The he leaned over the sink and vomited.
22
The President shook hands with Seagram and Donner in the doorway of his study at Camp David.
"Sorry to ask you up here at seven in the morning, but it's he only time I could squeeze you in."
"No problem, Mr. President," said Donner. "I'm usually out jogging about this time anyway."
The President stared at Donner's rotund frame with mused eyes. "Who knows? I may have saved you from a coronary." He laughed at Donner's woeful expression and motioned them into the study. "Come, come, sit down and make yourselves at home. I've ordered a light breakfast."
They grouped themselves about on a sofa and chair in front of a spacious picture window overlooking the Maryland hills. Coffee came with a tray of sweet rolls and the President passed them around.
"Well, Gene, I hope the news is good for a change. The Sicilian Project is our only hope of stopping this crazy arms race with the Russians and Chinese." The President rubbed his eyes wearily. "It has to be the greatest display of stupidity since the dawn of man, particularly when you consider the tragic and absurd fact that we can each blow the other's country to ashes at least five times over." He gestured helplessly. "So much for the sad facts of life. Suppose you tell me where we stand."
Seagram looked bleary-eyed across the coffee table, holding the copy of the Defense Archive file. "You are, of course, Mr. President, aware of our progress to date."
"Yes, I've studied the reports of your investigation."
Seagram handed the President a copy of Brewster's journal. "I think you'll find this an absorbing account of early-twentieth-century intrigue and human suffering. The first entry is dated July 8, 1910, and opens with Joshua Hays Brewster's departure from the Taimyr mountains near the north coast of Siberia. There, he spent nine months opening a lead mine under contract with his employer, the Societe des Mines de Lorraine, for the czar of Russia. He then goes on to tell how his ship, a small coastal steamer bound for Archangel, became lost in fog and ran aground on the upper island of Novaya Zemlya. Fortunately, the ship held together and the survivors managed to exist within its freezing steel hull until they were rescued by a Russian naval frigate nearly a month later. It was during this sojourn that Brewster spent his time prospecting the island. Sometime during the eighteenth day, he stumbled on an outcropping of strange rock on the slopes of Bednaya Mountain. He had never seen that type of composition before, so he took several samples back with him to the United States, finally reaching New York sixty-two days after he left the Taimyr Mine."
"So now we know how the byzanium was discovered," the President said.
Seagram nodded and continued. "Brewster turned all his samples over to his employer save one; that he kept purely as a souvenir. Some months later, having heard nothing, he asked the United States director of the Societe des Mines de Lorraine what had become of his Bednaya Mountain ore samples. He was told they had assayed out as worthless and had been thrown away. Suspicious, Brewster took the remaining sample to the Bureau of Mines in Washington for analysis. He was astounded when he learned it was byzanium, hitherto a virtually unknown element, seen only rarely through a high-powered microscope."
"Had Brewster informed the Societe as to the location of the byzanium outcropping?" the President asked.
"No, he played it shrewd and merely gave them vague directions to the site. In fact, he even suggested that it lay on the lower island of Novaya Zemlya, many miles to the south."
"Why the subterfuge?"
"A common tactic among prospectors," Donner answered. "By withholding the exact location of a promising find, the discoverer can negotiate a higher percentage of the profits against the day the mine becomes operational."
"Makes sense," the President murmured. "But what cited the French to secrecy back in 1910? What could they possibly have seen in byzanium that no one else saw for the next seventy years?"
"Its similarity to radium, for one thing," Seagram said. The Societe des Mines passed Brewster's samples on to the Radium Institute in Paris, where their scientists found that certain properties of byzanium and radium were identical."
"And since it cost fifty thousand dollars to process one gram of radium," Donner added, "the French government suddenly saw a chance to corner the world's only known supply of a fantastically expensive element. Given enough time, they could have realized hundreds of millions of dollars on a few pounds of byzanium."
The President shook his head in disbelief. "My God, if I remember my weights and measures correctly, there are about twenty-eight grams to the ounce."
"That's right, sir. One ounce of byzanium was worth one million four hundred thousand dollars. And that's at 1910 prices."
The President slowly stood up and gazed out the window. "What was Brewster's next move?"
"He turned over his information to the War Department." Seagram pulled out the folder on the funds for Secret Army Plan 371-990-R85 and opened it. "If they knew the full story, the boys over at CIA would be proud of their ancestor organization. Once the generals of the old Army Intelligence Bureau saw what Brewster was onto, they dreamed up the grandest double-cross of the century. Brewster was ordered to inform the Societe des Mines that he had identified the ore samples and bluff them into thinking he was going to form a mining syndicate and go after the byzanium on his own. He had the Frenchies by the balls, and they knew it. By this time, they'd figured that his directions to the outcropping were off the mark. No Brewster, no byzanium. It was that simple. They had no choice but to sign him on as chief engineer for a piece of the profits."
"Why couldn't our own government have backed a mining operation?" the President asked. "Why let the French into the picture?"
"Two reasons," Seagram replied. "First, since the byzanium was on foreign soil, the mine would have to be operated in secret. If the miners were caught by the Russians, the French government would get the blame, not the Americans. Second, the Congress in those days penny pinched the Army to death. There were simply not enough funds to include a mining venture in the Arctic, regardless of the potential profit."
"It would seem the French were playing against a stacked deck."
"It was a two-way street, Mr. President. There was no doubt in Brewster's mind that once he opened the Bednaya Mountain Mine and began shipping the ore, he and his crew of men would be murdered by paid assassins of the Societe des Mines de Lorraine. That was obvious from the Society's fanatical insistence on secrecy. And one other little matter. It was the French and not Brewster who masterminded the Little Angel Mine tragedy."
"You have to give them credit for playing a good game," said Donner. "The Little Angel hoax was the perfect cover for eventually killing off Brewster and his entire crew. After all, how could anyone be accused of murdering nine men in the Arctic when it was a matter of public record that they had all died six months earlier in a Colorado mining accident?"
Seagram continued, "We're reasonably certain that the Societe des Mines spirited our heroes to New York in a private railroad car. From there, they probably took passage on a French ship under assumed names."