Pitt glanced at his watch again. “As the Boy Scouts say — Be Prepared. That’s all we can do for the present. You can bet Brady Field and the First Attempt are being closely observed. When it comes apparent no one is being evacuated and the oceanography ship still floats out there on the Aegean, we can expect another visit from the yellow Albatros. You’ve had your fun, Colonel It’s my guess Commander Gunn’s turn is next.”
“Please tell the Commander,” said Lewis, “I’ll give him whatever assistance I have at my disposal.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Pitt. “But I don’t think It would be wise to warn Commander Gunn just yet.”
“For God’s sake, why not?” gasped Giordino.
Pitt grinned coldly. “So far, all of this is pure conjecture. Besides, any preparation on board the First Attempt would be a dead giveaway of our intentions. No, we’ve got to bait our unknown World War I ghost and bring him out into the open.”
Giordino looked at Pitt evenly. “You can’t risk the lives of the scientists and ship’s crew without giving them a chance to defend themselves.” “Gunn is in no immediate danger. Our ghost pilot will undoubtedly wait at least one more day to see if the First Attempt departs before he attacks again.” Pitt smiled until the mirth lines etched into the sides of his eyes. “In the meantime, I’ll put my creative talents to work on a plan for a trap.”
Lewis got to his feet and faced Pitt. ‘For the sake of those men on the ship, I hope you come up with a good one.”
“No plan is considered foolproof, Colonel,” replied Pitt, “until after it’s been applied.” Giordino walked toward the door. “I’ll run over to Base Operations and send that message to the Admiral.”
“When you’ve finished,” said Lewis, “drop by my quarters for supper.” Twisting his moustache, he turned to Pitt. “You’re invited too. I'll give you men a real treat and whip up my renowned specialty: scallops with mushrooms in white wine sauce.”
“It sounds very appetizing,” said Pitt. “But I’m afraid I must decline. I have a previous dinner engagement… with a very attractive lady.”
Giordino and Lewis could only gawk at him in dazed amazement. Pitt tried to look nonchalant. “She’s sending a car to pick me up at the main gate at six. I have just two minutes and thirty seconds to get there, so I’d best be leaving. Good evening, Colonel, and thank you for your invitation. I hope you’ll give me a rain check." He faced Giordino. “Al, let me know the minute the Admiral’s reply comes in.” Pitt turned and opened the door and left the room.
Lewis slowly shook his head. “Is he bull-shitting or does he really have a date with a girl?”
“I’ve never known Dirk to bull-shit about women, sir,” said Giordino. He was beginning to enjoy Lewis’ state of shock.
“But where did he meet her? To my knowledge he hasn’t been anywhere except the field and the ship.
Giordino shrugged. “Beats me. But knowing Pitt as I do, It wouldn’t surprise me if he picked up a girl on the hundred yards between the main gate and the First Attempt’s loading dock.”
Lewis’ booming laugh cracked across the room. “Well come along, Captain. I’m not a sexy girl but at least I can cook. How about some of my scallops?”
“Why not?” said Giordino. “That’s the best offer I’ve had all afternoon.”
5
The furnace-like atmosphere cooled slightly as the fading sun fell to the west beyond the Thasos mountains. Long crooked shadows from the mountains’ tree-lined summits had moved down the slopes and were touching the seaward edge of Brady Field when Pitt passed through the main gate. He stopped on the outer road and inhaled the pure Mediterranean air, enjoying the inner sensation of having his lungs tingle. The habitual call for a cigarette tugged at his mind, but he pushed the urge aside and took another deep breath, looking out to sea. Beyond the rolling surf, the setting sun painted the First Attempt a colorful golden orange. The visibility was crystal clear, and at a distance of two miles his eyes could pick out an amazing amount of detail on board the ship. He stood quiet and still for almost a full two minutes, lost in the beauty of the scene. Then he glanced about, looking for the car that Teri promised to send for him. It was there, sitting off to one side of the road like a palatial and sumptuous yacht resting at anchor.
“Well I'll be damned,” Pitt muttered, spotting the car. He moved closer and his face betrayed an admiration for fine automobiles. It was a Maybach-Zepplin town car, complete with a sliding glass partition separating the enclosed passenger compartment from the driver, who sat in the open exposed to the sun. Behind the large double-M ornament on the radiator, the hood stretched back six feet and ended at a low split windshield. giving the car an image of great brutish power. The long flowing fenders and running boards gleamed black but the coachwork was painted a deep multi-coated silver. It was a classic among classics: superb Teutonic craftsmanship evident in every fitting, every nut and every bolt. If the 1936 Rolls-Royce Phantom III typified the British ideal of silence and distinguished mechanical efficiency, then its German counterpart was found in the 1936 Maybach Zepplin.
Pitt stepped up beside the car and ran his right hand over a gargantuan spare tire that sat solidly mounted in the front fender well. He grinned a grin of satisfaction and relief as he noted the tire’s tread was deeply grooved in a diamond-shaped pattern. He patted the big donut-like tire a couple of times and then turned and looked into the front seat.
The driver sat slouched behind the wheel, idly drumming his fingers on the door frame. He not only looked bored, but he yawned to prove it He was dressed in a gray-green tunic that strangely resembled the uniform of a World War II Nazi officer. but the sleeves and shoulders bore no insignia. A high brimmed cap covered his head, and the blond color of his hair was betrayed by the brief hint of his sideburns. Old fashioned silver-rimmed spectacles covered his eyes and glinted in the setting sun. A long thin cigarette dangled conceitedly from one corner of a curled lip. giving the driver an aura of smugness and arrogance; an image he made little effort to conceal.
Pitt Instantly disliked the driver. Putting a foot on the running board, he stared penetratingly at the uniformed figure behind the steering wheel. “I think you're waiting for me. My name is Pitt.”
The yellow haired driver did not bother to return Pitt’s stare. He merely flipped his cigarette over Pitt’s shoulder onto the road, sat up straight and turned the ignition switch. “if you are the American garbage receiver,” he said in a heavy German accent, “you may get in.”
Pitt grinned and his eyes hardened. “Up front with the foul smelling rabble or in back with the gentry?
“Wherever you choose,” the driver said. His face turned crimson but he still did not turn or look up.
“Thank you,” said Pitt smoothly. “I’ll take the back.” He pushed down on a huge chrome handle, swung the vault-like door open and climbed into the town car. An old roll style curtain perched over the partition window and Pitt pulled it down, closing off all sight of the driver In front. Then be settled back comfortably into the soft and luxurious morocco leather upholstery, lit a cigarette and prepared to enjoy the early evening ride across Thasos.
The Maybach’s engine quietly came to life and the driver shifted through the whisper silent gears, moving the Immense car over the road in the direction of Liminas.
Pitt rolled down a door window and studied the fir and chestnut trees dotting the mountain slopes, and the age-old olive trees lining the narrow beaches. Every so often, small fields of tobacco and wheat broke the uneven landscape and reminded him of the small farms he had often seen when flying over the southern United States.