Iceberg

Epilogue

It was a pleasant Southern California evening. The day's smog had cleared away and a cool breeze from the west carried the strong, clean smell of the Pacific Ocean through the center garden of the Disneyland Hotel, soothing the soreness of Pitts injuries and tranquilizing his mind for the task ahead. He stood silent, waiting for the glass-enclosed elevator to descend along the exterior of the building.

The elevator hummed and stopped and the doors slid open. He scratched an imaginary itch in his eye and lowered his head, shielding his face as a young man and woman, arm in arm, laughing gaily to themselves, stepped past him without noticing his worse-for-wear features or the arm enclosed in a plaster cast and supported by a black cloth sling.

He entered and pushed the button marked six. The elevator rose swiftly, and he turned and looked through the windows at the skyline of Orange County. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, watching the sparkling carpet of lights spread and widen toward the dark horizon as the first three floors slid by. The lights blinked in the crystal air, reminding him of a jewel box.

It hardly seemed like two hours since the park doctor had set his wrist and Pitt had showered and shaved and eaten his first solid meal since leaving Iceland.

The doctor was quite definite that he go to a hospital but Pitt wouldn't hear of it.

The doctor had said sternly, "You're a fool, you're damn near dead on your feet. You should have given up and collapsed hours ago. If you don't get your butt between the sheets of a hospital bed, you're going to experience a first-class breakdown."

"Thanks," Pitt had said shortly. "I'm grateful for your professional concern, but there's one more act to play out. Two hours-no more-then I'll dedicate what's left of my body to medical science."

The elevator slowed and stopped, the door opened and Pitt stepped onto the soft red carpet of the sixth floor foyer. He abruptly halted in midstep to keep from colliding with three men who were waiting to go down.

Two of the men he took to be Kippmann's agents. Of the third man, the one slumped head downward in the middle, there was no doubt, it was F. James Kelly.

Pitt stood there blocking their way. Kelly slowly lifted his head and stared at Pitt vacantly, unrecognizing. Finally Pitt broke the uneasy silence.

"I'm almost sorry your grand scheme failed, Kelly.

"In theory, it was glorious. In execution, it was impossible."

Kelly's eyes widened by slow degrees and the color drained from his face. "My God… is that you, Major Pitt? But no… you're…"

"Supposed to be dead?" Pitt finished, as if it no longer mattered too much except to himself.

"Oskar swore he killed you."

"I managed to leave the party early," Pitt said coldly.

Kelly shook his head back and forth. "Now I understand why my plan failed. It seems, Major, that fate cast you in the role of my avenging nemesis."

"Purely a matter of my being at the wrong place at the wrong time."

Kelly smiled thinly and nodded to the two agents. The three of them entered the waiting elevator.

Pitt stood aside, then suddenly said, "Sam left you a message."

Kelly took seconds to recover. "Is Sam-"

"Sam died out on the tundra," Pitt finished. "Near the end he wanted you to know he forgave you."

"Oh, God… oh, Cod," Kelly moan in agony, his fingers covering his eyes. For many years afterward, Pitt carried the mental picture of Kelly's face just before the elevator door closed- The stricken lines, the dull, lifeless eyes, the ashen skin. It was the face of a man who looked as if he was strangling.

Pitt tried the door with the numerals 605. It was locked. He walked to the door of 607 and twisted the knob. It opened. He quietly stepped over the threshold and eased the door closed. The, room was cool and dark. The smell of stale cigar butts invaded his nostrils before he passed through the entry hall. The odor was all he needed to know it was Rondheim's room.

Moonlight filtered through the drapes, casting long shapeless shadows as he searched through the bedroom, nothing but Rondheim's clothes and luggage was undisturbed. Kippmann had kept his word. His men had been careful not to alert Kirsti Fyrie or give her the slightest warning of Rondheim's fate or the sudden demise of Hermit Limited.

He moved toward a shaft of yellow light that split the half-open door to the adjoining room. He entered, treading softly, noiselessly like a night animal ready to spring. It could hardly be called a room, a plush suite would have been a fairer description. it consisted of a hall, a living room with an amply stocked bar, a bathroom and a bedroom, edged on one side by a large sliding glass door that led to a small balcony.

All the rooms were empty except the bathroom; the sound Of running water told him that Kirsti was in the shower. Pitt walked over to the bar, casually poured himself a scotch on the rocks and just as casually eased into a long comfortable sofa. Twenty minutes and two drinks later, Kirsti emerged from the bathroom. She was wearing a green silk kimono, loosely sashed at the waist. Her golden hair danced around her head like a silver-colored halo. She looked incredibly fresh and lovely.

She walked through the bedroom into the living room and was in the midst of mixing herself a drink when she saw Pitts reflection in the mirror behind the bar. She stood there as if suddenly struck by paralysis, very pale, with an expression of uncertainty on her face.

"I suppose," Pitt said quietly, "the appropriate thing for a gentleman to say when a beautiful woman leaves her bath is, Behold, Venus arises from the waves."

She turned and the look of uncertainty slowly turned to one of curiosity. "Do I know you?"

"We've met."

She clutched the edge of the bar, silent, her eyes searching him. "Dirk!" she whispered softly. "It's you. It's really you. Thank God, you're still alive."

"Your concern for my welfare comes a little late."

They stared at each other, green eyes locked on violet.

"Elsa Koch, Bonny Parker and Lucretia Borgia," he said, "all could have taken lessons from you on how to kill friends and influence enemies."

"I had to do what I've done," she said faintly' "But I swear to you I have killed no one. I was unwillingly pulled into the vortex by Oskar. I never dreamed that his association with Kelly would lead to death for so many."

"You say you've killed no one."

"Yes.

"You're lying."

She gazed at him oddly. "What are you talking about?"

"You killed Kristjan Fyrie!"

She looked at him now as if he'd gone mad. Her lips were trembling, and her eyes-those lovely violet eyes-were dark with fear.

"You can't mean what you're saying," she gasped.

"Kristjan died on the Lax; he was burned… burned to death."

The time had come, Pitt told himself, to settle the account, balance the entries, tally the final score. He leaned forward.

"Kristjan Fyrie didn't die a fiery death on a ship in the North Atlantic-he died under a surgeon's scalpel on an operating table in Veracruz, Mexico."

Pitt let it sink in. He took a couple of sips of his drink and lit a cigarette. The words were not easy for him. He watched her without speaking.

Kirsti's mouth had fallen open. She closed it quickly and numbly searched for something to say. She was on the verge of tears that would never come. Then she lowered her head and covered her face with her hands.

"I have it on good authority," Pitt continued. "The operation took place at the Sau de Sol Hospital and the surgeon was a Dr. Jesus Ybarra."

She looked up with an expression of agony. "Then you know everything."

"Almost. There are still a couple of loose ends."

"Why do you torture me by beating around the bush? Why don't you come out and say it."

Pitt spoke calmly. "Say what? That you're really Kristjan Fyrie?

That there never was a sister. That Kristjan died at the exact moment you were born?" He shook his head. "What difference would it make? As Kristjan you weren't willing to accept the sex your body had given you so you undertook sex conversion surgery and became Kirsti. You came into this world a transsexual. Your genes crossed you up. You weren't satisfied with the hand nature dealt you so you made a change.

What more is there?"

She came from behind the bar and leaned against the leather-padded surface. "You can never know, Dirk. You can never know what it is to lead a frustrating and complicated existence, playing the strong, virile male adventurer on the outside while inside you are a woman longing to be free."

"So you escaped the shell," Pitt said. "Slipped away to Mexico to a surgeon who specializes in conversions. You took hormone injections and silicone implants for your… ah… chest. Then you soaked up the sun on a Veracruz beach, getting a tan while your incision healed. Later, at the appropriate time, you showed up in Iceland claiming to be your long-lost sister from New Guinea.

"What astonishing confidence you must have had to think you could get away with it," Pitt continued.

"I've met a few slick operators in my short life span, but by God, Kirsti, or Kristjan, or whoever, you've got to be the shrewdest bastard… or rather, bitch that ever came down the pike. You took everyone. You conned Admiral Sandecker into thinking you were going to turn the undersea probe over to our government. You faked a thousand men and their ships and aircraft into a wild-goose chase, searching for a ship that was never missing. You beguiled Dr. Hunnewell, an old friend, into identifying a charred body as your own. You used Fyrie Limited's personnel-and they died carrying out your orders. You used Rondheim.

You used Kelly. And you even tried to use me in the hope I might erase Oskar. Too bad the bubble had to burst. The first step to all frauds is to cheat oneself. At that you were a raving success."

Kirsti had moved slowly around to a small traveling case on an end table, lifted out a tiny Colt twenty-five automatic and leveled it on Pitts chest. "Your accusations are not nearly as neat and organized as you think. You're groping, Dirk; you're groping in the dark like a blind man."

Pitt glanced at the gun and then nonchalantly turned away and ignored it. "Suppose you show me the light."

She looked uncertainly at Pitt, but she still held the gun as steady as a statue. "I had every intention of turning the undersea probe over to your country. My original plan was to put my scientists and engineers on board the Lax and send them to Washington for the presentation ceremonies. Then on the voyage across the North Atlantic, Kristjan Fyrie was to have been lost overboard."

"In the meantime, you had flown to Mexico for the operation."

"Yes," Kirsti answered softly. "But the totally unexpected, and unforeseen coincidence, spelled disaster to the new life I had so carefully planned. Dr. Jesus Ybarra was a memberof Hermit Limited.)) 9$ "So he blew the whistle and informed Rondheim.

Kirsti nodded, "From that moment on I was Oskar's slave. He threatened to expose my transition to the world if I didn't turn my business resources over to him and Kelly. I had no choice. If my secret had become known, the resulting scandal would have wrecked Fyn'e Limited and shattered the economy of my country."

"Why the masquerade with the Lax?"

"Now that Oskar and Kelly controlled me, they were not about to let the sea probe out of their hands.

So they created a fraudulent story about the Lax's disappearance. You must admit, it was an efficient situation. To the world the sea probe was lost on the bottom of the sea."

"And so was Kristjan Fyrie."

"Yes, it also served my purpose."

"That doesn't explain the alteration to the Lax's Superstructure," Pitt persisted. ")"y wasn't the sea probe simply removed and installed on another ship?" For the first time she smiled. "The sea probe is a complicated piece of equipment. A ship must literally be designed around it, To have taken it from the Lax and reinstalled it in a nondescript fishing trawler would have taken months. While everyone was searching for her, the Lax was secretly being face-lifted in a cove on the eastern coast of Greenland."

"And Dr. Hunnewell, how did he figure in the picture?"

"He worked with me in developing the probe."

"I know, but why you? Why not with someone in his own country?"

She looked at him and studied his face for a long moment. "I paid for the research and development with no strings attached. The technological corporations 'm the United States wanted to tie up his services and all his experimental results. Dr. Hunnewell despised doing anything that reeked of commercial profit."

"Yet he became associated with Kelly and Hermit Limited."

"When the Lax was prospecting the sea floor off Greenland, the probe malfunctioned. Dr. Hunnewell was the only one with the technical knowledge to suggest a quick repair. Kelly flew him there from California. A very persuasive talker, that F. James Kelly. He sold Dr. Hunnewell on jog Hermit Limited to save the world. The doctor couldn't resist. He was always what you Americans call a do-gooder." A pained expression crossed Kirsti's face. "He came to regret his decision, and he died for it."

"That explains the fire on the ship," Pitt said thoughtfully. "You underestimated Dr. Hunnewell. He didn't fall under the spell of Kelly. He saw through the whole dirty scheme. He didn't like what he saw on the Lax-Rondheim's crew holding your scientists prisoners. It's even likely your people on the ship slipped him the facts on Dr. Matajic's and his assistant's deaths.

Hunnewell knew then he had to do something to stop Kelly so he wired the probe, timing it to self-destruct after he was in the air and on his way back to the States. Only he made a mistake. Something even he didn't understand about the reactive elements of celtinium caused it to ignite and not only destroy the probe but the entire ship and the crew as well. I was there when he set foot on the Lax again. I saw the stunned expression on his face when he realized what he'd done."

"It was my fault," Kirsti said shakuy. "I am to blame. I should have never divulged Dr. Hunnewell's name to Oskar and Kelly."

"Kelly guessed what had happened and ordered Rondheim to silence Hunnewell."

"He was my oldest friend," Kirsti moaned softly.

"And I signed his death warrant."

"Did he know about you?"

"No, Oskar simply told him I was in the hospital recuperating from another illness."

"He was a better friend than you knew," Pitt said.

"He falsely identified a body on the Lax as yours. Dr. Hunnewell did it so that Kristjan Fyrie he knew wouldn't be implicated when he went to the authorities and spilled the damning facts about Hermit Limited. Unfortunately, evil triumphed over good. Rondheim got to him first." Pitt shook his head sadly and sighed. "Then enter Dirk Pitt, stage left."

Kirsti shivered visibly. "that's why I insisted on meeting you. I had to express my gratitude for your attempt to save his life. I am still in your debt."

Pitt rolled the cool glass over his forehead. "Too late; it makes little difference now," he said wearily.

"It does to me. That's why I saved you from being beaten to pieces by Oskar." Her voice began to tremble.

"But I… I can't save you a second time. I must protect myself, Dirk. I am sorry. Please do not move and make me pull the trigger. You must wait until Oskar arrives."

Pitt shook his head again. "Don't look for Oskar to come bounding in here to rescue you. At this moment, your ex-slavemaster is lying unconscious, encased in half a ton of plaster in a hospital bed. Surrounded, I might add, by a bevy of National Intelligence agents.

They may have to push him to the gallows in a wheelchair, but walk or ride, he will surely swing."

The gun wavered a hair. "What do you mean?"

"It's done, over with. You're free. Hermit Limited and its management just went belly up."

Strangely, Kirsti didn't accuse Pitt of insanity. "I want to believe you, but how can I?"

"Pick up the phone and call Kelly, Marks, Von Hummel, or your friend Rondheim. Or better yet, search every room on the sixth floor."

"And what do you expect me to find?"

"Nothing, nothing at all. They've all been arrested." Pitt finished the drink and set it down. "You and I are the only ones left.

Courtesy of the N.I.A.

You're my bonus-a little side gift-for services rendered. Love it or hate it, your soul has passed from Rondheim to me."

The room swayed around Kirsti as the truth of Pitts words took hold. She had wondered why Rondheim hael not contacted her, why Kelly had not visited her as he had promised, why there had been no ring of the phone, no knock at the door for nearly two hours.

She steadied herself, quickly accepting the realization of what had taken place.

"But… what of me? Am I to be arrested also?"

"No, the N.I.A. knows of your new status. They put two and two together and figured that Rondheim was blackmailing you. They considered taking you in as an accomplice, but I talked them out of it."

The gun was gently laid on the end table. An awkward silence descended. Finally Kirsti stared at Pitt and said, "There is a price; there always has to be a price."

"It's cheap enough considering your past mistakes… mistakes you can never buy back even with your fortune. But you can clean the slate and make a new life without outside intrusion. All I want is your guarantee for close and continued cooperation between Fyrie Limited and NUMA."

"And?"

"The memory banks in Kelly's computers contain enough data to build a new undersea probe. I speak for Aden Sandecker when I say he would like you to head up the project."

"That's all, nothing more?" she asked incredulously.

"I said the price was cheap."

She gazed levelly at him. "Tomorrow, next week, the coming year, how can I be sure you will not decide to raise the interest rate?"

Pitts eyes turned cold and his voice was like ice.

"Don't put me in the same league with your other playmates. Mass murder and extortion have never turned me on. Your secret is safe with me, and it's even safer with the N.I.A.-they'll see to it that Rondheim, Kelly and Ybirra will never get within fifty feet of a press reporter."

She hesitated. "I'm sorry, truly sorry. What else can I say."

He didn't answer, just looked at her.

She turned and gazed out the window at the park.

The turrets of the Magic Castile were lit lip like a birthday cake.

The lanilies were gone now. The young couples had taken over and were strolling along the park walkways and streets, hand in hand, breathing in the make-believe romantic atmosphere.

"And where do you go from here?" she asked.

After a short vacation, I'll go back to NUMA headquarters in Washington and begin work on a new project."

She turned to look at him. "And if I asked you to come to Iceland with me and become a member of my board of directors?"

"I'm not the board-of-director type."

"There must be some other way for me to show my gratefulness."

She came toward Pitt and stood in front of him. A knowing smile curled her lips, the doelike eyes grew soft and there seemed to be faint signs of dampness on her forehead.

"All will be as you ask," she said slowly. She raised her hand and her fingers lightly touched his battered face. "Tomorrow I will see Admiral Sandecker and affirm out mutual efforts." She hesitated and stood back from him. "I must, however, extract a small cost in return."

"And that is?"

She loosened the sash and shrugged the kimono from her shoulders to the floor, standing there in the relaxed classical pose of the nude.

Under the light from the lamp, she was like a sun-bronzed figure crafted to exacting satin smoothness by the patient hands of a master sculptor. The full rounded lips were slightly open with excitement and impatience. The soft violet eyes gave forth a silent invitation. Her features and body could only be described as magnificent: a perfectly constructed monument to the miracle of medical science.

"If it's any compliment," she said in a throaty voice, "I never for a minute believed your gay act,"

"It takes one to know one."

She turned pale. "What I became is not the same."

"What you became is a cold, shrewd, calculating witch."

"No!"

"Kristjan Fyrie was a warm, honest lover of humanity. Your change was emotional as well as physical.

People to you are only to be used, to be thrown away when their usefulness ends. You're cold and you're sick."

She shook her head. "No… no! I've changed.

Yes. But I'm not cold… not cold." She held out her arms. "Let me prove it."

They stood in the center of the room, facing each other silently. And then she saw the expression forming on Pitts face, and her arms slowly dropped to her sides.

She looked dazed, those exotic eyes were stricken. She stared at his face with a strange, paralyzed intentness.

Pitts features were coldly menacing. 'The purplish bruises, the swollen flesh, the jagged cuts all worked together in one terrible mask of disgust. His eyes no longer saw her loveliness. He could only see the unidentifiable ashes of what had once been men. He saw Hunnewell dying on a lonely beach. He remembered the face of the captain of the hydroplane before he disappeared in flames. He knew the pain of Lillie, Tidi, and Sam Kelly, And he knew Kirsti Fyrie was partly responsible for their suffering and for some-their deaths.

Kirsti paled and backed away a step. "Dirk, what's the matter?"

"God save thee," he said.

He turned and opened the door. The first few steps toward the elevator were the hardest. Then it got easier. By the time he reached the main floor, walked to the curb and hailed a cab, the old confident, relaxed composure was back.

The driver opened the door and dropped the flag.

"Where to, sir?"

Pitt sat there a moment in silence. Then suddenly he knew where he had to go. He had no choice. He was what he was.

"The Newport Inn. And a compassionate redhead… I hope."