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Pitt nodded toward the table with the decanter。 〃I think I'd like that cognac now。〃
〃Help yourself。〃
Pitt half filled his glass and returned to the chair。 〃What I'm about to tell you is the straight truth。 I want you to understand I have no reason to lie。 To the best of my knowledge I am not on any sort of intelligence mission for my government。 Do you understand me so far； General？〃
〃I do。〃
〃Is your hidden tape recorder running？〃
Velikov had the courtesy to nod。 〃It is。〃
Pitt then related in detail his discovery of the runaway blimp； the meeting with Jessie LeBaron in Admiral Sandecker's office； the final flight of the Prosperteer； and finally the narrow escape from the hurricane； omitting any mention of Giordino's downing of the patrol helicopter or the dive on the Cyclops。
Velikov did not look up when Pitt finished speaking。 He sifted through the dossier without a flicker of change in his expression。 The general acted as if his mind were light…years away and he hadn't heard a word。
Pitt could play the game too。 He took his cognac glass and rose from his chair。 Picking up a copy of the Washington Post； he noted with mild surprise that the masthead carried that day's date。
〃You must have an efficient courier system；〃 he said。
〃Sorry？〃
〃Your newspapers are only a few hours old。〃
〃Five hours； to be exact。〃
The cognac fairly glowed on Pitt's empty stomach。 The awkward consequences of his predicament mellowed after his third drink。 He went on the attack。
〃Why are you holding Raymond LeBaron？〃 he asked。
〃At the moment he is a house guest。〃
〃That doesn't explain why his existence has been kept quiet for two weeks。〃
〃I don't have to explain anything to you； Mr。 Pitt。〃
〃How is it LeBaron receives gourmet dinners in formal dress； while my friends and I are forced to eat and dress like mon prisoners。〃
〃Because that is precisely what you all are； Mr。 Pitt； mon prisoners。 Mr。 LeBaron is a very wealthy and powerful man whose dialogue is most enlightening。 You； on the other hand； are merely an inconvenience。 Does that satisfy your curiosity？〃
〃It doesn't satisfy a thing；〃 Pitt said； yawning。
〃How did you destroy the patrol helicopter？〃 Velikov asked suddenly。
〃We threw our shoes at it；〃 Pitt fired back testily。 〃What did you expect from four civilians； one of whom was a woman； flying in a forty…year…old gas bag？〃
〃Helicopters don't blow up in midair for no reason。〃
〃Maybe it was struck by lightning。〃
〃Well； then； Mr。 Pitt； if you were on a simple search mission to locate a clue to Mr。 LeBaron's disappearance and hunt for treasure； how do you explain the report from the captain of the patrol boat； who stated that the blimp's control car was so shattered by shellfire that no one could have survived； and that a streak of light issued from the blimp an instant before the helicopter exploded； and that a thorough search over the crash site showed no signs of survivors？ Yet you all appear like magic on this island in the middle of a hurricane； when the security patrols were taking shelter from the winds。 Most opportune； wouldn't you say？〃
〃How do you read it？〃
〃The blimp was either remote controlled or another crew was killed by the gunners on board the helicopter。 You and Mrs。 LeBaron were brought close to shore by submarine； but during the landing everyone was thrown onto the rocks and injured。〃
〃You get a passing grade for creativity； General； but you fail accuracy。 Only the landing part is correct。 You forgot the most important ingredient； a motive。 Why would four unarmed castaways attack whatever it is you've got here？〃
〃I don't have the answers yet；〃 said Velikov with a disarming smile。
〃But you intend to get them。〃
〃I'm not a man who accepts failure； Mr。 Pitt。 Your story； though imaginative； does not wash。〃 He pressed a button on the desk inter。 〃We'll talk again soon。〃
〃When can we expect you to contact our government so they can begin negotiations for our release？〃
Velikov gave Pitt a patronizing look。 〃My apologies。 I neglected to mention that your government was notified only an hour ago。〃
〃Of our rescue？〃
〃No； of your deaths。〃
For a long second it didn't dawn on Pitt。 Then it slowly began to register。 His jaw stiffened and his eyes bored into Velikov。
〃Spell it out； General。〃
〃Very simple；〃 said Velikov in a manner as friendly as if he were passing the time of day with a mailman。 〃Whether by accident or by design； you have stumbled onto our most sensitive military installation outside the Soviet Union。 You cannot be permitted to leave。 After I learn the true facts； you will all have to die。〃
Indulging in his favorite pastime eating Hageri stole an hour to enjoy a Mexican lunch of flat enchiladas topped with an egg followed by sopaipillas and washed down with a tequila sour。 He paid the check； left the restaurant； and drove to the address assigned to Clyde Ward。 His source with the telephone pany had traced the number in General Fisher's black book to a public phone in a gas station。 He marked the time。 In another six minutes his pilot would call the number from the parked jet。
He found the gas station in an industrial area near the rail yards。 It was self…serve； selling an unknown independent brand。 He pulled up to a pump whose red paint was heavily coated by grime and inserted the nozzle into the car's fuel spout； careful to avoid looking toward the pay phone inside the station's office。
Shortly after landing at the Albuquerque airport； Hagen had rented a car and siphoned ten gallons of fuel from the tank so his pit stop would appear genuine。 The trapped air pockets inside the tank gurgled and he screwed on the cap and replaced the nozzle。 He entered the office and was fumbling with his wallet when the pay phone mounted on the wall began to ring。
The only attendant on duty； who was in the act of repairing a flat tire； wiped his hands on a rag and picked up the receiver。 Hagen tuned in on the one…way conversation。
〃Mel's Service。 。 。 Who。 。 。？ There ain't no Clyde here。 。 。 Yeah； I'm sure。 You got the wrong number。 。 。 That's the right number； but I've worked here for six years and I ain't never heard of no Clyde。〃
He hung up and stepped up to the cash register and smiled at Hagen。 〃How much you get？〃
〃Ten point two gallons。 Thirteen dollars and fifty…seven cents。〃
While the attendant made change for a twenty； Hagen scanned the station。 He couldn't help admiring the professionalism that went into setting up the stage； because that's what it was； a stage setting。 The office and lube bay floors hadn't seen a mop in years。 Cobwebs hung from the ceilings； the tools had more rust than oil on them； and the attendant's palms and fingernails didn't look as if they had ever seen grease。 But it was the surveillance system that astounded him。 His trained eye picked out subtly placed electrical wiring that didn't belong in a run…of…the…mill service station。 He sensed rather spotted the bugs and cameras。
〃Could you do me a favor？〃 Hagen asked the attendant as he rec