Vixen 03 Part 35

"Elementary. The Rocky Mountain a.r.s.enal outside of Denver was the nation's primary manufacturer of chemical and biological weapons for over twenty years."

Pitt remained silent and let the old man go on.

Ba.s.s looked out at the panorama below, but his eyes were unfocused. "March of fifty-four," he said, as long-buried events began unfolding in his mind. "The H-bomb was set to burst over Bikini. I was placed in command of the QD tests because Dr. Vetterly was funded by the Navy and I was an expert on naval ordnance. I thought it logical at the time to conduct experiments cloaked under the excitement of the nuclear explosion. While the world was concentrating on the main event, we conducted our tests on Rongelo Island, four hundred miles to the northeast, totally unnoticed."

"Rongelo," Pitt said slowly. "The destination of Vixen 03."

Ba.s.s nodded. "A raw, bleached k.n.o.b of coral poking through the sea in the middle of nowhere. Even the birds shy away from it." Ba.s.s paused to shift his position on the bench. "I scheduled two series of tests. The first was an aerosol device that scattered a small amount of QD over the atoll. The second included the battleship Wisconsin. She was to lie back twenty miles and lob a warhead with QD from her main batteries. That test never took place."

"Major Vylander failed to deliver the goods," Pitt surmised.

"The contents of the canisters," Ba.s.s acknowledged. "Naval sh.e.l.ls armed with QD."

"You could have ordered up another supply."

"I could," Ba.s.s agreed. "But the real reason I halted the test series was because of what we learned after the aerosol drop. The results were G.o.dawful and filled all who shared in the secret with a feeling of horror."

"You talk as though the island was devastated."

"Visually, nothing had changed," said Ba.s.s, his voice barely audible. "The white sand of the beach, the few palms, all was as it had been. The test animals we had placed on the island were all dead, of course. I insisted on a waiting period of two weeks to give any residual effects a chance to dissipate before permitting the scientists to examine the results firsthand. Dr. Vetterly and three of his a.s.sistants landed on the beach wearing full protective clothing and breathing apparatus. Seventeen minutes later, all were dead."

Pitt fought to preserve his balance. "How was it possible?"

"Dr. Vetterly had vastly underestimated his discovery. The potency of other lethal agents wears off after a time. Conversely, QD gains in strength. By what method it penetrated the scientists' protective gear we were never able to determine."

"Did you retrieve the bodies?"

"They still lie there," said Ba.s.s with sadness in his eyes. "You see, Mr. Pitt, the terrible power of QD is only half its malignity. QD's most frightening quality is its refusal to die. We later found that its bacillus forms superresistant spores, which are able to penetrate the ground-in Rongelo Island's case, the coral-and live out an astonishing lifespan."

"I find it incredible that after thirty-four years no one can safely go in and carry out Vetterly's remains."

There was a sickness in Ba.s.s's voice. "There is no way of pinpointing the exact date," he murmured, "but our best estimate indicated that man won't be able to step foot on Rongelo Island for another three hundred years."

Fawkes leaned over the ship's chart table, studying a set of blueprints, his hand making notations with a pencil. Two large men, well muscled,

the faces beneath their hard hats tanned and thoughtful, stood on either side of him. "I want her gutted, every compartment, every sc.r.a.p of unnecessary tubing and electrical conduits, even her bulkheads."

The man on Fawkes's left snorted derisively. "You've lost your gourd, Captain. Tear out the bulkheads and she'll break up in any sea rougher than a millpond."

"Dugan is right," said the other man. "You can't gut a vessel this size without losing her structural resistance to stress."

"Your objections are duly noted, gentlemen," Fawkes replied. "But in order for her to ride high, her draft must be cut by forty percent."

"I've never heard of gutting a sound ship just to raise her waterline," said Dugan. "What's the purpose of it all?"

"You can sc.r.a.p the armor as well as the auxiliary machinery," Fawkes said, ignoring Dugan's question. "While you're about it, you can see to the removal of the turret masts."

"Come off it, Captain," snapped Lou Metz, the shipyard superintendent. "You're asking us to ruin what was once a d.a.m.ned fine ship."

"Aye, she was a fine ship," agreed Fawkes. "In my mind she still is. But time has pa.s.sed her by. Your government sold her for sc.r.a.p and the African Army of Revolution bought her for a very special undertaking."

"That's something else that rubs us wrong," said Dugan. "Busting our a.s.s so's some bunch of n.i.g.g.e.r radicals can kill white people."

Fawkes laid down the pencil and fixed Dugan with a rigid stare. "I don't think you people quite realize the economics of the situation," he said. "What the AAR does with the ship once it leaves your shipyard needn't concern your racial philosophies. What counts is that they pay my wages the same as they pay yours and those of your men, who, if my memory serves me, number one hundred and seventy. However, if you insist, I'll be happy to convey your sentiments to the officials in charge of the AAR treasury. I feel certain they can find another shipyard that will prove more cooperative. And that would be a pity, particularly since their contract is the only one on your books at present. Without it, all one hundred and seventy men on your crew would have to be laid off. I do not think their families will take it kindly when they find out your petty objections put their menfolk out of work."

Dugan and Metz exchanged angry, defeated looks. Metz avoided Fawkes's eyes and gazed down sullenly at the blueprints. "Okay, Cap- ; tain, you're calling the shots."

There was a confidence born of long years of commanding men re-

fleeted in Fawkes's tight smile. "Thank you, gentlemen. Now that we've cleared the air of any misunderstandings, shall we continue?"

An hour later the two shipyard men left the bridge and made their way down to the main deck of the ship. "I can't believe I heard right," Metz mumbled numbly. "Did that lead-brained Scotsman actually order us to remove half the superstructure, the funnels, and the fore and aft gun turrets and replace them all with plywood sheeting painted gray?"

"That's what the man said," Dugan replied. "I guess he figures by dumping all that weight he can lighten the ship by fifteen thousand tons."

"But why replace everything with dummy structures?"

"Beats me. Maybe he and his black buddies expect to bluff the South African Navy to death."

"And that's another thing," said Metz. "If you bought a ship like this to use in a foreign war, wouldn't you try and keep the deal under wraps? My guess is that they're going to blast Cape Town all to h.e.l.l."

"With dummy guns, no less," grunted Dugan.

"I'd like to tell that overgrown b.a.s.t.a.r.d to take his contract and stuff it up his a.s.s," Metz rasped.

"You can't deny he's got us by the b.a.l.l.s." Dugan turned and stared up at the shadowy figure behind the bridge windows. "Do you think he's ripe for a straitjacket?"

"Nuts?"

"Yeah."

"Crazy like a coyote, maybe. He knows what he's doing, and that's what bugs the s.h.i.t out of me."

"What do you suppose the AAR really has in mind once they get the ship to Africa?"

"I'll make book she never sees port," said Metz. "By the time we're through ripping her bowels out, she'll be so unstable she'll go belly up before she leaves Chesapeake Bay."

Dugan eased his b.u.t.tocks onto a ma.s.sive capstan. He looked down the length of the ship. Her great ma.s.s of steel seemed cold and malevolent; it was as though she were holding her breath, waiting for some silent command to unleash her awesome power.

"This whole act stinks," Dugan said finally. "I only hope to G.o.d we're not doing anything we'll regret."

Fawkes examined the markings on a well-creased set of navigation charts. First he computed the known velocity and fluctuations of the

current, then the range of tidal conditions. Satisfied with the figures, he next traced a mile-by-mile course to his destination, memorizing every buoy, every beacon and channel marker, until he could picture them all in his mind's eye without confusion as to their exact sequence.

The task before him seemed impossible. Even with precise a.n.a.lysis of every obstacle and its successful conquest, there were still too many variables that had to be left to chance. There was no way he could predict the weather on a given day still weeks away. The odds of colliding with another ship also reared their numerical heads. These unknowns he did not take lightly, and yet the possibility that he might be found out and stopped was refused entrance into his mind. He had even steeled himself to ignore any second thoughts from De Vaal, who might order the mission to be sc.r.a.pped.