Vixen 03 Part 54

"Too early to tell," said Jarvis thoughtfully. "You might say that I'm picking up loose threads to see if they run to the same spool."

Frederick Daggat and Felicia Collins were waiting in the limousine when Loren came through the portico of the Capitol. They watched as she gracefully skipped down the steps, her cinnamon curls trailing in a light breeze. She wore a persimmon pantsuit with double-b.u.t.toned blazer and vest. A long gray silk scarf curled around her neck. Her briefcase was covered with the same material as the suit.

Daggat's chauffeur opened the door for her. She slipped beside Felicia as Daggat gallantly took one of the jump seats. "You look lovely,

Loren," Daggat said familiarly-too familiarly. "It was obvious the minds of my male colleagues were elsewhere when you stood up on the House floor in that outfit."

"Being a woman has its advantages during debate," she said coolly. "You look stylish, Felicia."

A strange look flashed over Felicia's face. The last thing she expected from Loren was a compliment. She smoothed the skirt of her creamy white jersey dress and avoided Loren's eyes.

"It's good of you to see us," she said quietly.

"Did I have a choice?" Loren's face was a mask of resentment. "I'm afraid to ask what you demand of me this time."

Daggat raised the window behind the chauffeur. "The vote comes up tomorrow on whether or not to grant aid to the African Army of Revolution."

"So you two poked your heads above the slime to see if I was still in the fold," Loren said bitterly.

"You refuse to understand," said Felicia. "There is nothing personal in this. Frederick and I do not stand to gain financially. Our only reward is the advancement of our race."

Loren stared at her. "So you sink to blackmail to further your great moral cause."

"If it means saving countless thousands of lives, yes." Daggat spoke as though he were lecturing a child. "Each day the war continues brings a hundred deaths. The blacks will eventually win in South Africa. A foregone conclusion. It is the manner in which they win that is important. Hiram Lusana is not a murderous psychopath like Idi Amin was. He has a.s.sured me that when he becomes Prime Minister, the only major change he seeks is equal rights for South Africa's black people. All democratic principles the present government was founded upon will remain in effect."

"How can you be fool enough to accept the word of a criminal?" asked Loren.

"Hiram Lusana grew up in one of the worst slums in the nation," Daggat continued patiently. "His father deserted his mother and nine children when he was eight. I don't expect you to understand what it's like to pimp for your own sisters in order to put food on the table, Congresswoman Smith. I don't expect you even to imagine living in a fifth-floor tenement with newspapers stuffed in the cracks to keep out blowing snow, with overflowing toilets because there is no water, with

an army of rats waiting to scavenge when the sun goes down. If crime is your only means to exist, then you embrace it with open arms. Yes, Lusana was a criminal. But when his opportunity came to rise above the filth, he s.n.a.t.c.hed it and turned his energies toward fighting the very circ.u.mstances that cursed him."

"Then why play G.o.d in Africa?" Loren said defiantly. "Why doesn't he fight to improve conditions for blacks in his own country?"

"Because Hiram fervently believes our race must have a firm base to rise from. The Jews look with pride toward Israel; you Anglo-Saxons have a rich British heritage. Our homeland, on the other hand, is still struggling to emerge from a primitive society. It's no secret the blacks who have taken over most of Africa have made an unholy mess of it. Hiram Lusana is our one hope to steer the black race in the right direction. He is our Moses and South Africa is our Promised Land."

"Aren't you overly optimistic?"

Daggat looked at her. "Optimistic?"

"According to the latest military reports from South Africa, their Defence Forces crossed into Mozambique and destroyed the AAR and its headquarters."

"I read the same reports," said Daggat, "and nothing has changed. A temporary setback, perhaps; nothing more. Hiram Lusana is still alive. He will raise a new army, and I intend to do all in my power to aid him."

"Amen, brother," Felicia added.

The three of them were too wrapped up in their own thoughts to notice a car pulling in front of the limousine and then slowing down. At the next stoplight the driver swung the car to the curb and leaped out. Before Daggat's chauffeur could react, the man ran up to the limousine, jerked open the right rear door, and climbed in.

Daggat's mouth dropped open in surprise. Felicia froze, her mouth tensed. Only Loren seemed mildly puzzled.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you?" Daggat demanded. Over the stranger's shoulder he saw the chauffeur reach into the glove compartment for a gun.

"How un.o.bservant of you not to recognize me from my pictures," the man said, laughing.

Felicia tugged at Daggat's sleeve. "It's him," she whispered.

"Him who?" shouted Daggat, visibly upset.

"Pitt. My name is Dirk Pitt."

Loren looked at Pitt intently. She had not seen him for several days

and she scarcely a.s.sociated this man with the one who had made love to her. His eyes were ringed from lack of sleep and his chin was stubbled with beard. There were creases in his face she had never noticed before, creases of stress and exhaustion. She reached over and squeezed his hand.

"Where did you come from?" Loren asked.

"Coincidence," Pitt replied. "I was coming to see you and happened to be pa.s.sing by the Capitol steps when I noticed you entering this car. As I drove alongside, I spotted Congressman Daggat in the back."

The chauffeur had lowered the window behind him and was holding a small revolver inches from the back of Pitt's head. Daggat relaxed noticeably. He felt in control again.

"Perhaps it's time we met, Mr. Pitt." He made a slight wave of his hand. The chauffeur nodded and lowered the gun.

"My very thoughts," said Pitt, smiling. "In fact, it saves me a trip to your office."

"You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, I've decided to order some reprints." Pitt produced a small stack of photographs and fanned them in one hand. "I've seen better results, of course. But then, these weren't exactly shot under ideal studio conditions."

Loren knotted one hand against her mouth. "You know about those awful pictures? I tried to keep you out of it."

"Let me see," Pitt said, as if Loren hadn't spoken. He began dropping the photographs in Daggat's lap one by one. "I'll take a dozen of these, and five of those-"

"I do not appreciate your pathetic attempt at humor," Daggat said, interrupting him.

Pitt gave him an innocent look. "I thought as long as you were in the dirty-picture-taking business, you wouldn't mind serving your clients-or should I say 'models.' Naturally, I expect a discount."

"What's your game, Mr. Pitt?" asked Felicia.

"Game?" Pitt looked amused. "There is no game."

"He can politically ruin your father and me," said Loren. "As long as he holds the negatives of the photographs, he can call the shots."

"Come now," Pitt said, smiling at her. "Congressman Daggat is about to retire from the blackmail profession. He has no talent for it anyway. He wouldn't last ten minutes against a tried and true professional."

"Like yourself?" said Daggat menacingly.

"No, like my father. I believe you know of him. Senator George Pitt. When I explained your little operation, he jokingly asked for a set of photos as a memento. You see, he's never seen his fair-haired boy in action before."