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〃My findings made the puzzle worse。〃
A small sailboat with four teenagers slipped across their bow and Sweat slowed down and gave way。 〃Tell me about it。〃
〃Let's start at the end and work backwards。 Okay with you？〃
〃Go ahead。〃
〃Threw the hell out of me at first。 Mostly because I wasn't looking for it。 I had a similar case fifteen years ago。 A female body was discovered sitting in a patio chair in her backyard。 Her husband claimed they'd been drinking the night before and he'd gone to bed alone； thinking she would follow。 When he awoke in the morning and looked around； he found her right where he left her； sitting on the patio； only now she was dead。 She had all the appearances of a natural death； no marks of violence； no sign of poison； just a generous amount of alcohol。 The organs seemed healthy enough。 There were no indications of previous disease or disorder。 For a woman of forty she had the body of a twenty…five…year…old。 It bugged the hell out of me。 Then the pieces began to e together。 The postmortem lividity that's the discoloration of the skin caused by the sinking of blood due to gravity is usually purplish。 Her lividity was cherry pink； which pointed to death from either cyanide or carbon monoxide poisoning or hypothermia。 I also discovered hemorrhaging of the pancreas。 Through a process of elimination the first two were discarded。 The final nail in the coffin was the husband's occupation。 The evidence wasn't exactly hard core； but it was enough for the judge to put him away for fifty years。〃
〃What was the husband's line of work？〃 asked Sweat。
〃He drove a truck for a frozen…food pany。 A neat plan。 He pumped booze in her until she passed out。 Set her inside his truck； which he always took home nights and weekends； turned up the refrigeration unit； and waited for her to harden。 After the poor woman expired； he put her back in the patio chair and went to bed。〃
Sweat stared blankly。 〃You're not saying the corpses found in the blimp froze to death。〃
〃I'm saying exactly that。〃
〃No mistake？〃
〃On a certainty scale from one to ten； I can promise an eight。〃
〃Do you realize how that sounds？〃
〃Crazy； I would imagine。〃
〃Three men disappear over the Caribbean in ninety…degree weather and freeze to death？〃 Sweat asked no one in particular。 〃We'll never make this one stick； Doe。 Not without a handy frozen…food truck。〃
〃You've got nothing to stick it to anyway。〃
〃Meaning？〃
〃The FBI report came in。 Jessie LeBaron's ID was on the money。 That isn't her husband in the morgue。 The other two aren't Buck Caesar or Joseph Cavilla either。〃
〃God； what next；〃 Sweat moaned。 〃Who are they？〃
〃There's no record of them in the FBI's fingerprint files。 Best guess is they were foreign nationals。〃
〃Did you find anything at all that might give a clue to their identity？〃
〃I can give you their height and weight。 I can show you X rays of their teeth and previous bone fractures。 Their livers suggested all three favored generous amounts of hard liquor。 The lungs gave away their heavy smoking； teeth and fingertips the fact they smoked unfiltered cigarettes。 They were also big eaters。 Their last meal consisted of dark bread and various fruits and beets。 Two were in their early thirties。 One was forty or over。 They were in above…average physical condition。 Beyond that I can tell you very little that might pin an ID on them。〃
〃It's a start。〃
〃But it still leaves us with LeBaron； Caesar； and Cavilla among the missing。〃
Before Sweat could reply a female voice rasped out his boat's call sign over the radio speaker。 He answered and turned to another channel frequency as instructed。
〃Sorry for the interruption；〃 he said to Rooney。 〃I've got an emergency call over the ship…to…shore phone。〃
Rooney nodded； went into the forward cabin； and poured himself another drink。 A delicious glow coursed through his body。 He took a few moments to go to the head。 When he returned topside to the wheelhouse； Sweat was hanging up the phone； his face red with anger。
〃The rotten bastards！〃 he hissed。
〃What's the problem？〃 Rooney asked。
〃They seized them；〃 Sweat said； pounding the helm with his fist。 〃The damned Feds walked into the morgue and seized the bodies from the blimp。〃
〃But there are legal procedures to follow；〃 Rooney protested。
〃Six men in plainclothes and two federal marshals showed up with the necessary paperwork； stuffed the corpses into three aluminum canisters filled with ice； and took off in a U。S。 Navy helicopter。〃
〃When did this happen？〃
〃Not ten minutes ago。 Harry Victor； the lead investigator on the case； says they also rifled his desk in the homicide office when he was in the john and ripped off his files。〃
〃What about my autopsy report？〃
〃They lifted that too。〃
The gin had put Rooney in a euphoric mood。 〃Oh； well； look at it this way。 They took you and the department off the hook。〃
Sweat's anger slowly subsided。 〃I can't deny they did me a favor； but it's their method that pisses me off。〃
〃There's one small consolation；〃 mumbled Rooney。 He was beginning to have trouble standing。 〃Uncle Sam didn't get everything。〃
〃Like what？〃
〃Something omitted from my report。 One lab result that was too controversial to put on paper； too wild to mention outside a looney house。〃
〃What are you talking about？〃 Sweat demanded。
〃The cause of death。〃
〃You said hypothermia。〃
〃True； but I left out the best part。 You see； I neglected to state the time of death。〃 Rooney's speech was being slurred。
〃Could only be within the last few days。〃
〃Oh； no。 Those poor guys froze their guts a long time ago。〃
〃How long？〃
〃Anywhere from one to two years ago。〃
Sheriff Sweat stared at Rooney； incredulous。 But the coroner stood there grinning like a hyena。 He was still grinning when he sagged over the side of the boat and threw up。
The home of Dirk Pitt was not on a suburban street or in a high…rise condominium overlooking the jungled treetops of Washington。 There was no landscaped yard or next…door neighbors with squealing children and barking dogs。 The house was not a house but an old aircraft hangar that stood on the edge of the capital's International Airport。
From the outside it appeared deserted。 Weeds surrounded the building and its corrugated walls were weathered and devoid of paint。 The only clue remotely suggesting any occupancy was a row of windows running beneath the huge curved roof。 Though they were stained and layered with dust； none were shattered like those of an abandoned warehouse。
Pitt thanked the airport maintenance man who had given him a lift from the terminal area。 Glancing around to see that he wasn't observed； he took a small transmitter from his coat pocket and issued a series of voice mands that closed down the security systems and opened a side door that looked as if it hadn't swung on its hinges for thirty years。
He entered and stepped onto a polished concrete floor that held nearly three dozen gleaming； classic automobiles； an antique airplane； and a turn…of…the…century railroad car。 He paused and stared fondly at the chassis of a French Talbot…Lago sports coupe that was in an early stage of reconstruction。 The car had been nearly destroyed in an explosion； and he was determined to restore the twisted remains to their previous elegance and beauty。
He hauled his suitcase and garment bag up a circular staircase to his apartment； elevated against the far wall of the hangar。 His watch read 2：15 PM。； but his mind and body felt as though it was closer to midnight。 After unpacking his luggage； he decided to spend a few hours working on the Talbot…Lago and take a shower later。 He had already donned a pair of old coveralls and his hand was pulling open the drawer of a toolbox； when a loud chime echoed through the hangar。 He pulled a cordless phone from a deep pocket。
〃Hello。〃
〃Mr。 Pitt； please；〃 said a female voice。
〃Speaking。〃
〃One moment。〃
After waiting for nearly two minutes； Pitt cut the connection and began rebuilding the Talbot's distributor。 Another five minutes passed before the chime sounded again。 He opened the line and said nothing。
〃Are you still there； sir？〃 asked the same voice。
〃Yes；〃 Pitt replied indifferently； tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear as he kept working with his hands。
〃This is Sandra Cabot； Mrs。 Jessie LeBaron's personal secretary。 Am I talking to Dirk Pitt？〃
Pitt took an instant dislike to people who couldn't dial their own phone calls。 〃You are。〃
〃Mrs。 LeBaron wishes to meet with you。 Can you e to the house at four o'clock？〃
〃Pretty fast off the mark； aren't you？〃
〃I beg your pardon？〃
〃Sorry； Miss Cabot； but I have to doctor a sick car。 Maybe if Mrs。 LeBaron cares to drop by my place； we could talk。〃
〃I'm afraid that won't do。 She's holding a formal cocktail party in the greenhouse later in the evening that will be attended by the Secretary of State。 She can't possibly break away。〃
〃Some other time then。〃
There was an icy silence； then Miss Cabot said； 〃You don'