"It's that very damned secret project that's come between us," she burst out angrily.

    "That and a few other problems-such as your refusal to bear children."

    She looked at him thunderstruck. "How could you possibly know all this?"

    "The usual methods. It makes no difference how. What matters is that you stick with Gene for the next sixteen months and give him all the tender loving care you can find in your soul to give."

    Nervously, she folded and unfolded her hands. "It's that important?" she asked in a faint voice.

    "It's that important," he said. "Will you help me?"

    She nodded silently.

    "Good." He patted her hands. "Between us, maybe we can keep Gene on the track."

    "I'll try, Mr. President. If it means so much, I'll try. I can promise no more."

    "I have complete confidence in you."

    "But I draw the line at having a baby," she said defiantly.

    He grinned the famous grin so often captured by photographers. "I can order a war, and I can order men to die, but not even the President of the United States has the power to order a woman to become pregnant."

    For the first time, she laughed. It seemed so strange, talking intimately with a man who wielded such incredible power. Power was indeed an aphrodisiac and she began to feel the bitter disappointment of not being taken to bed.

    The President rose and took her arm. "I must go now. I have a meeting with my economic advisers in a few minutes." He began guiding her toward the door. Then he stopped and drew her face to his and she felt the firmness of his lips. When he let her go, he looked into her eyes and said, "You are a very desirable woman, Mrs. Seagram. Don't you forget that."

    He escorted her to the elevator.

20

    Dana was waiting on the concourse when Seagram departed his plane.

    "What gives?" He eyed her questioningly. "You haven't met me at the airport in ages."

    "An overwhelming impulse of affection." She smiled.

    He claimed his luggage and they walked to the parking lot. She held his arm tightly. The afternoon seemed a faraway dream now. She had to keep reminding herself that another man had found her alluring and had actually kissed her.

    She took the wheel and drove onto the highway. The last of the rush-hour traffic had faded away, and she made good time through the Virginia countryside.

    "Do you know Dirk Pitt?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Yes, he's Admiral Sandecker's special projects director. Why?"

    "I'm going to burn the bastard's ass," he said.

    She glanced at him in astonishment. "What's your connection with him?"

    "He screwed up an important part of the project."

    Her hands tightened on the wheel. "You'll find him a tough ass to burn," she said.

    "Why do you say that?"

    "He's considered a legend around NUMA. His list of achievements since he joined the agency is second only to his outstanding war record."

    "So?"

    "So, he's Admiral Sandecker's fair-haired boy."

    "You forget, I carry more weight with the President than Admiral Sandecker."

    "More weight than Senator George Pitt of California?" she said flatly.

    He turned and looked at her. "They're related?"

    "Father and son."

    He slouched in a morose silence for the next several miles.

    Dana put her right hand on his knee. When she stopped at a red light, she leaned over and kissed him.

    "What was that for?"

    "That's a bribe."

    "How much is it going to cost me?" he grumbled.

    "I have this great idea," she announced. "Why don't we take in that new Brando film, and afterward we can have a scrumptious lobster dinner at the Old Potomac Inn, then go home, turn out the lights and-"

    "Take me to the office," he said. "I have work to do."

    "Please, Gene, don't push yourself," she pleaded. "There's time for your work tomorrow."

    "No, now!" he said.

    The chasm between them was uncrossable, and from now on, things would never be the same again.

21

    Seagram looked down at the metal attaché case on his desk, then up at the colonel and the captain who were standing across from him. "There's no mistake on this?"

    The colonel shook his head. "Researched and verified by the Director of Defense Archives, sir."

    "That was fast work. Thank you."

    The colonel made no attempt to leave. "Sorry, sir, I am to wait and return to the Department of Defense with the file on my person."

    "By whose orders?"

    "The Secretary," the colonel answered. "Defense Department policy dictates that all material classified as Code Five Confidential must be kept under surveillance at all times."

    "I understand," Seagram said. "May I study the file alone?"

    "Yes, sir. My aide and I will wait outside, but I must respectfully request that no one be allowed to enter or leave your office while the file is in your possession."

    Seagram nodded. "All right, gentlemen, make yourselves comfortable. My secretary will be at your service for coffee and refreshments."

    "Thank you for your courtesy, Mr. Seagram."

    "And, one more thing," Seagram said, and smiled faintly. "I have my own private bathroom, so don't expect to see me for a while."

    Seagram sat motionless for several moments after the door closed. The final vindication of five years work lay before his eyes. Or did it? Maybe the documents within the case would only lead to another mystery, or, worse yet, a dead end. He inserted the key into the case and opened it. Inside there were four folders and a small notebook. The labels on the folders read:

CD5C 7665 1911  Report on the scientific and monetary value of the rare element byzanium.

CD5C 7687 1911  Correspondence between Secretary of War and Joshua Hays Brewster examining the possible acquirement of byzanium.

CD5C 7720 1911  Memorandum by Secretary of War to the President regarding funds for Secret Army Plan 371-990-R85.

CD5C 8039 1912  Report of closed investigation into the circumstances surrounding the disappearance of Joshua Hays Brewster.

    The notebook was simply entitled "Journal of Joshua Hays Brewster."

    Logic dictated that Seagram study the folders first, but logic was set aside as he settled back in his chair and opened the journal.

    Four hours later, he stacked the book neatly on top of the folders and pushed a button on the side of his intercom. Almost immediately a recessed panel in a side wall swung open and a man in a white technician's coat entered.

    "How soon can you copy all this?"

    The technician thumbed through the book and peeked in the folders. "Give me forty-five minutes."

    Seagram nodded. "Okay, get right on it. There's someone in my outer office who's waiting for the originals."

    After the panel closed, Seagram pushed himself wearily from his chair and staggered into the bathroom. He closed the door and leaned against it, his face twisted in a grotesque mask.

    "Oh God, no," he moaned. "It's not fair, it's not fair."

    The he leaned over the sink and vomited.