Captain Evan Cunningham was a bantam c.o.c.k of a man, short and wiry, who moved his arms and legs as if jerked on strings. He had a smooth face with a sharp chin and Prussian blue eyes that seemed constantly in motion. He met with Colonel Wittenberg and General Bill Guerro, who had been sent to Ok.u.ma Bay from Washington to take command from Wittenberg and oversee the growing complexity of the discovery. Cunningham offered the services of his ship and crew as authorized by the naval chief of staff.

Wittenberg had described Pitt to Cunningham, and the commander had sought out the man from NUMA. He approached and introduced himself. "Mr. Pitt, we've talked over the radio, but haven't actually met. I'm Evan Cunningham, captain of the Tucson."

"A privilege to meet you, Captain. Now I can properly express my thanks for your timely rescue of the Polar Storm and everyone on board."

"A lucky case of being in the right place at the right time." He grinned broadly. "Not every sub commander in today's navy can say he sank a U-boat."

"Certainly not unless they've retired to a nursing home."

"Speaking of U-boats, did you know there are four more docked in the ice harbor?"

Pitt nodded. "I took a quick look at them this morning. They're as pristine as the day they came out of the factory."

"My engine-room crew went on board to study them. They were mighty impressed with the high quality of engineering created when their grandparents were still in junior high school."

"To anyone born after 1980, World War Two must seem as distant as the Civil War was to our parents."

Pitt excused himself as he glanced at the pa.s.sengers stepping down the boarding ladder of a Boeing 737 that had taxied up to the hangar. A woman wearing a knit cap with red hair flowing from under it like a fiery waterfall stopped for a moment and looked around the hangar, marveling at the busy activity. Then she looked in his direction and her face lit up.

Pitt began to walk toward her, but was overtaken by Giordino, who ran past him, took Pat O'Connell in his muscular arms, lifted her off the ground as easily as if she were a down pillow, and swung her around in a circle. Then they kissed pa.s.sionately.

Pitt watched them, mystified. When Giordino set Pat on her feet again, she looked over and waved. Pitt kissed her lightly on one cheek, stood back, and said, "Have I been missing something or do you two have a thing for each other?"

Pat laughed gaily. "Al and I looked into each other's eyes when we were in Buenos Aires and something beautiful happened between us."

He looked at Giordino dryly. "Like what?"

"Like we fell in love."

Pitt was no longer mystified. He was dumbfounded. "You fell in love?"

Giordino shrugged and smiled. "I can't explain it. I've never felt this way before."

"Does this mean you're breaking up the act?"

"My friend, you and I have been through a lot together, more wild ventures than I care to remember. It's a miracle we're still alive, and we have more than our share of scars to prove it. We have to face reality. We're not getting any younger. My joints are beginning to creak when I get up in the morning. We've got to think about slowing down." He paused and grinned. "And then, of course, there's Mama Giordino to consider."

"You have a mother?" asked Pat, teasing.

"You and Mama will get along famously," Giordino said approvingly. "Mama said I can't remain a bachelor forever if I want to give her little Giordinos to fatten with her celebrated lasagna."

"We'd better hurry." Pat laughed. "At thirty-five, I don't have much time left to produce a new brood."

"You have Megan," Pitt said.

"Yes, and she adores Al."

Pitt shook his head in wonder. "Megan approves of this alien character?"

"Why shouldn't she?" Pat said. "He saved her life."

Pitt didn't mention that he had a hand in saving mother and daughter, too. Nor did he let on that he had a fondness for Pat that went beyond mere friendship. "Well, I guess there's nothing left for me to do but give my blessing and insist on being the best man at your wedding."

Giordino put his arm around Pitt's shoulder and said wistfully, "I can't think of another mortal I'd rather have stand up for me."

"Have you set a date?"

"Not before six months," answered Pat. "Admiral Sandecker arranged for me to direct the project to decipher and translate the Amenes inscriptions found in the lost city. It will actually take years, but I don't think he'll hold it against me if I go home early for a wedding with Al."

"No," Pitt said, trying to absorb the unexpected promise of Al becoming married. "I don't guess he will."

Lieutenant Miles Jacobs came up and threw a casual salute. "Mr. Pitt? Colonel Wittenberg would like a word with you."

"Where can I find him?"

"He and General Guerro have set up a command post in one of the aircraft maintenance offices on the far end of the hangar."

"I'm on my way, thank you." Pitt turned and looked at Giordino. "You'd better get Pat situated in one of the empty storerooms-she can use it for living quarters and a base for her inscription project." Then he turned and strode through the turmoil of activity to the military command post.

Wittenberg sat at his desk and gestured to a chair, as Pitt entered one of the offices the Russian slaves had carved out of the ice nearly six decades previously. A communications center had been set up, manned by two operators. The place was a madhouse, with civilians and military personnel rushing in and out. General Guerro sat behind a large metal desk in one corner, surrounded by scientists who were requesting the military rush in special excavation equipment so they could begin removing the ice shroud from the ancient city. He did not look happy as he made excuses for the delay.

"Have you found the relics yet?"

"We've been too busy to search," answered Wittenberg. "I thought I'd pa.s.s the buck to you. If you're successful, let me know and I'll schedule a military transport to fly you back to the States."

"I'll get back to you shortly," said Pitt, rising to his feet. "I think I know where the Wolfs put them."

"One more thing, Mr. Pitt," said Wittenberg seriously. "Do not say anything to anyone. It's best the relics are removed quietly, before a lot of crazies get wind of their existence and move heaven and earth to lay their hands on them."

"Why not destroy them and be done with it?"

"Not our call. The President personally ordered them brought to the White House."

"I think I understand," Pitt a.s.sured him.

As he walked across the hangar floor, the weight of his responsibility fell over him like a black cloud. Uneasily, he approached the Wolfs' deserted executive jet and studied the mutilated tail section that he had crushed with the Snow Cruiser, before stepping around to the entrance door and entering the darkened interior. In what little light filtered in through the smashed opening and the windows, he could discern an interior luxuriously appointed with leather chairs and sofas. He pulled his flashlight from a pocket and swept its beam around the cabin. There was a bar and credenza with a large TV. The rear compartment of the cabin held a king-size bed in antic.i.p.ation of its owner's getting a few hours' sleep while the plane was in flight. The bathroom had gold-plated fixtures and a small shower. Forward, just behind the c.o.c.kpit, he could see a small galley, complete with oven, microwave, sink, and cabinets that held crystal gla.s.ses and china.

His eyes fell on a long box that was tied to the floor beside the bed. Pitt knelt and ran his hands over the surface. He tried to lift one end, but found it was made out of bronze and extremely heavy. There was a bra.s.s plaque embedded in the lid. He shined the light on the lettering and leaned closer. The inscription was in German, but relying on the few words he'd learned, he loosely translated the message as "Here lie the treasures of the ages awaiting resurrection."

He twisted the pins from their hasps and removed them. Then, taking a deep breath, he took both hands and lifted the lid.

There were four objects inside the bronze box, all contained in leather cases and neatly wrapped in heavy linen. He carefully opened the first case and unwrapped the smallest object. It held a small bronze plaque with a crack running through it. The sculptured front side displayed a holy knight killing a dragonlike monster. Pitt would learn later that it was considered a sacred n.a.z.i relic because Hitler had had it in a breast pocket of his uniform during the a.s.sa.s.sination attempt, when German army dissenters had set off a bomb in his forest headquarters.

The next case held the sacred n.a.z.i flag earlier described by Admiral Sandecker as having been smeared with the blood of a fallen supporter of Hitler who'd been killed when the Bavarian police fired on the fledgling n.a.z.i party members during the Munich Putsch in November of 1923. The blood-stain could easily be seen under the beam of the flashlight. He placed it back inside the linen and the leather case.

Then he opened a long mahogany chest and stared in rapt fascination at the Holy Lance, the lance allegedly used by a Roman centurion to pierce the body of Jesus Christ, the lance Hitler believed would give him control over the destiny of the world. The image of the lance being used to kill Christ on the cross was too overwhelming for Pitt to envision. He gently laid the most sacred relic in Christendom back in the mahogany chest and turned to the largest of the leather cases.

After unwrapping the linen, he discovered that he was holding a heavy urn of solid silver a few inches less than two feet high. The top of the lid was decorated with a black eagle that stood on a gold wreath surrounding an onyx swastika. Just below the lid were inscribed the words Der Fuhrer. Directly beneath were the dates 1889 and 1945 over the runic symbols for the SS. On the base above a ring of swastikas were the names Adolf Hitler and Eva Hitler.