Dupree had fallen over the edge and entered the realm of total madness. How can it be after only five days?

We can hold them but a few hours more. They have nearly broken through the hatch in the aft escape compartment. No good, no good... [illegible]. They mean to kill us, but we will outwit them in the end. No satisfaction, no victory. We shall all be dead.

Who in the h.e.l.l does he mean by "they?" Is it possible another vessel, perhaps a Russian spy trawler, was trying to rescue the crew?

It is dark on the surface now, and they have stopped work. I will send this message and the last pages of the log to the surface in the communications capsule. Good chance they'll miss it at night Our position is [the first figures are crossed out] 3243'15"N- 16118'22"W.

The position doesn't figure. It's over five hundred miles from the Starbuck's last reported position. Not nearly enough time between the last radio contact and Dupree's final position for the Starbuck to travel the required distance, even at flank speed.

Do not search for us; it can only end in vain. They cannot allow a trace to be found. The shameful trick they used. If I had but known, we might well be alive to touch the sun. Please see this message is delivered to Admiral Leigh Hunter, Pearl Harbor.

The final enigma. Why me? To my knowledge, I have never met Commander Dupree. Why did he single out me as the recipient of the Starbuck's last testament?

Pitt hunched over the bar of the old Royal Hawaiian Hotel, staring vacantly at his drink, as his mind wandered over the events of the day. They flickered past his unblinking eyes and dissolved into a haze. One scene refused to fade away: the memory of Admiral Hunter's pallid face as he read the contents of the capsule-the terrible senselessness of the Star-bucks tragic fate, and the bewildering, paranoiac words of Commander Dupree.

After Hunter had finished, he slowly looked up and nodded at Pitt Pitt shook the admiral's leathery outstretched hand in silence, mumbled his good-bye to the other officers, and, as if in an hypnotic state, slowly walked from the room. He could not remember driving through the twisting traffic flow of Nimitz Highway. He could not remember entering his hotel room, showering and dressing, and leaving in search of some opaque, unknown objective. Even now, as he slowly swirled the Scotch within the gla.s.s, his ears heard nothing of the babble of tongues around him in the c.o.c.ktail lounge.

There was something strangely sinister about his discovery of the Starbuck's final message, he idly reflected. There was a wary, retrospective thought that fought desperately to surface from the inner recesses of his brain. But it faded and fell back into the nothingness from which it came.

Out of the corner of his eye Pitt caught a man further down the bar holding up a gla.s.s in his direction, gesturing the offer of a free drink. It was Captain Orl Cinana. Like Pitt, he was dressed casually in slacks and a flowered Hawaiian aloha shirt Cinana came over and leaned on the bar beside him. He was still sweating and dabbed at his forehead and wiped his palms almost constantly with a handkerchief he carried.

"May I'do the honors?" Cinana said with a smile that smacked of insincerity.

Pitt held up a full gla.s.s. "Thanks, but I haven't made a dent in the one I've got."

Pitt had taken little notice of Cinana earlier at Pearl Harbor, but now he was mildly surprised to see something he'd missed. Except for the fact that Cinana outweighed Pitt by a paunchy fifteen pounds, they could have pa.s.sed for cousins.

Cinana swirled the ice around in his Rum Collins, nervously avoiding Pitt's expressionless gaze.

" I'd like to apologize again for that little misunderstanding this afternoon."

"Forget it, Captain. I wasn't exactly a paragon of courtesy myself."

"A nasty business, the Starbuck's loss" Cinana took a swallow from his gla.s.s.

"Most mysteries have a way of eventually getting solved. The Thresher, the Bluefin, the Scorpion-the Navy never gave up until everyone was found."

"We're not repeating the act this time," Cinana said grimly. "This is one well never find."

"Never say never."

"The three tragedies you mentioned, Major occurred in the Atlantic. The Starbuck had the fatal misfortune of vanishing in the Pacific." He paused to wipe his neck. "We have a saying in the Navy about ships lost out here."

Those who lie deep in the Atlantic Sea Are recalled by shrines, wreaths, and poetry, But those who lie in the Pacific Sea Lie forgotten for all eternity.

"But you have the position from Dupree's message," Pitt said. "With luck, your sonar should detect her within a week's sweep of the area."

"The sea doesn't give up its secrets easily, Major." Cinana set his empty gla.s.s on the bar. "Well, I must be going. I was supposed to meet someone, but apparently she stood me up."

Pitt shook Cinana's outstretched hand and grinned. "I know the feeling."

"Good-bye, and good luck."

"Same to you, Captain."

Cinana turned and sidestepped through the crowd to the hotel lobby entrance and became lost in the mining sea of heads.

Pitt still hadn't touched his drink. After Cinana's departure, he sensed a maddening loneliness, despite the surrounding din of voices in the crowded room. Pitt had the urge to get very drunk. He wanted to forget the name Starbuck and concentrate on more important matters, such as picking up a vacationing secretary who had left all her s.e.xual inhibitions back in Omaha, Nebraska. He downed his drink and ordered another.

He was just about ready to try out his soft-tongued affability when he became aware of the touch of two

soft, feminine b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing into his back, and a pair of slender white hands encircling his waist. He unhurriedly turned and found his eyes confronted by the impish face of Adrian Hunter.

"h.e.l.lo, Dirk," she murmured in a husky voice. "Need a drinking partner?"

"I might What's in it for me?"

She tightened her hands around his waist. "We could go to my place, tune in the late, late movie, and take notes."

"Can't. Mother wants me home early."

"Oh come now, lover, you wouldn't deny an old friend an evening of scandalous behavior, would you?"

"That what old friends are for?" he said sarcastically. Her hands had moved downward and he pulled them away. "You should find yourself a new hobby. At the rate you indulge your fantasies, I'm surprised you haven't been sold for sc.r.a.p by now."

"That's an interesting thought," she smiled at him. "I could always use the money. I wonder what I'd bring."

"Probably the price of a well-used Edsel."

She thrust out her chest and faked a pout. "You only hurt the one you love, so I'm told."

Considering the exhaustive pace of her nightlife, Pitt thought she was still a d.a.m.n good-looking woman. He remembered the soft feel of her body when he last made love to her. He also remembered that no matter how relentless his attack, nor how expert his technique he could never satisfy her.

"Not to change the subject of our stimulating conversation," he said, "but I met your father for the first time today."

He waited for a hint of surprise. There was none.

She seemed quite unconcerned. "Really? What did old Lord Nelson have to talk about?"

"For one thing, he didn't care for the way I was dressed."

"Don't feel badly. He doesn't care for the way I'dress either."

He took a sip from his Scotch and gazed at her over the top of the gla.s.s. "In your case, I can't blame him. No man likes to see his daughter come off like a back alley hooker."

She ignored his last remark; that her father had come face-to-face with but one of her many lovers, didn't interest her at all. She wiggled onto the next bar stool and gazed at him with a seductive look burning in her eyes, the effect heightened by the long black hair winding around one shoulder. Her skin glowed like polished bronze under the dim lights of the c.o.c.ktail lounge.

She whispered, "How about that drink?"