Maeve shouted again, this time with lowered hands as if somehow willing her thoughts into his mind.
Too late. The helicopter shot into the air vertically and dipped over the side of the ship. She sagged to her knees on the deck, head in her hands, sobbing, as the turquoise aircraft flew over the endless marching swells of the sea.
Giordino looked back through his side window and saw Maeve slumped on the deck, Dempsey walking toward her. "I wonder what the fuss was all about," he said curiously.
"What fuss?" asked Pitt.
"Maeve . . . she acted like a Greek mourner at a funeral."
Concentrating on controlling the helicopter, Pitt had missed Maeve's unexpected display of grief.
"Maybe she hates goodbyes," he said, feeling a wave of remorse.
"She tried to tell us something," Giordino said vaguely, reliving the scene in his mind.
Pitt did not take a backward glance. He felt deep regret at not having said his farewells. It was rude to have denied Maeve the courtesy of a friendly hug and a few words. He had genuinely felt attracted to her. She had aroused emotions within him that he hadn't experienced since losing someone very dear to him in the sea north of Hawaii many years ago. Her name was Summer, and not a day passed that he didn't recall her lovely face and the scent of plumeria.
There was no way for him to tell if the attraction was mutual. There were a multitude of expressions in her eyes, but nothing he saw that indicated desire. And nothing in her conversation had led him to believe they were more than merely two people touching briefly before passing into the night.
He tried to remain detached and tell himself that their affair had nowhere to go. They were bound to lives on opposite sides of the world. It was best to let her fade into a pleasant memory of what might have been if the moon and stars had shone in the right direction.
"Weird," Giordino said, staring ahead at the restless sea as the islands north of Cape Horn grew in the distance.
" `Weird'?" Pitt echoed in a tone of indifference.
"What Maeve yelled as we lifted off."
"How could you hear anything over the chopper's racket?"
"I couldn't. It was all in the way she formed the words with her mouth."
Pitt grinned. "Since when do you read lips?"
"I'm not kidding, pal," Giordino said in dead seriousness. "I know the message she tried to get across to us."
Pitt knew from long years of experience and friendship that when Giordino turned profound he worked purely from essentials. You didn't step into his circle, spar with him and step out unscathed. Pitt mentally remained outside the circle and peered in. "Spit it out. What did she say?"
Giordino slowly turned and looked at Pitt, his deep-set black eyes reflective and somber at the same time. "I could swear she said `Help me.'"
The twin-engined Buccaneer jet transport touched down smoothly and taxied to a quiet corner of Andrews Air Force Base, southeast of Washington. Fitted out comfortably for high-ranking Air Force officers, the aircraft flew nearly as fast as the most modern fighter plane.
As the flight steward, in the uniform of an Air Force master sergeant, carried their luggage to a waiting car and driver, Pitt marveled at Admiral Sandecker's influence in the capital city. He wondered what general the admiral had conned into temporarily lending the plane to NUMA, and what manner of persuasion it took.
Giordino dozed during the drive, while Pitt stared unseeing at the low buildings of the city. The rush-hour traffic had begun streaming out of town, and the streets and bridges leading into the suburbs were jammed. Fortunately, their car was traveling in the opposite direction.
Pitt cursed his idiocy for not returning to Ice Hunter shortly after liftoff. If Giordino had interpreted her message correctly, Maeve was in some sort of trouble. The possibility that he had deserted her when she was calling out to him gnawed at his conscience.
The long arm of Sandecker reached through his melancholy and cast a shroud over his preoccupation with guilt. Never in Pitt's years with NUMA had he ever placed his personal problems above the vital work of the agency. During the flight to Punta Arenas, Giordino had provided the crowning touch.
"There's a time for being horny, and this isn't it. People and sea life are dying by the boatload out there on the water. The sooner we stop this evil, the more lives will be spared to pay taxes. Forget her for now. When this cauldron of crap is over you can take a year off and chase her Down Under."
Giordino might never-have been hired to teach rhetoric at Oxford, but he seldom failed to fill a book with common sense. Pitt surrendered and reluctantly eased Maeve from his mind, not entirely successfully. The memory of her lingered like a portrait that became more beautiful with the passage of time.