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"Any news?"

"Nothing from the Titanic," Nicholson said "They haven't reported since they entered the eye of the hurricane"

"And the Navy tugs?"

"They still haven't sighted the Titanic-which isn't too surprising With their radar inoperative, they're reduced to a visual search pattern A hopeless chore, I'm afraid, in near-zero visibility"

For longsilence It was finally broken by Gene Seagram "We can't lose it now, not ere so close," he said, struggling to his feet "The terrible price we've paidI've paidthe byzaniuain" His shoulders drooped and he seemed to wither as Donner and Collins eased him back down on the sofa

Kemper spoke in a whisper "If the worst happens, Mr President? What then?"

"We write off Sandecker, Pitt, and the others"

"And the Sicilian Project?"

"The Sicilian Project," the President murmured "Yes, rite that off too"

64

The heavy gray wool slowly began to fade away and Pitt beca in an upside-down position on so ht zone between consciousness and unconsciousness, until gradually he was able to pry open his eyes, or at least one eye; the other was caked shut by coagulated blood Like a led up froood eye froht to left, up and down He was still in the helicopter, his feet and legs curled upward along the floor and his back and shoulders lay against the aft bulkhead

That accounted for the hardness The wetness was an understatement Several inches of water sloshed back and forth around his body He wondered vaguely how he had come to be contorted in this aard position

His head felt as if littlepitchforks into his brain He splashed so of the salt, until the blood diluted and ran off, allowing the eyelid to open Now that he had regained his peripheral vision he turned his body so that he was sitting on the bulkhead and looking up at the floor It was like staring at the crazy room of an amusement park fun house

There was to be no exiting through the cargo door; it had been ja its journey across the Titanic's decks Left with no other choice but to get out through the control cabin hatch, Pitt began clirips

One ring at a time, he pulled himself toward the forward bulkhead or what now constituted the ceiling His head ached and he had to stop every few feet, waiting for the cobwebs to clear At last, he could reach up and touch the door latch The door wouldn't budge He pulled out the Colt and pounded at the latch The force of the blow knocked the pistol out of his wet hand, and it clattered all the way to the rear bulkhead The door remained stubbornly closed