〃No；〃 Eriksen replied。 〃Better not to antagonize the President。 We'll merely put him on ice for a few days。〃
〃I wonder where he'll turn up next；〃 Hudson pondered。
Eriksen methodically reloaded his pipe。 〃He began his witch…hunt in Oregon and from there to Colorado and then New Mexico。 My guess is his next stop will be Texas； at the office of our man with NASA in Houston。〃
Hudson punched a number on his desk phone。 〃A pity I can't be there when we snare the bastard。〃
Pitt spent the next two hours on his back in bed； listening to the sounds of metal doors being opened and closed； tuning in on the footsteps heard outside his cell。 The youthful guard brought lunch and waited while Pitt ate； making sure all the utensils were accounted for when he left。 This time the guard seemed in a better humor and was unarmed。 He also left the door open during the meal； giving Pitt a chance to study the latch。
He was surprised to see that it was an ordinary doorknob lock instead of a heavy…security or mortice throw bolt。 His cell was never meant to serve as a jail。 It was mostly likely intended as a storeroom。
Pitt stirred a spoon over a bowl of foul…smelling fish stew and handed it back； more interested in the closing of the door than eating slop that he knew was the first step of a psychological ploy to lower his mental defense mechanisms。 The guard stepped back and yanked the iron door shut。 Pitt cocked his ear and caught a single； decisive click immediately after the slam。
He knelt and closely examined the crack between the door and the strike。 The gap was 1/8 inch across。 Then he scoured the cell； searching for an object thin enough to slip between the crack so he could jimmy the latch。
The bunk supporting the down mattress was made of wood with grooved joints。 No metal or hard； flat surface there。 The faucets and spouts on the sink were ceramic and the plumbing underneath and in the toilet tank offered nothing he could mold with his hands。 He got lucky with the wardrobe。 Any one of the hinges would work perfectly； except he could not remove the screws with his fingernails。
He was pondering this problem when the door swung open and the guard stood in the entrance。 His eyes cautiously scanned the cell for a moment。 Then he brusquely motioned Pitt outside； led him through a maze of gray concrete corridors； stopping finally outside a door marked with the numeral 6。
Pitt was roughly shoved into a small boxlike room with a sickly stench about it。 The floor was cement with a drain in its center。 The walls were painted a dreary shade of red that ominously matched the pattern of stains that were splattered on them。 The only illumination came from a dull yellow bulb hanging by a cord from the ceiling。 It was the most depressing room Pitt had ever entered。
The only furniture was a cheap； deeply scarred wooden chair。 But it was the man seated in the chair that Pitt's eyes focused on。 The eyes that stared back were as expressionless as ice cubes。 Pitt could not tell the stranger's height； but his chest and shoulders were so ponderous they seemed deformed； the look of a body builder who had spent thousands of hours of sweat and effort。 The head was pletely shaven； and the face might have been considered almost handsome but for the large misshapen nose that was totally out of place with its surroundings。 He was wearing only a pair of rubber boots and tropical shorts。 Except for a Bismarck moustache； he looked strangely familiar to Pitt。
Without looking up he began reading off a list of crimes Pitt was accused of。 They began with violating Cuban air space； shooting down a helicopter； murdering its crew； working as an agent for the Central Intelligence Agency； entering the country illegally。 The accusations droned on until they ended at last with unlawful entry into a forbidden military zone。 The voice spoke in pure American with a trace of a Western accent。
〃How do you respond？〃
〃Guilty as sin。〃
A piece of paper and a pen were held out by an enormous hand。 〃Please sign the confession。〃
Pitt took the pen and signed the paper against a wall without reading the wording。
The interrogator stared at the signature broodingly。 〃I think you've made a mistake。〃
〃How so？〃
〃Your name is not Benedict Arnold。〃
Pitt snapped his fingers。 〃By God； you're right。 That was last week。 This week I'm Millard Fillmore。〃
〃Very amusing。〃
〃Since General Velikov has already informed American officials of my death；〃 said Pitt seriously； 〃I fail to see any good of a confession。 Seems to me it's like injecting penicillin into a skeleton。 What purpose can it possibly serve？〃
〃Insurance against an incident； propaganda reasons； even a bargaining position；〃 answered the interrogator amiably。 〃There could be any number of reasons。〃 He paused and read from a file on the desk。 〃I see from the dossier General Velikov gave me that you directed a salvage project on the Empress of Ireland shipwreck in the Saint Lawrence River。〃
〃That is correct。〃
〃I believe I was on the same project。〃
Pitt stared at him。 There was a familiarity； but it wouldn't frame in his mind。 He shook his head。 〃I don't recall you working on my team。 What's your name？〃
〃Foss Gly；〃 he said slowly。 〃I worked with the Canadians to disrupt your operations。〃
A scene burst within Pitt's mind of a tugboat tied to a dock in Rimouski； Quebec。 He had saved the life of a British secret agent by braining Gly on the head with a wrench。 He also remembered with great relief that Gly's back had been turned and he had not seen Pitt's approach。
〃Then we've never met face to face；〃 Pitt said calmly。 He watched for a faint sign of recognition from Gly； but he didn't bat an eye。
〃Probably not。〃
〃You're a long way from home。〃
Gly shrugged his great shoulders。 〃I work for whoever pays top dollar for my special services。〃
〃In this case the money machine spits out rubles。〃
〃Converted into gold；〃 Gly added。 He sighed and pulled himself to a standing position and stretched。 The skin was so taut； the veins so pronounced； they actually looked grotesque。 He rose from the chair and looked up； the smooth dome of his head on a level with Pitt's chin。 〃I'd like to continue the small talk about past events； Mr。 Pitt； but I must have the answers to several questions and your signature on the confession。〃
〃I'll discuss whatever subject that interests you when I'm assured the LeBarons and my friends will not be harmed。〃
Gly did not reply； only stared with a look that bordered on indifference。
Pitt sensed a blow was ing and tensed his body to roll with it。 But Gly did not cooperate。 Instead； he slowly reached out with one hand and gripped Pitt at the base of the neck on the soft part of the shoulder。 At first the pressure was light； a squeeze； and then a gradual tightening until the pain erupted like fire。
Pitt clutched Gly's wrist with both hands and tried to wrench away the ironlike claw； but he might as well have tried to pull a twenty foot oak out of the ground by the roots。 He ground his teeth together until he thought they would crack。 Dimly through the bursting fireworks in his brain； he could hear Gly's voice。
〃Okay； Pitt； you don't have to go through this。 Just tell me who masterminded your intrusion on this island and why。 No need to suffer unless you're a professional masochist。 Believe me； you won't find the experience enjoyable。 Tell the general what he wants to know。 Whatever you're hiding won't change the course of history。 Thousands of lives won't hang in the balance。 Why feel your body being pulped day after day until all bones are crushed； all joints are cracked； your sinews reduced to the consistency of mashed potatoes。 Because that is exactly what will happen if you don't play ball。 You understand？〃
The ungodly agony eased as Gly released his grip。 Pitt swayed on his feet and stared through half…open eyes at his tormentor； one hand massaging the ugly bruise that was spreading on his shoulder。 He realized that whatever story he told； true or fabricated； would never be accepted。 The torture would continue until his physical resources finally gave in and numbed to it。
He asked politely； 〃Do you get a bonus for every confession？〃
〃I do not work on mission；〃 said Gly with friendly humor。
〃You win；〃 said Pitt easily。 〃I have a low threshold of pain。 What do you want me to confess to； attempting to assassinate Fidel Castro or plotting to convert Russian advisers to democrats？〃
〃Merely the truth； Mr。 Pitt。〃
〃I've already told General Velikov。〃
〃Yes； I have your recorded words。〃
〃Then you know that Mrs。 LeBaron； Al Giordino； Rudi Gunn； and I were trying to find a clue to the disappearance of Raymond LeBaron while searching for a shipwreck supposedly containing treasure。 What's so sinister about that？〃
〃General Velikov sees it as a front for a more classified mission。〃
〃For instance？〃
〃An attempt to municate with the Castros。〃
〃Ridiculous is the first word that es to mind。 There must be easier ways for our governments to negotiate with each other。〃
〃Gunn h