take off without paying.'
'Would you?'
He smirked. 'I stung them for a few bucks before.' 'Still, that seems shortsighted on their part. With your boat, you could go fishing and earn the money to pay them back.'
Neal's smile dissolved into a frown. 'I could if there were fish to sell.'
'Someone at the general store mentioned that the fishing was bad.'
'Worse than bad. Rest of the fleet has moved up the coast. Some of the guys come home between trips to see family.'
'How long has this been going on?'
' 'Bout six months.'
'Any idea what's causing the drought?'
He shrugged. 'When we talked to the provincial fisheries people, they said the fish musta moved off, looking for better feeding. They didn't even send someone like we asked. Don't want to get their feet wet, I guess. The marine biologists all must be busy sitting on their fat asses looking at their computers.'
'Do you agree with what they said about the fish moving off?' He grinned. 'For a tourist, you've got lots of questions.' 'When I'm not a tourist, I'm a marine biologist.' Neal blushed. 'Sorry. I wasn't, talking about your fat ass. Oh, hell-'
Gamay laughed. 'I know exactly what you mean about computer biologists who never leave their lab. I think fishermen have more practical knowledge of the sea than any scientist. At the same time, professional expertise doesn't hurt. Maybe I can help you figure out why there are no fish to catch.'
A cloud passed over Neal's features. 'I didn't say there are no fish.
There are fish all right.'
'Then what's the problem?'
'These aren't like any fish I've seen in all my years of fishing.' 'I don't understand.'
Neal shrugged. Apparently this was one subject he didn't want to talk about.
'I've studied fish in and out of the water all over the world,' Gamay said. 'There isn't much that would surprise me.' 'Bet this would.'
Gamay stuck her hand out. 'Okay, it's a bet. How much is your engine repair bill?'
'Seven hundred fifty dollars, Canadian.'
'I'll pay that if you show me what you're talking about. Let me buy you a beer to seal the deal.'
Neal's unshaven jaw dropped open. 'You're serious?' 'Very. Look Mike, there are no fences in the ocean. Fish go pretty much where they please. There may be something harmful in these waters that could affect American fishermen as well.'
'Okay,' he said, shaking her hand. 'When can you go?' 'How about today?'
Neal grinned like a Cheshire cat. The source of his happiness wasn't hard to figure out. A nice-looking and friendly American woman was paying his boatyard bill and going out on his boat, alone, where he could turn on his rugged charm. Just then, Paul Trout walked into the bar and came over to the table.
'Sorry I took so long,' Paul said. 'Harbor's pretty deserted.'
'This is Mike Neal,' Gamay said. 'Mike, I'd like you to meet my husband.'
Neal glanced up at Trout's nearly seven-foot-tall figure, and his fantasies about Gamay evaporated. But he was a practical man-a deal was a deal. 'Pleased to meet you,' he said. They shook hands.
'Mike here has agreed to take us out on his boat to show us some unusual fish,' Gamay said.
'We can leave in an hour,' Neal said. 'That'll give you time to eat your lunch. See you over at the boat.' He rose from his chair and started to leave.
'Do we need to bring anything?' Paul asked.
'Naw,' Neal said. He stopped and said: 'Elephant gun, maybe?' He roared with laughter at the Trouts' puzzled expressions. They could still hear him laughing after he passed through the door.
12
WITH HIS LONG-STEMMED pipe, teeth like a broken picket fence and storm-beaten face. Old Eric looked like a grizzled character out of Captains Courageous. Pia said that the retired fisherman spoke English and knew the local waters better than the fish. Now too old to go fishing, he did odd jobs around the pier. De- spite his fierce expression, he was more than obliging when Austin mentioned Pia's name.
Austin had arrived at the fish pier early, looking for advice about local weather and sea conditions. A purple- blue pall from the throaty exhausts of the Skaalshavn fishing fleet hung in the damp air. Fish- ermen decked out in foul-weather gear and boots slogged through the drizzle as they loaded bait buckets and tubs of coiled trawl line on their boats in preparation for a day at sea. He told the old salt he was taking Professor Jorgensen's boat out to go fishing.
Old Eric squinted at the scudding gray clouds and pursed his lips in thought. 'Rain should stop, and the fog will burn off soon.' He pointed to a tall pillar of rock guarding the harbor entrance. 'Go to the starboard of that sea stack. You'll find good fishing after a mile. Wind comes up around midday, but the professor's boat is weatherly. I should know,' he said with a gap-toothed grin. 'I built her. She'll get you home in one piece.'
'How's the fishing the other way along the coast?' The old fisherman wrinkled his nose. 'Stinks around the fish farm. A wet ride, too, coming back with a following sea.'
Austin thanked Eric for his advice, stowed his day pack and fish- ing gear in the boat, checked the fuel level and ventilated the bilge. The inboard engine started right away and soon settled down to a smooth rumble. Austin cast off the lines, pushed away from the dock and pointed the bow toward the two-hundred-foot-high chimney- shaped rock formation that stood like a stone waterspout at the har- bor entrance. He went to the left rather than to the right of the lofty column, hoping Old Eric wouldn't see him.
Soon, the boat was cruising past towering cliffs where thousands of nesting seabirds soared like wind-blown confetti. The motor purred like a milk-fed kitten. There was a slight chop to the water, but the double-ender sliced rather than slapped its way through the waves. Spray occasionally splashed over the bow. Austin stayed warm and dry in the yellow foul-weather gear and boots he'd found in the boat's storage compartment.
The high ramparts along the coast dissolved into a series of craggy bluffs that dropped down to low hills and finally dipped to sea level as he neared the old harbor. He saw no other boats. The local fish- ermen were working more productive grounds in the other direction. Only when he rounded a point of land did he discover that he was not alone.
The blue-hulled Spanish yacht he had seen entering the harbor the day before lay at anchor in the inlet about a half mile from shore. The sleek boat was more than two hundred feet long. Its low, clean lines suggested that the yacht was built for speed as well as comfort. The name on the stern was Navarra. The decks were deserted. No one came out to wave, as was customary when one boat encountered an- other, particularly in such remote waters. Austin felt unseen eyes watching him from behind the dark-tinted windows as he continued past the yacht toward land. Sunlight shining through the clouds re- flected dully off the distant metal rooftops he had glimpsed from the high ridge the day before.
A dot rose in the sky from the general vicinity of the buildings. The speck rapidly grew in size and became a black helicopter with no markings. The chopper came in low and buzzed the boat like an angry hornet, circled twice, then hovered, facing Austin, a few hun- dred yards away. Rocket pods hung from the fuselage. More com- pany was on its way. A boat was bearing down on his position. It was moving fast, throwing up fountains of spray as it skimmed the wave- tops. The craft ate up the distance, and Austin saw that it was a low- slung Cigarette boat like the souped-up models favored by Florida drug smugglers.
The boat slowed and made a broadside pass close enough for Austin to get a good look at the three men on board. They were short and stocky and had round faces and swarthy complexions. Their black hair was cut in bangs over their almost Asian eyes. One man stayed at the wheel, while the others watched Austin with an unhealthy interest, their rifles raised to their shoulders.
The boat cut engines and slowed to a stop, and the man at the wheel raised an electronic bullhorn to his lips. He yelled something in what sounded like Faroese. Austin responded with a goofy smile and threw up his hands in
