Trojan Odyssey

and reveal the pictographs in their full glory.

25

Poco Bonito passed through the mouth of the Rio Colorado in the early afternoon in water that changed from the traces of the brown crud to the algae green of the river. Burly white clouds splashed the blue sky, some dropping light showers as they blocked out the sun. The NUMA crew stood on the deck and waved to the fleet of small fishing boats that darted past, outboard motors buzzing like a swarm of hornets, fishermen proudly displaying their catch of tarpon, snook and barracuda. One boat celebrated with raised bottles of beer as they passed the crippled research boat. Two of the anglers held up a tarpon that looked as if it weighed more than a hundred pounds.

Gunn ran Bonito in slowly, keeping to one side of the river out of the way of the little fiberglass fishing boats, skirting the buoys and angling around a slight bend. He made a half turn on the wheel, setting the bow on a heading past the Rio Colorado Lodge and beyond, to a dock that led to a covered walkway bordered by flowers that trailed up to a large house set under a grove of palm trees.

'It looks heavenly,' said Renee, admiring the lush beauty of the tropical forest surrounding the house that was built from lava rock with a large thatched palm frond roof.

'A fisherman's paradise,' Gunn said from the pilothouse. 'Built by an old friend from my academy days, Jack McGee. If you enjoy seafood, you'll get your fill of exotically prepared fish here. He's accumulated thousands of recipes from around the world and has written several books on the subject.'

Pitt jumped to the dock and took the lines thrown by Giordino and tied them to the cleats. By law, they stayed close to the boat until their papers were checked by the local border guards, who were surprised at the damage suffered by Poco Bonito. Renee used her Spanish to spin a wild story of how they escaped a fleet of drug-smuggling pirates, as cutthroat as any of their ancestors who pillaged the Spanish Main.

Since the incident happened in Nicaraguan waters, the guards didn't request a report. Rita Anderson, on the other hand, would have created a sticky problem. She had no papers, and since Pitt and Gunn had no wish to explain her presence on board their boat, Renee bound and gagged her before she and Giordino crammed Rita into a storage closet in the engine room. The guards made a cursory inspection of the boat, and had no desire to stain their starched and neatly pressed uniforms in the engine room after seeing Giordino looking like James Dean after the oil well came in in Giant.

After the guards had walked up the dock out of earshot, Dodge turned to Pitt. 'Why are we treating Mrs. Anderson like a criminal and keeping her as a prisoner? Her husband was murdered and her yacht seized by pirates.'

'She's not what you think,' said Renee curdy.

Pitt kept his eyes trained on the guards as they climbed into a Land Rover and drove from the dock over a dirt road muddied from rain. 'Renee is right. Mrs. Anderson is no pawn. She's mixed up to her ears in shady business. Admiral Sandecker has contacted Costa Rican law authorities, who agreed to take her into custody and launch an investigation. They should be along any time.'

Renee stepped down the ladder to the cabin. 'I'd better get our princess ready for her incarceration.'

She had no sooner dropped out of sight than a man strode briskly down the walkway and onto the dock. Jack McGee was a ruddy-faced man in his late forties. His hair was blond without a trace of gray, as was his Wyatt Earp mustache. The adobe brown eyes set far apart gave him the look of an animal on constant lookout for a predator. He wore navy blue shorts with a flowered shirt and a tired old Navy officer's cap that looked like it had seen action in World War II.

Gunn stepped forward and they shook hands before embracing. 'Jack, you age ten years every time we meet.'

'That's because we only meet every ten years.' McGee greeted Gunn in a voice that sounded like he sang bass in a choir.

Gunn made the introductions. Giordino merely waved from the engine room hatch. 'We have one more of our crew for you to meet, Renee Ford. She's handling a little matter below.'

McGee smiled knowingly. 'Your unexpected guest?'

Gunn nodded. 'Rita Anderson, the lady I mentioned over the satellite phone when I announced our dropping in.'

'Police Inspector Gabriel Ortega is an old friend,' said McGee. 'He'll require you to come down to the station and fill out a report, but I think you'll find him most courteous and considerate.'

'Are you plagued by piracy in these waters?' asked Pitt.

McGee laughed and shook his head vigorously. 'Not in Costa Rica. But they sprout like weeds to the north in Nicaragua.'

'Why there and not here?'

'Costa Rica is the success story of Central America. The standard of living is higher than in most other Latin nations. Although largely agricultural, tourism is booming and, surprisingly, they're a big exporter of electronics and microprocessors. In contrast, Nicaragua has gone through thirty years of revolution that's left the infrastructure in ruins. After the government finally stabilized, most of the rebels, who possessed no job skills other than fighting guerrilla warfare, refused to take up farming or menial labor jobs. They found drug smuggling more profitable. This led to piracy, since they had to build a fleet of cocaine runners.'

'Have you heard any rumors about the brown crud?' McGee gave a little shake of his head. 'Only that it exists north and east out in the Caribbean. Between the bandits, the missing ships and the contamination, the fishing industry off Nicaragua has died an unnatural death.' McGee turned and doffed his hat as a uniformed police official came down from the house and stepped onto the dock. 'Ah, Gabriel, there you are.'

'Jack, old friend,' said Ortega. 'What mischief have you gotten yourself into now?'

'Not me,' McGee laughed. 'My friends from the States here.' Though decidedly Latin, Ortega looked like Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot — the same black, slicked-back straight hair and thin, immaculately trimmed black mustache, the soft dark eyes that missed nothing. He spoke in English, with just a bare trace of Spanish. He revealed perfectly capped teeth when he smiled during the introductions.

'Your Admiral Sandecker alerted me of your situation,' he said. 'I hope you will accommodate me with a detailed report of your adventures with the pirates.'

Pitt nodded. 'Count on it, Inspector.'

'Where is this woman you saved from the pirate ship?'

'Down below.' A concerned frown crossed Pitt's forehead. He turned to Giordino. 'Al, why don't you drop below and see what's keeping Renee and our guest?'

Giordino wiped his hands on an oily rag without comment and disappeared below. He was back in less than a minute, his face a mask of wrath, his dark eyes bleak. 'Rita is gone and Renee is dead,' he said, his face a mask of anger. 'Murdered.'

26

During those initial moments of shock, everyone stood there stunned with disbelief. They stared at Giordino stupidly, not understanding what he'd said. It took another five seconds for the implication to sink in.

Then Dodge blurted, 'What are you saying?'

'Renee is dead,' Giordino repeated simply. 'Rita murdered her.'

Pure rage flooded Pitt. 'Where is she?' he demanded.

'Rita?' Giordino's face had the look of someone who had woken up from a nightmare. 'She's gone.'

'Impossible. How could she leave the boat without being seen?'

'She's not to be found,' Giordino said.