Flood Tide (Dirk Pitt 14)

"Ten different brands," said a crewman, slapping him on the back. "Glad to have passengers with a little guts on board."

Pitt lowered the gun and eased the hammer back in the safety position. "I get the feeling we've been had."

"Sorry to inconvenience you," said Smith heartily, "but we can't let our guard down for even a moment." He turned to his men and issued an order. "Weigh anchor, boys, and get under way for Hong Kong."

"Admiral Sandecker said this was a singularly uncommon ship," said Pitt, replacing the automatic in his tote bag. "But he didn't say anything about the crew."

"If we can dispense with the theatrics," said Smith, "I'll show you below." He dropped down the ladder through the narrow hatch and disappeared. Pitt and Giordino followed, finding themselves in a brightly lit, carpeted hallway whose walls were painted in pastel colors. Smith opened a smoothly varnished door and nodded inside. "You can share this cabin. Stow your gear, get comfortable, use the head and then I'll introduce you to the captain. You'll find his cabin behind the fourth door on the port side aft."

Pitt stepped inside and switched on the light. This was no Spartan cabin on a decrepit freighter. It was every bit as swank as any stateroom on a luxury cruise ship. Ornately decorated and elegantly furnished, all that was missing were sliding doors leading to a private veranda. The only suggestion of the outside world was a porthole painted black.

"What," exclai

med Giordino, "no bowl of fruit?"

Pitt stared around the cabin in fascination. "I wonder if we have to dress formal when we dine with the captain."

They heard the anchor chain rattle up out of the water and felt the engines begin to throb through the deck under their feet as the Oregon began beating her way across Manila Bay toward her destination in Hong Kong. A few minutes later they knocked on the door to the captain's cabin. A voice on the other side responded. "

lease come in."

If their cabin resembled a deluxe stateroom, this one would have easily rated as the penthouse suite. It resembled a decorator showroom on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills. The furniture was expensive yet tasteful. The walls, or bulkheads in nautical terms, were either richly paneled or covered by curtains. The carpet was thick and plush. Two of the paneled walls were covered by original oil paintings. Pitt walked up to one and studied it. The painting inside an ornate frame was a seascape depicting a black man lying on the deck of a small, demasted sloop with a school of sharks swimming around its hull.

"Winslow Homer's Gulf Stream, " said Pitt. "I thought it was hanging in a New York museum."

"The original is," said a man standing beside a large antique rolltop desk. "What you see are forgeries. In my line of business no insurance company would insure the real thing." A handsome man in his mid-forties with blue eyes and blond hair in a crewcut stepped forward and stuck out a manicured hand. "Chairman Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, at your service." He pronounced Cabrillo as Ka-bree-yo.

"Chairman, like in chairman of the board?"

"A departure from maritime tradition," Cabrillo explained. "This ship is run like a business, a corporation if you will. The personnel prefer to be assigned corporate titles."

"That's a twist," Giordino said equably. "Don't tell me, I'm keen to guess. Your first officer is president."

Cabrillo shook his head. "No, my chief engineer is president. My first officer is executive vice president."

Giordino lifted an eyebrow. "This is the first I've heard the Kingdom of Oz owns a ship."

"You'll get used to it," Cabrillo said tolerantly.

"If I recall my California history," said Pitt, "you discovered California in the early fifteen hundreds."

Cabrillo laughed. "My father always claimed Cabrillo the explorer as an ancestor, but I've had my doubts. My grandparents walked across the border at Nogales from Sonora, Mexico, in nineteen thirty-one and became American citizens five years later. In honor of my birth they insisted my mother and father name me after a famous historical figure in California."

"I believe we've met before," said Pitt.

"Like about twenty minutes ago," added Giordino.

"Your imitation of a waterfront derelict, Chairman Cabrillo, alias Mr. Smith, was very professional."

Cabrillo laughed merrily. "You gentlemen are the first to see through my disguise as a rum-soaked barnacle." Unlike his staged character, Cabrillo was well-built and slightly on the thin side. The hook nose was gone, along with the tattoos and the overstuffed belly.

"I must admit, you had me fooled until I saw the van."

"Yes, our shore transportation is not quite what it appears."

"This ship," said Pitt, "your playacting, the facade, what's it all about?"

Cabrillo gestured for them to sit in a leather sofa. He walked over to a teak bar. "A glass of wine?"