Flood Tide (Dirk Pitt 14)

"The rivermen aren't real friendly toward Qin Shang Maritime," answered Giordino. "The Chinese refuse to use local labor or boat companies. All towboat and barge traffic out of Sungari is conducted by Chinese boats and crews who live at the port and never come into Morgan City. There is an undercurrent of anger that just might erupt into a small-scale war if Qin Shang doesn't begin showing more respect to St. Mary Parish residents."

"I doubt if Shang ever cultivated an affinity for dealing with peasants," commented Pitt drolly.

"What's the plan?"

"First we find a local bed and breakfast. Then, soon as the sun comes up, we'll board the shantyboat, travel upriver and canvass the canal to nowhere."

"And Bartholomeaux?" Giordino persisted. "Aren't you curious to see if that's where the barge dumps human cargo?"

"Curious, yes. Desperate, no. We're not working under a deadline. We can size up Bartholomeaux after we check the canal."

"If you want to conduct an underwater search," said Giordino, "we'll need diving equipment."

"Soon as we're settled in, I'll call Rudi and have him ferry our gear to wherever we're staying."

"And Bartholomeaux?" Giordino continued. "Should we prove the old sugar mill is a staging and distribution depot for smuggled aliens, then what?"

"We'll turn the chore of conducting a raid over to INS agents, but only after we give Admiral Sandecker the satisfaction of informing Peter Harper that NUMA has uncovered another one of Qin Shang's illicit operations without his help."

"I believe that is what you call poetic justice."

Pitt grinned at his friend. "Now comes the hard part."

"Hard part?"

"We have to find a taxi."

As they stood on the curb Giordino turned and looked back over his shoulder at the bar and grill. "Did that old

fisherman look familiar to you?"

"Now that you mention it, there was something about him that struck a chord."

"We never did get his name."

"Next time we see him," said Pitt, "we'll have to ask if we've ever met."

Back in Charlie's Fish Dock restaurant and bar, the old fisherman glanced up at the bar as the bartender yelled across the room at him.

"Hey, Cussler. You want another beer?"

"Why not?" The old man nodded. "One more brew before I hit the road won't hurt."

33

"OUR HOME AWAY FROM HOME," said Giordino at his first look of the shantyboat he and Pitt were borrowing from the old fisherman. "Hardly bigger than a North Dakota outhouse."

"Not fancy but functional," Pitt said as he paid the taxi driver and studied the ancient boat that was moored at the end of a rickety, sagging dock that extended from the riverbank on waterlogged pilings. Inside the dock, several small aluminum fishing boats bobbed in the green water, their outboard motors showing rust and grease from long, hard use.

"Talk about roughing it," Giordino groaned as he unloaded their underwater equipment from the trunk of the taxi. "No central heating or air-conditioning. I'll bet this tub doesn't have running water or electricity to operate lights and a television."

"You don't need running water," said Pitt. "You can bathe in the river."

"What about a toilet?"

Pitt smiled. "Use your imagination."

Giordino pointed to a small reception dish on the roof. "Radar," he muttered incredulously, "It has radar."