"Good old Romberg," said Pitt. "Right on cue."
The hovercraft came to a stop ten feet away, its skirted hull resting in the bayou. The engines died away to a dull murmur. The five men on board all wore side arms but carried no rifles. They were wearing the same Qin Shang security uniforms Pitt had seen at Orion Lake. Every eye had the unmistakable slant of an Asian. They weren't smiling; their sunburned faces looked dead serious. This was clearly an attempt at intimidation.
"What are you doing here?" asked a hard-faced individual in fluent English. He wore the insignia on his shoulders and hat of someone in command, and he looked like a man who would enjoy sticking pins in living insects, a man who would welcome the opportunity to shoot another human being. He eyed Romberg with a gleam in his eye.
"We're havin' fun," Pitt said casually. "What's y'alls problem?"
"This is private property," the hovercraft's commander said coldly. "You cannot moor here."
"Ah happen to know for a fact that the land around Hooker's Bayou belongs to the Cherokee Oil Company." Pitt actually wasn't certain who owned the property, but he assumed it had to be Cherokee Oil.
The commander turned to his men and they jabbered among themselves in Chinese. Then the commander stepped to the side of the hovercraft and announced, "We are coming aboard."
Pitt tensed and readied himself to snatch up the old Colt. Then he realized the demand to come aboard was a deception. But Giordino didn't fall for it. "The hell y'all are," said Giordino, threateningly. "Y'all got no authority. Now get your ass out of here before we call the sheriff."
The commander looked at the weathered shantyboat and the faded and shabby clothing worn by Pitt and Giordino. "You have a radio or a cellular phone on that boat?"
"A flare gun," Giordino answered, scratching an imaginary itch between the toes of one foot. "We shoot flares and the law comes a-runnin'."
The hovercraft's commander's eyes narrowed. "I do not find that believable."
"Exhibiting a pompous attitude toward intellectual impeccability will get you nowhere," Pitt suddenly said smartly.
The commander tensed. "What was that?" he demanded. "What did you say?"
"Ah said, leave us alone," Pitt drawled. "We ain't hurtin' nothin'."
Another conference between the commander and his men. Then he pointed a finger at Pitt. "I warn you. Do not enter Qin Shang Maritime property."
"Who'd want to?" Giordino said nastily. "Y'all's company ruined the swamp, killed the fish and drove off the wildlife with your dredging. No reason to go in there anyways."
The commander arrogantly turned his back and dismissed them as the first drops of a rainsquall began to splatter on the roof of the shantyboat. He gave the still barking Romberg a withering stare and said something to his crew. The engines accelerated and the hovercraft began moving off in the direction of the canal. A moment later they disappeared from view as the rain poured down in blinding torrents.
Giordino sat enjoying the rain splashing on his bare feet as they dangled over the railing. He cringed as Romberg shook his wet fur, sending a barrage of water flying in every direction. "A glittering performance except for your attempt at a drawing-room put-down."
Pitt laughed. "A bit of keen and boisterous freewheeling humor never fails to get a rise."
"You might have given us away."
"I wanted them to record our arrogance. Did you catch the video camera on top of the cabin? At this moment, our pictures are being sent by satellite to Shang's security headquarters in Hong Kong for identification. A pity we can't be there to see Shang's face when he's informed that we're poking around another one of his sensitive projects."
"Then our friends will be back."
"You can bet the farm on it."
"Romberg will protect us," Giordino said jokingly.
Pitt looked around for the dog and found him curled up inside the shantyboat, having quickly returned to his catatonic state. "That I seriously doubt."
34
AFTER THE RAINSQUALL PASSED and before the last rays of the sun vanished beyond the marshlands in the west, Pitt and Giordino moved the shantyboat into a narrow tributary of Hooker's Bayou and moored it beneath a huge cottonwood tree to cloak it from the hover-craft's radar. Then they camouflaged the boat with reeds and dead branches from the cottonwood. Romberg only came alive when Pitt fed him a bowl filled with catfish. Giordino offered him some hamburger, but Romberg wouldn't touch it, happily licking his chops and drooling from his flews while consuming the fish.
After closing the shutters and hanging blankets over the windows and doors to black out interior light, Pitt spread the topo map on the dining table and traced out a plan of action. "If Shang's security force runs true to form, they'll have a command post somewhere along the banks of the canal, probably in the center so they can cover both ends quickly against trespassing locals."
"A canal by any other name is a canal," said Giordino. "What exactly are we looking for?"
Pitt shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."