No, the Americans were not to be respected.

Deterrence.

FELIX CORTEZ TRAVELED with a Costa Rican passport. If someone noted his Cuban accent, hed explain that his family had left that country when he was a boy, but by carefully selecting his port of entry, he avoided that notice. Besides, he was working on the accent. Cortez was fluent in three languagesEnglish and Russian in addition to his native Spanish. A raffishly handsome man, his tropical complexion was barely different from a vacationers tan. The neat mustache and custom-tailored suit proclaimed him a successful businessman, and the gleaming white teeth made him a pleasant one at that. He waited in the immigration line at Dulles International Airport, chatting with the lady behind him until he got to the INS inspector, as resignedly unhurried as any frequent traveler.

Good afternoon, sir, the inspector said, barely looking up from the passport. What brings you to America?

Business, Cortez replied.

Uh-huh, the inspector grunted. He flipped through the passport and saw numerous entry stamps. The man traveled a lot, and about half his trips in the previous . . . four years were to the States. The stamps were evenly split between Miami, Washington, and Los Angeles. How long will you be staying?

Five days.

Anything to declare?

Just my clothes, and my business notes. Cortez held up his briefcase.

Welcome to America, Mr. Daz. The inspector stamped the passport and handed it back.

Thank you. He moved off to collect his bag, a large and well-used two-suiter. He tried to come through American airports at slack hours. This was less for convenience than because it was unusual for someone who had something to hide. At slack times the inspectors had all the time they needed to annoy people, and the sniffer dogs werent rushed along the rows of luggage. It was also easier to spot surveillance when the airport concourses were uncrowded, of course, and Cortez/Daz was an expert at countersurveillance.

His next stop was the Hertz counter, where he rented a full-size Chevy. Cortez had no love for Americans, but he did like their big cars. The routine was down pat. He used a Visa card. The young lady at the counter asked the usual question about joining the Hertz Number One Club, and he took the proffered brochure with feigned interest. The only reason he used a rental car company more than once was that there werent enough to avoid repetition. Similarly, he never used the same passport twice, nor the same credit cards. At a place near his home he had an ample supply of both. He had come to Washington to see one of the people who made that possible.

His legs were still stiff as he walked out to get his carhe could have taken the courtesy van, but hed been sitting for too long. The damp heat of a late spring day reminded him of home. Not that he remembered Cuba all that fondly, but his former government had, after all, given him the training that he needed for his current job. All the school classes on Marxism-Leninism, telling people who scarcely had food to eat that they lived in paradise. In Cortezs case, theyd had the effect of telling him what he wanted out of life. His training in the DGI had given him the first taste of privilege, and the unending political instruction had only made his government look all the more grotesque in its claims and its goals. But hed played the game, and learned what hed needed to learn, exchanging his time for training and field work, learning how capitalist societies work, learning how to penetrate and subvert them, learning their strong points and weak ones. The contrast between the two was entertaining to the former colonel. The relative poverty in Puerto Rico had looked like paradise to him, even while working along with fellow Colonel Ojeda and the Machetero savages to overthrow itand replace it with Cubas version of socialist realism. Cortez shook his head in amusement as he walked toward the parking lot.

Twenty feet over the Cubans head, Liz Murray dropped her husband off behind a vanload of travelers. There was barely time for a kiss. She had errands to run, and theyd call Dans flight in another ten minutes.

I ought to be back tomorrow afternoon, he said as he got out.

Good, Liz replied. Remember the movers.

I wont. Dan closed-the door and took three steps. I mean, I wont forget, honey . . . He turned in time to see his wife laughing as she drove off; shed done it to him again. Its not fair, he grumbled to himself. Bring you back from London, big promotion, and second day on the job they drop you in the soup. He walked through the self-opening doors into the terminal and found a TV monitor with his flight information. He had only one bag, and that was small enough to carry on. Hed already reviewed the paperworkit had all been faxed to Washington by the Mobile Field Office and was the subject of considerable talk in the Hoover Building.

The next step was getting through the metal detector. Actually he bypassed it. The attendant gave out the usual, Excuse me, sir, and Murray held up his ID folder, identifying himself as Daniel E. Murray, Deputy Assistant Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. There was no way he could have passed through the magnetometer, not with the Smith & Wesson automatic clipped to his belt, and people in airports tended to get nervous if he showed what he was carrying. Not that he shot that well with it. He hadnt even requalified yet. That was scheduled for the next week. They werent so strict about that with top-level FBI managementhis main workplace hazard now came from staple pullersbut though Murray was a man with few vanities, shooting skill was one of them. For no particular reason, Murray was worried about that. After four years in London as the legal attach, he knew that he needed some serious practice before he would shoot expert with either hand again, especially with a new gun. His beloved stainless-steel Colt Python .357 was in retirement. The Bureau was switching over to automatics, and on his arrival in his new office hed found the engraved S&W gift-wrapped on his desk, a present arranged by his friend Bill Shaw, the newly appointed executive assistant director (Investigations). Bill always had been a class act. Murray switched the bag to his left hand and surreptitiously checked to see that the gun was in place, much as an ordinary citizen might check for his wallet. The only bad thing about his London duty was being unarmed. Like any American cop, Murray felt slightly naked without a gun, even though hed never had cause to use one in anger. If nothing else, he could make sure that this flight didnt go to Cuba. He wouldnt have much chance to do hands-on law enforcement anymore, of course. Now he was part of management, another way of saying that he was too old to be useful, Murray told himself as he selected a seat close to the departure gate. The problem at hand was about as close as he was going to get to handling a real case, and it was happening only because the Director had got hold of the file and called in Bill Shaw who, in turn, had decided that he wanted someone he knew to take a look at it. It promised to be ticklish. They were really starting him off with a cute one.

The flight took just over two hours of routine boredom and a dry meal. Murray was met at the gate by Supervisory Special Agent Mark Bright, assistant special-agent-in-charge of the Mobile Field Office.

Any other bags, Mr. Murray?

Just this oneand the names Dan, Murray replied. Has anybody talked to them yet?

Not in yetthat is, I dont think so. Bright checked his watch. They were due in about ten, but they got called in on a rescue last night. Some fishing boat blew up and the cutter had to get the crew off. It made the morning TV news. Nice job, evidently.

Super, Murray observed. Were going in to grill a friggin hero, and hes gone and done it again.

You know this guys background? Bright asked. I havent had much chance to Ive been briefed. Heros the right word. This Wegeners a legend. Red Wegeners called the King of SARthat means search-and-rescue. Half the people whove ever been to sea, hes saved at one time or another. At least thats the word on the guy. Hes got some big-time friends on The Hill, too.

Like?

Senator Billings of Oregon. Murray explained why briefly.

Chairman of Judiciary. Why couldnt he just have stayed with Transportation? Bright asked the ceiling. The Senate Judiciary Committee had oversight duties for the FBI.

How new are you on this case?

Im here because DEA liaison is my job. I didnt see the file until just before lunch. Been out of the office for a couple of days, Bright said as he walked through the door. We just had a baby.

Oh, Murray noted. You couldnt blame a man for that. Congratulations. Everyone all right?

Brought Marianne home this morning, and Sandra is the cutest thing I ever saw. Noisy, though.

Murray laughed. It had been quite a while since hed had to handle an infant. Brights car turned out to be a Ford whose engine purred like a well-fed tiger. Some paperwork on Captain Wegener lay on the front seat. Murray leafed through it while Bright picked his way out of the airport parking lot. It fleshed out what hed heard in Washington.

This is some story.

How bout that. Bright nodded. You dont suppose this is all true, do you?

Ive heard some crazy ones before, but this one would be the all-time champ. Murray paused. The funny thing is Yeah, the younger agent agreed. Me, too. Our DEA colleagues believe it, but what broke loose out of thisI mean, even if the evidence is all tossed, what we got out of this is so Right. Which was the other reason Murray was involved in the case. How important was the victim?

Big-time political connections, directorships of banks, the University of Alabama, the usual collection of civic groupsyou name it. This guy wasnt just a solid member of the community, he was goddamned Stone Mountain. Both men knew that was in Georgia, but the point was made. Old family, back to a Civil War general. His grandfather was a governor.

Money?

Bright grunted. More than Id ever need. Big place north of town, still a working farmplantation, I guess youd call it, but thats not where it comes from. He put all the family money into real-estate development. Very successfully as far as we can tell. The development stuff is a maze of small corporationsthe usual stuff. Weve got a team working, but itll take awhile to sort through it. Some of the corporate veils are overseas, though, and we may never get it all. You know how that goes. Weve barely begun to check things out.

Prominent local businessman tied to drug kingpins. Christ, he hid things real well. Never had a sniff?

Nary a one, Bright admitted. Not us, not DEA, not the local cops. Nothing at all.

Murray closed the file and nodded at the traffic. This was only the opening crack in a case that could develop into man-years of investigative work. Hell, we dont even know exactly what were looking for yet, the deputy assistant director told himself. All we do know is that there was a cold million dollars in used twenties and fifties aboard the good ship Empire Builder. So much cash could only mean one thingbut that wasnt true. It could mean lots of things, Murray thought.

Here we are.

Getting onto the base was easy enough, and Bright knew the way to the pier. Panache looked pretty big from the car, a towering white cliff with a bright-orange stripe and some dark smudgemarks near midships. Murray knew that she was a small ship, but one needed a big ocean to tell. By the time he and Bright got out of the car, someone got on the phone at the head of the gangway, and another man appeared there within seconds. Murray recognized him from the file. It was Wegener.

The man had the muddy remains of what had once been red hair, but was now sprinkled with enough gray to defy an accurate description. He looked fit enough, the FBI agent thought as he came up the aluminum brow, a slight roll at the waist, but little else. A tattoo on his forearm marked him for a sailorman, and the impassive eyes marked the face of a man unaccustomed to questioning of any kind.

Welcome aboard. Im Red Wegener, the man said with enough of a smile to be polite.

Thank you, Captain. Im Dan Murray and this is Mark Bright.

They told me you were FBI, the captain observed.

Im a deputy assistant director, down from Washington. Marks the assistant special-agent-in-charge of the Mobile Office. Wegeners face changed a bit, Murray saw.

Well, I know why youre here. Lets go to my cabin to discuss things.

Whats with all the scorching? Dan asked as the captain led off. There was something about the way hed said that. Something . . . odd.

Shrimp boat had an engine fire. Happened five miles away from us last night while we were on the way in. The fuel tanks blew just as we came alongside. Got lucky. Nobody killed, but the mate was burned some.

How about the boat? Bright asked.

Couldnt save her. Getting the crew off was pretty tricky. Wegener held open the door for his visitors. Sometimes thats the best you can do. You gentlemen want any coffee?

Murray declined. His eyes really bored in on the captain now. More than anything else, Dan thought, he looked embarrassed. Wrong emotion. Wegener got his guests seated, then took his chair behind the desk.

I know why youre here, Red announced. Its all my fault.

Uh, Captain, before you go any further Bright tried to say.

Ive pulled some dumb ones in my time, but this time I really fucked up, Wegener went on as he lit his pipe. You dont mind if I smoke, do you?

No, not at all, Murray lied. He didnt know what was coming, but he knew that it wasnt what Bright thought. He knew several other things that Bright didnt know, also. Why dont you tell us about it?

Wegener reached into his desk drawer and pulled something out. He tossed it to Murray. It was a pack of cigarettes.

One of our friends dropped this on the deck and I had one of my people give this back to them. I figuredwell, look at it. I mean, it looks like a pack of cigarettes, right? And when we have people in custody, were supposed to treat em decent, right? So, I let em have their smokes. Theyre joints, of course. So, when we questioned themespecially the one who talkedwell, he was high as a kite. That screws it all up, doesnt it?

Thats not all, Captain, is it? Murray asked innocently.

Chief Riley roughed one of em up. My responsibility. I talked to the chief about it. The, uh, I forget his namethe obnoxious onewell, he spit on me, and Riley was there, and Riley got a little pissed and roughed him up some. He should not have done it, but this is a military organization, and when you spit on the boss, well, the troops might not like it. So Riley got a little out of handbut it happened on my ship and its my responsibility.

Murray and Bright exchanged a look. The suspects hadnt talked about that at all.

Captain, thats not why were here exactly, Murray said after a moment.

Oh? Wegener said. Then why?

They say that you executed one of them, Bright replied. The stateroom was quiet for a moment. Murray could hear someone hammering on something, but the loudest noise came from the air-conditioning vent.

Theyre both alive, arent they? There were only two of them, and theyre both alive. I sent that tape on the helicopter when we searched the yacht. I mean, if theyre both alive, which one did we shoot?

Hanged, Murray said. They say you hanged one.

Wait a minute. He lifted the phone and punched a button. Bridge, captain speaking. Send the XO to my stateroom. Thank you. The phone went back into place, and Wegener looked up. If its all right with you, I want my executive officer to hear this also.

Murray managed to keep his face impassive. You should have known, Danny, he told himself. Theyve had plenty of time to work out the little details, and Mr. Wegener is nobodys fool. Hes got a U.S. senator to hide behind, and he handed us two cold-blooded killers. Even without the confession, theres enough evidence for a capital murder case, and if you trash Wegener, you run the risk of losing that. The prominence of the victimwell, the U.S. Attorney wont go for it. No chance. . . . There wasnt a United States Attorney in all of America who lacked political ambition, and putting these two in the electric chair was worth half a million votes. Murray couldnt run the risk of screwing this case up. FBI Director Jacobs had been a federal prosecutor, and hed understand. Murray decided that it might make things a lot easier.

The XO appeared a moment later, and after introductions were exchanged, Bright went on with his version of what the subjects had told the local FBI office. It took about five minutes during which Wegener puffed on his pipe and let his eyes go slightly wide.

Sir, the XO told Bright when he was finished. Ive heard a couple of good sea stories, but that ones the all-time champ.

Its my fault, Wegener grumbled with a shake of the head. Lettin em have their pot back.

How come nobody noticed what they were smoking? Murray asked, less with curiosity for the answer than for the skill with which it was delivered. He was surprised when the XO replied.

Theres an A/C return right outside the brig. We dont keep a constant watch on prisonersthese were our first, by the waybecause thats supposed to be unduly intimidating or something. Anyway, its in our procedure book that we dont. Besides, we dont have all that many people aboard that we can spare em. What with the smoke getting sucked out, nobody noticed the smell until that night. Then it was too late. When we brought them into the wardroom for questioningone at a time; thats in the book, toothey were both kinda glassy-eyed. The first one didnt talk. The second one did. You have the tape, dont you?

Yes, Ive seen it, Bright answered.

Then you saw that we read them their rights, right off the card we carry, just like it says. Buthung em? Damn. Thats crazy. I mean, thats really crazy. We dontI mean, we cant. I dont even know when it was legal to do it.

The last time I know about was 1843, the captain said. The reason theres a Naval Academy at Annapolis is because some people got strung up on USS Somers. One of them was the son of the Secretary of War. Supposedly it was an attempted mutiny, but there was quite a stink about it. We dont hang people anymore, Wegener concluded wryly. Ive been in the service a long time, but I dont go that far back.

We cant even have a general court-martial, the XO added. Not by ourselves, I mean. The manual for that weighs about ten pounds. Gawd, you need a judge, and real lawyers, all that stuff. Ive been in the service for almost nine years, and Ive never even seen a real onejust the practice things in law classes at the Academy. All we ever do aboard is Captains Mast, and not much of that.

Not a bad idea, though. I wouldnt have minded hanging those sons of bitches, Wegener observed. It struck Murray as a very strange, and very clever, thing to say. He felt a little sorry for Bright, whod probably never had a case go this way. In that sense Murray was grateful for his time as legal attach in London. He understood politics better than most agents.

Oh?

When I was a little kid, they used to hang murderers. I grew up in Kansas. And you know, there werent many murders back then. Course, were too civilized to do that now, and so we got murders every damned day. Civilized, Wegener snorted. XO, did they ever hang pirates like this?

I dont think so. Blackbeards crew was tried at Williamsburgever been there?the old courthouse in the tourist part of the place. I remember hearing that they were actually hung where one of the Holiday Inns is. And Captain Kidd was taken home to England for hanging, wasnt he? Yeah, they had a place called Execution Dock or something like that. Sono, I dont think they really did it aboard ship, even in the old days. Damn sure we didnt do it. Christ, what a story.

So it never happened, Murray said, not in the form of a question.

No, sir, it did not, Wegener replied. The XO nodded to support his captain.

And youre willing to say that under oath.

Sure. Why not?

If its all right with you, I also need to speak to one of your chiefs. Its the one who assaulted the Is Riley aboard? Wegener asked the XO.

Yeah. Him and Portagee were working on something or other down in the goat locker.

Okay, lets go see em. Wegener rose and waved for his visitors to follow.

You need me, sir? I have some work to do.

Sure thing, XO. Thanks.

Aye aye. See you gentlemen later, the lieutenant said, and disappeared around a corner.

The walk took longer than Murray expected. They had to detour around two work parties who were repainting bulkheads. The chiefs quarterscalled the goat locker for reasons ancient and obscurewas located aft. Riley and Oreza, the two most senior chiefs aboard, shared the cabin nearest the small compartment where they and their peers ate in relative privacy. Wegener got to the open door and found a cloud of smoke. The bosun had a cigar clamped in his teeth while his oversized hands were trying to manipulate a ridiculously small screwdriver. Both men came to their feet when the captain appeared.

Relax. What the hell you got there?

Portagee found it. Riley handed it over. Its a real old one and weve been trying to fix it.

How does 1778 grab you, sir? Oreza asked. A sextant made by Henry Edgworth. Found it in an old junk shop. It might be worth a few bucks if we can get it cleaned up.

Wegener gave it a close look. 1778, you said?