'Who owns this place?' Amy asked Gunther in a low voice after they had been served several drinks.

'He calls himself a trader. Antoine Dollinger, known as Captain Dolly. He buys and sells ... anything. A very useful man to know.' Gunther winked.

'You know him well?'

'Well enough. I've had various business dealings with him. I'm hoping to close a transaction that will make me a large sum of money.' The smile hadn't left Gunther's face.

'And I don't suppose you're going to give me any clues about this ... big deal?'

'Curiosity killed the cat. Why are you so interested? Ladies are just supposed to look pretty and not ask questions about men's business.'

'Some of us can be pretty and and clever,' she teased. clever,' she teased.

He studied her for a moment. 'Yes, but you're rare birds.'

'I might be thinking about business opportunities, too. I'm looking forward to chatting to Captain Dolly.'

'You talk to me if you have any clever ideas. I'll look after your interests.'

'Will you indeed? Business or personal?'

'That is up to you, my dear. I'm full of surprises. You could do worse than throw your lot in with me. It's a hard, cold world out there, only the strong-and the clever-survive.'

'I know that, believe me. But I've managed quite well. Up till now. As I said, I'm seeking opportunities. I don't plan to hang about Broome forever.'

'And Captain Tyndall? What do you plan to do with him?'

'He looks after himself.'

'Perhaps that's the problem, eh? You need an interest of your own.'

'I was thinking of a money-making interest.' She lifted his hand from her waist. Amy still hadn't decided if Gunther was as clever as he tried to appear. She'd seen his type before, always about to make the big killing, always talking but still waiting for the fortune due to come their way. Yet for some reason, her antenna was registering positive, telling her this man was about to strike his mother lode. She still wondered why he fascinated her so. Despite his ugliness, he exuded a power that was s.e.xually attractive.

Gunther expounded his business philosophy a little further. 'You want to make money, you have to take risks. Bend the rules. Live dangerously. Might not suit your way of doing things.'

'I wouldn't say that.' They exchanged a frank look that spoke volumes more than the conversational jousting.

'Maybe what you're looking for might come along sooner than you think. When it does, you have to up anchor and sail where the wind takes you.'

'That's how I've lived my life,' said Amy softly.

Gunther instantly recognised he'd met one of his own. One of those who took in order to win and didn't mind the consequences.

The evening pa.s.sed too quickly for Amy. She felt heady from the wines and port and from the s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation between Gunther and the other men she'd come to realise were all connected in a loose network devoted to illegal but profitable dealings. She decided that she wanted to be part of it in some way, for she saw the paths of this company led to exotic places, wealth lavishly spent on indulgent pastimes and lifestyle, with a dash of danger and excitement thrown in.

On the way home, Gunther and Amy discussed the party in detail, Amy questioning him about what he knew of some of the other guests and of their host, the rough diamond, Captain Dolly. It appeared to be a social exchange after an intriguing evening, but beneath the surface there was an undercurrent of indefinable electricity that zapped between Amy and Gunther. It excited Amy, she loved the sport of the male and female chase.

They pulled up and Gunther walked her to the verandah steps.

'This has been a very special evening. Thank you, Karl.'

'I hope there are going to be more opportunities to enjoy your company. I have plans that might interest you. Seeing as I now understand better what you might be interested in, where you are going, so to speak. You are an independent woman. I like that. We should discuss things further.'

'No more merely social occasions?'

'That, too, of course. It's up to you and how you handle your ... personal situation.'

'Well, if you're leaving matters up to me ... ' Amy leaned forward and kissed Gunther on the mouth.

He kissed her back, roughly drawing her body to his and running his hands around her b.u.t.tocks. Briefly he pulled back from her. 'There's a rule-never mix work and pleasure,' he murmured.

'What a shame,' whispered Amy. 'Which side of the fence does that leave me? On the business or the pleasure side?'

'I should add, that was a rule I broke long ago.' He kissed her grinning mouth once more and she thrust her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against him, leaving an invitation hanging in the air.

They drew apart, Gunther giving her a friendly squeeze.

'I'll see you again, I'll send a message,' he offered.

'I look forward to it.' And she did. Suddenly life was a lot more interesting. Amy's hips gave a saucy twitch as she climbed the verandah steps and disappeared indoors.

As Gunther departed, a figure stepped out of the shadows then turned into the house.Ahmed sailed to the rendezvous point in the Bulan Bulan and, within a day, learned Tyndall had sailed north and no one had sighted the and, within a day, learned Tyndall had sailed north and no one had sighted the Shamrock Shamrock since, though none of the fleet had ventured off the pearling grounds. While it was feasible he could have found a good patch of sh.e.l.l, for him to miss their rendezvous was unusual. Ahmed waited one more day, then left a message with the nearest lugger that he was sailing north to look for Tyndall. After conferring with the first mate they set out on the course always taken by their skipper. since, though none of the fleet had ventured off the pearling grounds. While it was feasible he could have found a good patch of sh.e.l.l, for him to miss their rendezvous was unusual. Ahmed waited one more day, then left a message with the nearest lugger that he was sailing north to look for Tyndall. After conferring with the first mate they set out on the course always taken by their skipper.

Ahmed was worried, it wasn't like Tyndall. Even if he wasn't himself, being depressed over the situation with Amy and Olivia, he was always on top of things at sea. A gnawing sensation in Ahmed's gut told him Tyndall was in trouble.

If Tyndall had sailed up as far as the Buccaneer Archipelago they could miss each other between the many islands that rose straight from the sea. But Ahmed held his course and patiently waited for some sign.

When it came, his heart sank. The crew dragged on board a splintered piece of wood with a sodden lifebuoy tangled around it. SHAMROCK was written in red letters on the lifebuoy.

Slowly they backtracked, searching the sea in a pattern. The crew kept careful watch, for they knew they were sailing through badly charted waters.

They came across some more wreckage but found no signs of life. They continued in the same search pattern until forced to anchor for the night.Tyndall was sick of turtle eggs and had managed to catch a bird and eat what he could raw. He had also found some rain-water in the hollows of rocks. But he was not prepared to wait and hope for an unlikely rescue. Estimating the coast to be about twenty miles away, he decided it was too far to swim in his condition, but with the currents and wind in his favour, not too far to paddle. He still had his knife strapped to his belt so he cut some supple young branches and bound them together with vine for a makeshift raft. Clinging to this, he stroked his way back across the channel to the reef exposed by the low tide.

The abandoned dinghy was a sh.e.l.l, a mere b.u.t.tercup, but it was better than his raft. Using a broken plank, he managed to lever the dinghy free. With the next surge of water over the reef he pushed off. Crouching in the fractured dinghy and using the plank as a paddle, he struck out for the distant line of land.

Ahmed's searching was proving fruitless. In the bright light of the fourth day, he sat staring at the map looking at the pinpoints of atolls and islands wondering if Tyndall was alive on any of them.

It was a Koepanger in a bosun's chair hoisted to the masthead who caught the first glimpse of something in the water and called for a change of course. More wreckage, they thought, until, drawing closer, they saw the body of a man collapsed in the tattered dinghy. He had secured himself to the broken seat by his shirt and the exposed skin of his back was blistered raw. They had no idea if he was dead or alive.

Ahmed stood to one side, praying desperately as they dragged Tyndall on board.

They rolled him over and found he was still breathing. Water was dribbled into his mouth and the dried sea salt rinsed from his face. He coughed and spluttered, his eyes rolled back in his head, then slowly refocused. Through sunburnt lips he tried to speak but only an incoherent babble of sounds escaped from his swollen mouth. They treated him as best they could and Ahmed set a course for Broome.

Amy met Karl Gunther on two more occasions. To some who saw them together, they seemed an unlikely couple-the coa.r.s.e adventurer with an unsavoury reputation, and the stylish, if overdone, beauty who was used to men of some substance fawning over her. But it was apparent to Gunther and Amy that they had much in common.

They saw themselves as gamblers prepared to take risks, provided the stakes were high enough. They used people. That was just part of the philosophy of grasping opportunities as they presented themselves, feeling no remorse or guilt if the other party suffered. Each acknowledged that they put themselves before all else and saw this as a virtue.

Gunther had never met a woman like this before. Women were chattels, useful for tending all his needs, available anywhere, any time he wanted them. But he soon realised Amy was as used to calling the shots as he. She had a strong will and he suspected that despite her pretty trappings, she would just as readily tough it out under rough conditions if it meant getting what she wanted. She was impatient and was looking for quick and easy money. He couldn't see her sitting it out in Broome much longer. But plotting to peel Tyndall's wealth off him was obviously proving harder than she antic.i.p.ated. Amy would use her body just as readily as her head to get what she wanted. She had played rough in her time he had no doubts, but she'd met her match in Tyndall.

'That Hennessy woman has some hold over him,' she told Gunther over a late afternoon tea at The White Lotus.

'What are you going to do about it?'

'I thought I held the trump card, being his legal wife, but it's not doing me much good when all his a.s.sets are tied up in the business.'

'What about the pearl harvest? I heard he's had more than a fair season.'

Amy gave him a rueful smile. 'That's more the sort of a.s.set I was hoping to get my hands on.'

'Ah, you see yourself strutting around this small town-or elsewhere-wearing strands of fabulous pearls.'

'No, not at all. I see them as a means to an end.'

'You have an idea or plan in mind?' He raised an eyebrow.

'Not yet. But I'm open to suggestions.'

'If you could get this a.s.set, would you consider a business proposition?'

'From you?'

'Does it make a difference?' he grinned.

'On the contrary, I think it would have definite advantages.' Her bantering mood hardened. 'However, I have to, er, acquire the capital, shall we say.'

'That's your problem.'

'Well, give me some helpful advice. When are pearls sold? Where are they kept?'

'Star of the Sea use Metta for their cleaning. I'd say once he's done with them, they sit in the office safe till they're shipped south for sale.'

'That gives me a little challenge then, doesn't it?' She smiled at him.

Amy did her homework, visiting Tyndall's office on her rounds about town. A sleepy Koepanger sat by the stairs but leapt to his feet at Amy's arrival. 'n.o.body here, mem. All outside ... at sea.'

'Everybody?'

'No, some work at foresh.o.r.e camp. Me help, mem?'

'Give me the key. I know what I want.'

The boy shook his head fearfully. 'Ahmed say me no give key to n.o.body.'

'Quite right. But that doesn't mean me, Mem Tyndall. I have business to attend to. Now give me the key, I'll just be one minute.' She held out her hand and glared at him.

'You give back one minute?'

'Of course. Wait there.' Amy hurried up the stairs.

She unlocked the door to Tyndall's office, glancing around at the scattered gear, ropes, whisky bottles and rug thrown over an old chaise lounge. She swiftly riffled through the piles of papers on his desk but, finding nothing of interest, turned her attention to the safe. It would be difficult but the right skilled person could possibly pick the lock. She opened the desk drawers on either side, flipped through their contents, and took out a folder detailing pearl sales. She then pulled the centre drawer. It held a flat bottle half-filled with rum and a set of keys.

'Mem? You there, mem?'

'Yes, I'm coining down.' Amy hurriedly slammed the door closed, locking it with the set of keys she'd taken from the desk. Smiling, she slipped the keys in her pocket and went downstairs.

'I have locked the office. There is no need for you to go up there.'

'Terimah kasi, mem.' He put the key in his pocket and settled on the chair again. mem.' He put the key in his pocket and settled on the chair again.

The next message she received from Karl Gunther was an invitation for dinner. It was dark when she set out in the sulky he had sent for her. At the jetty, the driver helped her down and, without a word being exchanged, she followed him along the wharf past several dark boats to where Gunther's red and black schooner was moored, a lantern burning on the mast. He appeared on the deck and helped her on board.

'Wait down below, we're going out into the bay. Tide is dropping, don't want to get stranded on the mud. Always like to be able to make a quick getaway.'

'Me, too. So what am I supposed to do? Swim?'

'I guess you're at my mercy.'

They anch.o.r.ed and the sole crew member made himself scarce.

Gunther poured himself a rum. 'Only got rum.' He poured a shot into a second gla.s.s and pushed a bottle of sweet lemonade to her. 'Put some of that in it.'

'It's not my favourite drink exactly,' said Amy. 'But I guess the French champagne will come after I strike gold, eh? So tell me what it's all about.'

'Pirates, my dear, pirates.'

Amy paled. 'We're not going down that path, Karl,' she snapped. 'Ye G.o.ds, man, you could look like a pirate readily enough, but count me out of joining in your swashbuckling fantasy.' She paused, thought for a moment, then c.o.c.ked her head to one side and queried cautiously, 'Or is it just the rum talking?'

Gunther threw back his head and roared with laughter. 'Ah, you're a cargo of fun, Amy. No, we're not going to become pirates, we're simply going to do business with them.' He reached over and topped up her gla.s.s with rum.

'I was not aware that piracy is still a business,' replied Amy, both puzzled and amused at the suggestion. 'Do you mean skull and crossed bones on flags and all that sort of thing?'

'In a way, yes. You see, my pet, in the Sulu Sea to our north, piracy is a way of life for some of the natives. Small boat stuff, but quite a pretty penny in it. Problem is they're being out-gunned by an increasing number of patrol boats from colonial governments. And that is where we come in. Guns, Amy.'

'Sounds dangerous,' she said guardedly.

'Not really,' he responded with a dismissive wave of a hand and leaned back against a bulkhead with his drink. 'The trick is to have better guns than you're trading.'

'Is there good money in it?'

'Not money ... gold. Much easier to dispose of and there's no need to deal with banks that might ask questions. Besides, the Sulu Sea mob are rather keen on h.o.a.rding gold, so there's no waiting around for payment. They're willing to pay big money for the latest weapons, particularly some of the new American rifles.'

'And where do we find a cargo of American rifles? At Streeter's?'

Gunther roared again and slapped his thigh, almost choking on his drink. 'Oh, you're a card, a right good one you are, Amy. At Streeter's ... ' He laughed loudly again.

'Well, I'm waiting,' said Amy with a grin, rather pleased that her little joke had gone over so well.

'Nah. We'll give Streeter's a miss. We'll pick 'em up in Darwin. Friend of mine there has a load coming up from Sydney. What the larrikins down there call "salvage". Sort of got lost in a warehouse one night some months ago. Of course, the shipment won't be through the usual channels. We'll take delivery at a place not overrun by customs and the like. Then we sail up to a friendly island chief I know and spread the word that we're open for business and make 300 percent profit.'