They’d been watching the two craft on radar for the better part of an hour and had given their presence a low priority since the waters off Namibia’s coast were known fishing grounds. It was only when the first boat, which they now knew was calledPinguin , German for penguin, altered course to intercept the Oregon that Cabrillo was called from his cabin where he was just about ready to hit the showers after an hour in the gym.

“I don’t have the foggiest idea,” Juan said at last. “Why would pirates use a million-dollar yacht to chase an old fishing boat a hundred and fifty miles offshore? Something’s hinky. Wepps, zoom in on that yacht.

Let’s see who’s aboard her if you can.”

Mark Murphy wasn’t on duty, so the crewman manning the weapons station worked a joystick and trackball to bring up the image Cabrillo wanted. At such extreme zoom even the computer-assisted gyroscopes had a difficult time holding the picture steady. But it was good enough. Sunlight glinted off the expanse of sloping glass below the bridge but through the glare Juan could see four men on the sleek yacht’s bridge, and two of them held assault rifles. As they watched, one of them brought the weapon to his shoulder and fired a short burst.

Anticipating the coming order, the weapons officer panned back to show the fleeingPinguin . It didn’t appear she had been hit but they could see a copper-haired woman crouched behind the flat transom cradling a shotgun.

“Wepps,” Cabrillo said sharply. “Spool up the Gatling but don’t lower the hull plate. Bring up a firing solution on that yacht and pop the starboard thirty calibers from their redoubts just in case.”

“Four men with automatic weapons against a woman with a shotgun,” Hali mused. “Won’t be much of a fight if we don’t do something.”

“I’m working on it,” Cabrillo said, then nodded to his communications specialist. “Patch me through to her.”

Kasim hit a button on one of his three keyboards. “You’re live.”

Cabrillo settled his lip mike. “Pinguin,Pinguin ,Pinguin , this is the motor shipOregon. ” On the screen they could see the woman’s head whip around as she heard him over the radio.

She scrambled back inside the cabin and a moment later her breathless voice filled the operations center.

“Oregon, oh, thank God. For a minute I thought you were a derelict ship.”

“Not far from the truth,” Linda Ross deadpanned. Though not on duty, Juan had asked the elfin Ross to join him in the op center on the off chance he would need her background in intelligence.

“Please state the nature of your emergency,” Juan requested, pretending they didn’t have a bird’s-eye view of what was happening. “You mentioned pirates.”

“Yes, and they just opened fire on us with machine guns. My name is Sloane Macintyre. We’re on a fishing charter and they just suddenly appeared.”

“Didn’t sound that way to me,” Linda said, sucking her lower lip. “The guy on the yacht said he’d already warned her about something once.”

“So she’s lying,” Juan agreed. “She was just fired at and she’s lying. Interesting, don’t you think?”

“She’s gotta be hiding something.”

“Oregon,” Sloane called, “are you still there?”

Juan keyed the mike. “We’re still here.” He sized up the situation with a quick glance at the screen, projecting where each craft would be in another minute and then their locations in two. The tactical picture was grim. But worse than that was the fact he’d be acting blind. For all he knew Sloane Macintyre was the biggest drug dealer in southern Africa and was about to be greased by a rival. She and the others on thePinguin might be getting everything they deserved. On the other hand she could be totally innocent.

“Then why lie?” he whispered to himself.

If he was to preserve theOregon ’s secrets, the margin for action would be razor tight—in fact too tight.

He thought through a dozen scenarios in the time it took to scratch his chin again and made his decision.

“Helm, bring us hard to starboard; we need to cut the distance between us and thePinguin . Increase speed to twenty knots. Engineering, make sure the smudge boiler is online.” When alone at sea the Oregon produced no pollution, but when they encountered traffic a special smoke generator was switched on to create the illusion the remarkable ship was powered by conventional diesel engines.

“I fired it up a couple minutes ago,” the second engineer reported from the back of the op center.

“Should have done it as soon as they reached visual range but I forgot.”

“No big deal. I doubt anyone noticed,” Juan said before activating his mike. “Sloane, this is the master of theOregon .”

“Go ahead,Oregon .”

Juan marveled at how coolly she was handling herself and thought briefly of Tory Ballinger, an Englishwoman he’d rescued a few months back in the Sea of Japan. They had the same kind of mettle.

“We have turned to intercept you. Tell thePinguin ’s captain to take us down the port side, but don’t let on that’s the way you’re going to go. I want to trick the yacht to pass us to starboard. Do you understand?”

“We are to pass you down your port side but only at the last minute.”

“That’s right. Don’t cut it too close, though. The yacht won’t be able to make tight turns at the speed she’s doing, so avoid our bow wave as best you can. I’m going to lower our boarding stairs but don’t approach them until I give you the word. Got it?”

“We won’t approach until you signal,” Sloane repeated.

“You’re going to be fine, Sloane,” Juan said, the confidence in his voice carrying over the crackling radio link. “These aren’t the first pirates me and my crew have come across.”

On screen he saw the gunmen try to rake thePinguin again with their assault rifles but the range was still extreme from such an unstable firing platform. It didn’t look like any of the rounds came close to the charter boat, yet it firmed Juan’s resolve that they were doing the right thing in helping Sloane and her party.

“Hali, get some hands on deck to lower the boarding stairs and extend the ladder. Wepps, be prepared to fire the bow thirty caliber.”

“I have it locked on.”

ThePinguin was coming on gamely, now less than three hundred yards from the hulking freighter, with the yacht a scant hundred yards further back. Juan didn’t want to use the machine gun but he saw there wasn’t going to be any choice. The charter boat would be in range of the yacht before he could slip the Oregon between them. He was about to order the weapons officer to fire a short burst to slow the yacht when he noticed Sloane slithering out to thePinguin ’s stern. She raised her head and shoulders over the transom and let loose with the shotgun, firing the second barrel as soon as she regained her sight picture.

She had no chance of hitting the yacht but the unexpected volley forced the luxury craft to slow and make a more cautious approach. It bought her the seconds they needed to implement Cabrillo’s plan.

“What’s going on?” Max Hanley appeared at Cabrillo’s side smelling of pipe tobacco. “I’m trying to enjoy my day off while you’re up here playing chicken with what, an old fishing boat and a floating bordello?”

Juan had stopped wondering years ago how Hanley’s sixth sense brought him out of his cabin when trouble was brewing. “The guys on the yacht want the people on the fishing boat dead and it doesn’t look like they care if there are any witnesses.”

“And you want to spoil their fun, I see.”

Juan shot him a lopsided grin. “Have you ever known me to not stick my nose in other people’s business?”

“Offhand? No.” Max was looking at the view screen and cursed.

The yacht had put on a burst of speed and autofire raked thePinguin , tearing chunks of wood from her thick stern and shattering the glass panel on the door to her belowdecks cabin. Sloane was protected by the transom, but the captain and another man on the bridge were horribly exposed.