Austin exited the whale file and called up several other sites.

After a few minutes he sat back in his chair and tapped his fingertips together. The whales were migrating normally until they reached a certain area. Then something changed. He was pondering what he should do when he heard somebody at the door. Zavala. "Home from your date so soon?"

"Yeah, I told her I had to get back to check on my sick room mate."

Austin looked alarmed. "You didn't bump your head today, did you?"

"I must admit going under a boat was a unique experience. I'll never look at the nautical rules of the road in the same light again."

"Well, for your information I feel fine, so you can go back and pick up where you left off."

Zavala flopped down onto the sofa. "You know something, Kurt, there are times when one has to show some restraint."

Austin wondered if a Zavala clone, stripped of its sexual drive, had walked into the room. "I agree wholeheartedly," he said with caution. "Now tell me the real reason."

"She broke Zavala's rule. I don't go out with married women."

"How did you know she was married?"

"Her husband told me so."

"Oh. Was he big?"

"Slightly smaller than a cement truck."

"Well, restraint was an especially wise decision in that case."

Joe nodded, unconvinced. "God, she was beautiful," he said with a sigh. "What have you been up to?"

"I went to a whale necropsy."

'And I thought I was having a bad time. There must be more fun things to do in San Diego."

"I'm sure there are, but I was curious about what killed those whales."

"Did they find a cause?"

"Their lungs were damaged by heat, and they died of pneumonia."

"Strange," Zavala said.

"I thought so. Look at this map on my computer. I got it through a NOAA weather satellite. It shows the water temperature of the ocean. See that little red bump in the water off the Baja? Sudden temperature change."

"You're saying our whales became sick shortly after they passed this area of warm temperature?"

"Maybe. But I'm more interested in what caused that change. "

"1 think you're about to suggest a trip south of the border."

"I could use an interpreter. Paul and Gamay won't be back in Arlington for a few days."

"No problemo. It's important for me to stay in touch with my Mexican roots."

He got up and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Austin said.

Zavala looked at the clock. "The night is young. Two devilishly handsome and eligible bachelors sitting in their room talking about dead whales and hot water. Not healthy, amigo. I saw a beautiful woman in the lounge as I passed by. She looks as if she could use company."

"I thought you were giving women up."

'A momentary delusion caused by my injuries. Besides, I think she had a friend," Zavala said. 'And there's a good jazz band playing in the lounge."

Austin's appreciation for cool jazz came right after his love of beautiful women and fast boats. A tequila and lime juice night cap would taste mighty good. To say nothing about female companionship. He grinned and closed the cover on his laptop computer.

"How do you like your meal?" Dr. Ramirez inquired.

Paul and Gamay exchanged glances. "It's wonderful," Gamay said. Indeed it was, she thought, surprisingly so. She would have to tell St. Julien Perlmutter, naval historian and gourmet, about this exotic dinner. The thin, tender slices of white meat were spiced with local herbs, accompanied by rich, dark gravy and fresh sweet potatoes. Dinner was served with a respectable Chilean white wine. Oh God! She'd been in the jungle so long she had developed a taste for roast tapir. Next she'd be craving howler monkeys.

Paul displayed his Yankee bluntness. "I agree. It's terrific. We'd never guess it would be so good after seeing the men carry that odd-looking beast in from the forest."

Ramirez put his fork down, a puzzled expression on his face. "Beast? The forest-I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The tapir," Gamay volunteered hesitantly as she glanced down at her plate.

Ramirez looked stunned, then his mustache twitched and he broke out into a deep laugh. He brought his napkin to his lips. "You thought . . ." He started to laugh again. "Excuse me. I am a poor host. Amusing myself at the expense of my guests. But I must assure you that this is not the animal you saw being trundled in from the hunt. I bought a pig from a neighboring village

for this feast." He made a sour face. "Tapir. I can't imagine what it is like. Perhaps it's quite tasty."

Ramirez poured more wine and raised his glass in a toast. "I will miss you, my friends. Your company has been most enjoy able, and we have had many delightful conversations around this table."

"Thank you," Gamay said. "It has been a fascinating experience for us. Today may have been our most exciting day, how ever."

"Ah, yes, the poor Indian."

Paul shook his head. "I can't get over the sophisticated nature of all those gadgets he had with him."

Ramirez spread his palms apart. "The People of the Mists are a mysterious tribe."

"What do you know about them?" Gamay said, her scientific curiosity aroused. Before she attained a doctorate in marine biology from Scripps Institute of Oceanography, she had been a marine archaeologist and had taken many anthropology courses during her studies at the University of North Carolina.

Ramirez took a sip of wine, nodded with appreciation, and stared off into space as he ordered his thoughts. The buzzing and chirping of millions of tropical insects came through the screened windows, and the concert provided a fitting back ground for tales of the rain forest.

After a moment's reflection, he said, "First you must realize as we sit here in this island of civilization, with our propane gas stove and our electrical generator, that only a few years ago we would have been dead within minutes had we strayed into this part of the forest. Fierce Indians inhabited the area. Head hunting and cannibalism were commonplace. Anyone, whether you were a missionary bringing in the word of God or a hunter searching for animal skins, was regarded as an intruder who must be killed. Only recently have these people been domesticated."

"Except for the Chulo," Gamay ventured.

"Correct. They retreated further into the forest rather than

be pacified. I must confess that I learned more about them today than I knew in the three years I have been living here. I have seriously doubted they even exist. With this tribe you must separate facts from legend. The other Indians avoid the forest beyond the Great Falls. They say people who go into Chulo territory never come out. Their fear, as you saw today, is real. Those are the scant facts." "And the legend?" Gamay said.

"They can make themselves invisible," Ramirez said with a smile. "They can fly. They can pass through solid obstacles. They are more like ghosts or spirits than men. They can't be killed by ordinary weapons."

"The bullet hole we saw puts that myth to rest," Paul said.

"It would seem so," Ramirez agreed. "There is another story, even more intriguing. The tribe is apparently matriarchal. A woman leads it. A goddess, in fact."