The only bright spot, if it could be called bright, was that Eddie’s transmitter continued to send out a signal that Hali could receive through the satellite umbrella. But there was a problem with even that. According to the satellite data, he was on the beach in the shadow of one of the erupting volcanoes. Juan could have asked Dr. Huxley how long the batteries in the transmitter would last after the wearer was dead, but he knew the answer already. Eddie could have died a week ago, and no one on the Oregon would be the wiser.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Juan whirled around before recognizing the voice, his face a mask of anger at being disturbed.

“Whoa, sorry,” Tory said. “Didn’t mean to startle you so.”

“You didn’t.” He turned back to gaze at the horizon once more as if watching it would somehow bring it closer.

“I thought you might like one.” Tory held out a bottle of San Miguel beer, what Juan regarded as the Philippines’ only worthwhile export.

She wore a white linen skirt, a teal polo shirt, and flats. Her dark hair was brushed away from her face, highlighting the graceful curve of her high cheekbones, and artful cosmetics deepened the already arresting blue of her eyes and the fullness of her mouth. As openly as Juan studied her, he could feel her attention on him. She took in the breadth of his shoulders and the dense muscles of his chest and how even lounging in the chair, his stomach was rippled. But when her glance shifted farther south, to his artificial leg, she quickly looked away.

Because he was so adept at hiding his prosthetic limb, usually by never wearing shorts in public, Juan had encountered few awkward moments since losing the leg. Although he barely knew her, Tory’s sudden discomfort made him very conscious of the leg, especially because the one he was wearing made no effort to look real. It was all tubular steel and black carbon fiber. He suddenly wished he’d either worn long pants or at least one of his legs that looked more human.

He took his feet off the rail beneath the forward windows and sat up straighter in his chair so his leg was better hidden. He was both annoyed and intrigued by why he felt Tory’s opinion of him was important.

Juan accepted the proffered bottle and rolled the dew-blistered glass across his forehead before taking several healthy gulps. Julia had rebandaged his wound so he no longer looked like he was wearing a diaper on his head. He was putting off a skin graft until after the mission was over. “Thanks. Sorry about the glare of death I just shot you. I was lost in my own world there.”

“Thinking about your man? Eddie, is it?”

“Eddie Seng, yes. One of my best.”

“Max told me a bit about him. Actually, he told me a bit about all of you.” She smiled. “Quite a collection of pirates you’ve put together.”

He chuckled. “Brigands and privateers every man jack of them, and in all my life I’ve never worked with a finer team. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give you the nickel tour and introduce you around.”

“I know you’ve been busy. Linda was kind enough to play docent.” She waved her hands down the length of her body. “And to let me borrow some clothes from your Magic Shop.”

“And your cabin. Is it all right?”

Her eyes went wide with delight. “All right? It’s bigger than my flat in London, and if you find the marble tub missing after I’m gone, don’t be surprised. You do seem to enjoy life’s finer things. The food rivals Cunard, and Maurice, the steward, is an absolute love.”

“Just because we’re in a savage business doesn’t mean we have to act like savages.”

“How did you become, well, mercenaries, I suppose?”

Juan indicated for Tory to take the closest seat. This one was Max’s and it seemed to swallow her. “When the Cold War ended I knew that the global polarity that had kept the world in check for a half century was over. Regional conflicts were bound to erupt, and the need to provide security services would grow. That’s why I created the Corporation. As for the Oregon, well, rather than base my outfit in some country where I’d be subjected to their laws, I decided that using a ship would give me the freedom we would need.”

“And you do this for the money?”

“I’m as much a capitalist as the next man, but I’m also particular about my clients.”

“I think you are more particular than you are capitalistic.”

Juan laughed again. “Maurice has been gossiping.”

“He thinks the world of you.” Tory smiled. “Actually, your whole crew does. I’ve heard you’ve turned down some very lucrative offers in the past few years.”

“And accepted some, too.”

“You know what I’m saying. This isn’t all about the money.”

“Let’s just say it’s pretty gratifying to get paid to do what you know is right. How about you, madam investigator? Did you take your job with Lloyd’s because their ad in the Financial Times promised more pay than becoming a stockbroker?”

“Touché.” She sipped from her own bottle of beer. “So, do you have any theories about what’s going on?”

“Theories, yes. Answers, no. Especially since we lost our last link in the chain.”

“Franklin hasn’t forgiven himself, you know.”

“He and Eddie are best friends. He won’t forgive himself until he knows Eddie’s safe. That reminds me.” Juan jumped down from his stool and grabbed a portfolio from the deck. He handed it to Tory. “The computer finished with this about an hour ago. You might find it interesting.”

“What is it?” Tory asked, opening the crisp leather cover.

“Translation of what we found in the briefcase you recovered from Singh’s car. In a nutshell it lists every ship his group has hijacked over the past several years from all over the Pacific. I imagine it can close a number of your cases. Most of the ships were scrapped at Karamita, but some are still sailing under flags of convenience for dummy companies Singh controls.”

“Controlled,” Tory corrected without looking up from the book.

“Unfortunately,” Juan continued, “there’s nothing about what the Maus’s sister ship, Souri, has been doing since Singh bought her. I suspect that there are other ships she’s transported, perhaps a great many, that Singh kept in another ledger to compartmentalize this particular aspect of his criminal fiefdom.”

She looked up. “Why would he do that?”

“No idea.”

“What if he doesn’t control this aspect of his criminal fiefdom?”

Juan leaned forward in his chair, sensing she might have something. “Anton Savich?”

“Max told me that’s a name that has cropped up all during your investigation, although I confess I never came across his name during mine.”

“All we’ve learned is that he was a functionary for the Soviet Bureau of Natural Resources, and after the collapse he worked for the Russian equivalent. We have no clue how he got tangled up with a smuggler like Shere Singh.”

“Are there any natural resources on Kamchatka? Maybe something he came across in a report when he worked for the bureau? Like precious gems or metals or something?”

“Mark Murphy checked a bunch of databases and found nothing in any appreciable quantities.”

A light shone in Tory’s eyes. “What if it’s something that never got reported? What if when he was working for the Soviets a report crossed his desk that indicated a major find of some kind, and he quietly buried the discovery?”

Juan nodded. “That’s a distinct possibility. We all believe that they’ve brought a lot of Chinese labor up there. It could be he has them working in a mine of some kind.” Then he got a sudden burst of inspiration. He plucked his encrypted cell phone from his pocket and dialed. On the third ring of the Oregon’s private cellular system, Mark Murphy answered. “Murph, it’s Juan. Where are you?”

“Down in the Magic Shop fixing my skateboard,” the weapons specialist said.