He turned his attention back to their own predicament. “Would you ask our friends how we got here?”

Zavala questioned the fishermen in Spanish. One of them did most of the talking, speaking in rapid fire as his brother nodded in agreement. Zavala thanked him and translated the ex change.

“This man's name is Juan,” Zavala said. “He remembers us from yesterday up on the cliffs. The other guy is his brother Pedro. They were fishing when they heard a big muffled roar and the water bubbled and foamed in the inlet.”

“Si, si, la bufadora,” Juan said. He threw his hands expansively into the air like an orchestra conductor calling for a crescendo.

“What's with the theatrics?” Austin asked

“He says the noise was like the blowhole outside Ensenada where the sea comes into a cleft in the rocks and makes a big boom. Only it was many times louder. The cliff split away behind the tortilla factory. There were big swells, and the boat almost capsized. Then we popped out of the water. They pulled us in like a couple of overgrown sardines, and here we are.”

Austin scanned the sea again. “Did they mention seeing the Sea Robin?”

“They saw a ship earlier. From their description it must have been the Robin. It went around to the other side of the headland, and they haven't seen it since.”

Austin was starting to worry about Contos and his crew. “Please thank our benefactors for their kindness and ask if they would mind taking us around the point.”

Zavala relayed Austin's request, and the fishermen started the old Mercury outboard in a cloud of blue smoke. Coughing like an asthmatic corn popper, the motor effortlessly moved the boat through the silken sea. With Juan manning the tiller, they rounded the headland and immediately saw why the Sea Robin hadn't left its mooring. The NUMA ship wasn't going anywhere for a while.

The deck was covered with a small mountain of dirt and boulders, and the vessel listed heavily to the starboard. The A-frame at the stern and the free-standing cranes on the aft deck had been twisted as easily as pretzels by the debris. Above the boat, the steep cliff face was layered with yellow strata exposed by the rockslide. Crew members were attacking the rubble with shovels and crowbars, tossing what debris they could manage over the side. A forklift was moving the bigger rocks.

Juan maneuvered the fishing boat alongside the NUMA vessel. Contos came to the rail and leaned over. His hands and face were caked with dirt, and he looked as if he had crawled out of a mine.

Austin cupped his hands and called out, “Anyone hurt?”

“A few cuts and bruises,” Contos yelled back. “Luckily the aft deck was clear. We had heard a loud boom from the cove and were about to check it out. Then the whole side of the cliff came down before we could weigh anchor. Where the hell have you two been?”