He was a great slob of a man. He might have been an Olympic weight lifter at one time, but his body had gone to seed and his stomach had grown into an immense watermelon. It sagged and hung over a pair of soiled pants and an over-stressed leather belt three sizes too small. The face appeared scarred from dozens of fights, and his great hooked nose had been broken so often it veered to one side across the left cheek. Stubble covered the lips and chin. It was difficult to tell whether his eyes looked bloodshot from too much booze or too little sleep. The black hair was plastered over his head like some kind of greasy skullcap, and the teeth were irregular and yellow. His biceps and forearms seemed remarkably taut and muscled in comparison with the rest of him, and were laden with tattoos. He wore a grimy yachtsman's cap and dingy coveralls. "Shiver me timbers," muttered Giordino, "if it isn't old Blackboard hisself."

Pitt walked up to the mangy derelict and said, "Good of you to meet us, Mr. Smith."

"Happy to have you aboard," Smith said with a cheerful smile. "The captain's expecting you."

Carrying only a few articles of underwear, toiletries and work shirts and pants picked up at a surplus store on the way to the Seattle airport, and all stuffed in a pair of small carry-on tote bags, Pitt and Giordino had no reason to wait at the baggage carousel. They fell in behind Smith and walked out of the terminal into the airport parking lot. Smith stopped at a Toyota van that looked as if it spent its life in endurance runs around the Himalayan Mountains. Half the windows were broken out and taped closed with plywood boards. The body paint was faded to the primer, and the rocker panels were rusted away. Pitt observed the deeply treaded off-road tires and listened with interest to the throaty roar of a powerful engine as it immediately kicked to life when Smith pressed the starter.

The van moved off with Pitt and Giordino sitting on the torn and worn vinyl upholstery. Pitt lightly prodded his friend with his elbow to get his attention and spoke loud enough for the driver to hear. "Tell me, Mr. Giordino, is it true you're a very observant person?"

"That I am," Giordino came back, picking up Pitt's intent instantly. "Nothing escapes me. And let us not forget you, Mr. Pitt. Your powers of prognostication are also world-renowned. Would you like to demonstrate your talents?" "I would indeed."

"Let me begin by asking, what do you make of this vehicle?"

"I have to say it looks like a prop out of a Hollywood movie that no self-respecting hippie would be caught dead in, and yet it sports expensive tires and an engine that puts out around four hundred horsepower. Most peculiar, wouldn't you say?" "Very astute, Mr. Pitt. My vision exactly." "And you, Mr. Giordino. What does your remarkable insight see in our bon vivant driver?"