"I must admit, you had me fooled until I saw the van." "Yes, our shore transportation is not quite what it appears." "This ship," said Pitt, "your playacting, the facade, what's it all about?"

Cabrillo gestured for them to sit in a leather sofa. He walked over to a teak bar. "A glass of wine?" "Yes, thank you." "I'd prefer a beer," said Giordino. Cabrillo poured and held out a mug to Giordino. "A Philippine San Miguel." Then a wineglass to Pitt. "Wattle Creek Chardonnay from Alexander Valley, California."

"You have excellent taste," Pitt complimented Cabrillo. "I have the feeling it extends to your kitchen."

Cabrillo smiled. "I pirated my chef from a very exclusive restaurant in Brussels, Belgium. I might also add that should you get heartburn or indigestion from overindulging, we have an excellent hospital staffed by a top surgeon who doubles as a dentist."

"I'm curious, Mr. Cabrillo, what sort of trade is the Oregon engaged in, and who exactly do you work for?"

"This ship is a state-of-the-art intelligence-gathering vessel," Cabrillo replied without hesitation. "We go where no U.S. Navy warship can go, enter ports closed to most commercial shipping and transport highly secret cargo without arousing suspicion. We work for any United States government agency that requires our unique array of services."

"Then you're not under the CIA."

Cabrillo shook his head. "Although we're staffed by a few ex-intelligence agents, the Oregon is operated by an elite crew of former naval men and naval officers, all of whom are retired."

"I couldn't tell in the dark. What flag do you fly?"

"Iran," replied Cabrillo with a faint smile. "The last country any port authority would identify with the United States."

"Am I correct in assuming," said Pitt, "you're all mercenaries?"

"I can honestly say we're in business to make a profit, yes. By performing a variety of clandestine services for our country, we are paid extremely well."

"Who owns the ship?" asked Giordino.

"Everyone on board is a stockholder in the corporation," answered Cabrillo. "Some of us own more stock than others, but there isn't a single crew member who hasn't at least five million dollars stashed away in foreign investments."

"Does the IRS know about you?"

"The government has a secret fund for operations like ours," Cabrillo explained. "We have an arrangement whereby they pay our fees through a network of banks in countries that do not open their records to IRS auditors."

Pitt took a sip of his wine. "A sweet setup."

"But one that isn't unknown to peril and occasional disaster. The Oregon is our third ship. The others were destroyed by unfriendly forces. I might add that over thirteen years we've been in operation, we've lost no fewer than twenty men."

"Foreign agents caught on to you?"

"No, we've yet to be unmasked. There were other circumstances." Whatever they were, Cabrillo didn't explain them.

"Who authorized this trip?" inquired Giordino.

"Between you and me and the nearest porthole, our sailing orders came from within the White House."