"Suppose he did?" suggested Pitt. "What's his upside? Who'd waste a good nuclear bomb unless you've got a target of conspicuous magnitude? What could he gain by leveling San Francisco, New York or Boston? Why spend millions reconverting a nine-hundred-and-ninety-foot ocean liner into a bomb carrier when he could have used any one of a thousand old obsolete ships? No, Qin Shang is not a fanatical terrorist with a cause. His religion is domination and greed. Whatever his grand design, it has to be devious and brilliant, one that you and I wouldn't have thought of in a million years."

"You're right," Cabrillo sighed. "Devastating a city and killing thousands of people is a no-win situation for a man of wealth. Especially when you consider that the bomb carrier could be traced back directly to Qin Shang Maritime."

"Unless," Pitt added.

"Unless?"

Pitt gave Cabrillo a distant look. "Unless the scheme called for a minimal amount of explosives."

"For what purpose?"

"To blow the bottom out of the United States and scuttle her."

"Now there's a possibility." Cabrillo's eyelids were beginning to droop. "I do believe you may be onto something."

"That could explain why Al found all the doors to the crew's quarters and lower cargo holds welded shut."

"Now all you need is a crystal ball to predict where Qin Shang intends to sink her ..." Cabrillo murmured softly. His voice trailed off as he drifted off to sleep.

Pitt started to say something, but saw that he would only be talking to himself. He quietly stepped from Cabrillo's cabin and softly closed the door.

Three days later the Oregon picked up the harbor pilot, passed through the shipping channel and slipped alongside the dock at Guam's commercial terminal. Except for the stump where her aft mast once stood and her pulverized stern, the ship looked little the worse for wear.

A string of ambulances was waiting on the dock to receive the wounded and transport them to the hospital at the island's naval station. The Chinese marines were the first to be taken away, followed by the ship's crew. Cabrillo was the last of the injured to leave the ship. After saying their goodbyes to the crew, Pitt and Giordino muscled aside the stretcher bearers and carried him down the gangway themselves.

"I feel like the sultan of Baghdad," said Cabrillo.

"You'll get our bill in the mail," Giordino told him.

They reached the ambulance and gently set the stretcher on the dock before loading it onto a gurney. Pitt knelt down and stared into Cabrillo's eyes. "It was an honor knowing you, Mr. Chairman."

"And a privilege to work with you, Mr. Special Projects Director. If you ever decide to leave NUMA and want a job sailing the seven seas to exotic ports, send me your resume."