After nearly fifteen minutes the basket was full and set on the counter beside an antique brass cash register. Instead of the usual selection of canned goods picked by most fishermen, this basket was filled with mostly fruits and vegetables.

"You must be planning on staying awhile," said Colburn. "An old family friend loaned me his cabin on the lake. You probably know him. His name is Sam Foley."

"I've known Sam for twenty years. His cabin is the only one that damned Chinaman hasn't bought up," Colburn grumbled.

"Good thing too. If Sam sells out, there won't be an access for fishermen to launch their boats on the lake."

"I wondered why most of the cabins looked run-down and abandoned, all except that odd-looking building. The one on the north side of the lake opposite the mouth of that small river flowing west."

Colburn spoke as he rang up the groceries. "Used to be a fish cannery back in the forties until the company went broke. The Chinaman picked it up for a song and men remodeled it into a fancy mansion. Even built a nine-hole golf course. Then he began buying every piece of property that fronted on the lake. Your friend, Sam Foley, is the only holdout."

"It seems half the population of Washington and British Columbia is Chinese," commented the stranger.

"The Chinese have poured into the Pacific Northwest like a flood tide since the Communist government took over Hong Kong. They already own half of downtown Seattle and most of Vancouver. No telling what the population will look like in another fifty years." Colburn paused and punched the TOTAL lever on the cash register. "With the fishing permit, that'll be seventy-nine-thirty-five."

The stranger pulled his wallet from a hip pocket, handed Colburn a hundred-dollar bill and waited for the change. "The Chinaman you mentioned—what sort of business is he in?"

"All I heard is that he's a wealthy shipping tycoon from Hong Kong." Colburn began sacking the groceries while gossiping away. "Nobody has ever seen him. Never comes through town. Except for drivers of big delivery trucks, nobody goes in or out. Strange goings-on, if you ask most of the folks around here. He and his cronies don't fish in the daytime. You can only hear boat motors at night, and they don't run lights. Harry Daniels, who hunts and camps along the river, claims he's seen an odd-looking work boat traveling the lake after midnight, and never under a moon."

"Everybody loves a good mystery."

"If I can do anything for you while you're in the neighborhood, just ask. My name's Dick Colburn."

The stranger showed white, even teeth in a broad grin. "Dirk Pitt."

"You be from California, Mr. Pitt?"

"You'd do Professor Henry Higgins proud," said Pitt light-heartedly. "I was bom and grew up in Southern California, but for the past fifteen years I've lived in Washington."

Colbum began to smell new ground. "You must work with the U.S. government."