On land, except for the maid and two golfers, the premises looked deserted. There was no hint of security systems. He could find no visible sign of mounted video cameras, but he knew they had to be there. No guards patrolling the grounds either, unless they had learned the art of invisibility. The only objects that seemed out of place with the landscape were several windowless structures built out of logs. Similar to the hostel-type huts used by hunters and hikers, they were spaced at strategic locations around the lake. He counted three and guessed that more were hidden in the woods. The third one seemed curiously mislaid. It floated at the end of the dock and looked like a small boathouse. As with the strange black boat, there were no windows or doors. He gazed at it for nearly a full minute, trying to fathom its purpose and speculate on what was inside.

A slight shift in the telescope, and the focal point of his interest was rewarded. Only a small piece showed from behind a stand of spruce. Not much, but enough to lay to rest his curiosity about the security setup. The roof of a neatly hidden recreation vehicle revealed a small forest of antennae and reception dishes. In a short clearing beyond, what appeared to be a small aircraft hangar sat beside a narrow runway that was only fifty yards in length. Definitely not the sort of layout that would facilitate the use of a helicopter. Ultralight aircraft, perhaps? Pitt conjectured. Yes, that had to be the answer.

"A state-of-the-art setup," he muttered softly to himself.

And a state-of-the-art setup it was, too. He recognized the RV as a mobile command post of the type that presidential Secret Service agents often operated from when the President traveled away, from Washington. Pitt began to understand the purpose of the log huts. The next step was to provoke a response.

It seemed silly to go to so much effort out of bored inquisi-tiveness. He had yet to receive Yaeger's report. For all he knew, Shang was a humanitarian, a philanthropist and a spiritual inspiration, someone Pitt could respect. Pitt wasn't an investigator, he was a marine engineer. Most of his work took place beneath the sea. Why he even bothered was a mystery. But a tiny flag went up in his mind. Shang's lifestyle didn't hold water. This wouldn't be the first time Pitt had meddled in something that didn't concern him. The most compelling reason to jump in was that Pitt's intuition was almost always right on the money.

As if on cue, the tone on his Indium phone sounded. Only Hiram Yaeger knew his code. He stepped a safe distance outside the cabin before answering. "Hiram?"

"Your boy Shang is a real piece of work," Yaeger said without preamble.

"What have you got on him?" asked Pitt.