Jake put down his beer. He sighed. "Let me tell you a story." He jerked his thumb toward Prince George Town. "You know what feeds us jungle bunnies? We got a choice: tourists or cocaine. These were desert islands once; they might damn well be again." He jerked a finger toward Prince George Town. "Romeo? Louisa? Take away their tourists, this whole damn chain of islands will be working loadin' dope!"

"When that shark hits its first tourist—"

"That shark's a tourist himself. He's a cold-water animal. In a week he'll be twenty miles at sea, heading back for the North Atlantic. He'll be gone, mon, and there's no reason anybody's got to know."

"I know," Mike said softly. "And you think I'm going to let Thea take her evening swim tonight?"

Jake studied him, downed his beer, and sat for a moment drumming his fingers.

"You want me to call Government House?" he mused. "That's not a bad idea. Suppose we could tell them we knew where that shark was hanging out, all the time he's here?"

"Sure," said Mike. "You tag him, man. I'll watch."

"We don't tag him, Mike." He got up, pulled a dart from the dart board on the icebox door, and stepped back to the line painted on the cabin floor. Lips pursed, he took aim. "We stick him. With a harpoon and a BPST. And the Ministry of Tourism pays the tab."

Mike gazed at him. "Holy jumping Jesus Christ! You mean it?"

He let the dart fly. It quivered in the board, a half inch from dead center.

"Mike," he said, "if you got the guts to get that transmitter back, we're going to bell the cat."

***

Ellen sat on the porch of the main house, brushing Thea's hair in long, sweeping strokes. Through the window of the studio across the yard she could see her daughter-in-law studying her sculpture, which remained tantalizingly out of sight from her angle.

It seemed a soaring work under its cover, and it had taken all of Ellen's willpower not to lift the jib that shrouded it and peek.

But Carla was dead serious when she said she wanted no one to see it until the unveiling. She was approaching her deadline now: the Annual Junkanoo and the presentation in the town plaza were only three days away, and she seemed frantic.

Finally, shaking her head as if dissatisfied, Carla moved out of sight. In a moment she reappeared on the porch of the studio, crossed the yard, and said, "How about a swim?"

Ellen hesitated. She didn't really want to go. "I..."

"Yes!" cried Thea. "We'll go swimming, Mommy."

Ellen went into her bedroom off the studio and stripped. She glanced through the open door to the studio, hoping that for once Carla had forgotten to cover it. She had not.