SURVIVOR SAYS MONSTERS KILLED TV CAST, CREW The dateline was a Scottish island in the Orkneys. Intrigued, he read the story. It was only a few paragraphs long, but when he was done, his hands were shaking. He read the article again until the words blurred. Dear God, he thought. Something awful has happened. He folded the newspaper and went outside, stood in the soothing sunlight and made a decision. He would return home and see if he could get someone to believe his story.

MacLean walked to the city gate and caught a taxi to the ferry office on the causeway, where he bought a ticket for the hydrofoil to Athens the next day. Then he returned to his room and packed his few belongings. What now? He decided to stick to his usual routine for his last day, walked to an outdoor cafe and ordered a tall glass of cold lemonade. He was engrossed in his paper when he became aware that someone was talking to him. He looked up and saw a gray-haired woman in flowered polyester slacks and blouse standing next to his table, holding a camera.

'Sorry to interrupt,“ she said with a sweet smile. ”Would you mind? My husband and I�" Tourists often asked MacLean to document their trips. He was tall and lanky, and with his blue eyes and shock of salt-and-pepper hair, he stood out from the shorter and darker Greeks.

A man sat at a nearby table, giving MacLean a bucktoothed grin. His freckled face was beet-red from too much sun. MacLean nodded and took the camera from the woman's hand. He clicked off some shots of the couple and handed the camera back.

“Thank you so much!” the woman said effusively. “You don't know what it means to have this for our travel album.”

“Americans?” MacLean said. His urge to talk English overcame his reluctance to engage anyone in conversation. Angelo's English skills were limited.

The woman beamed. “Is it that obvious? We try so hard to fit in.”

Yellow-and-pink polyester was decidedly not a Greek fashion statement, MacLean thought. The woman's husband was wearing a collarless white cotton shirt and black captain's hat like those sold mainly for the tourist trade.

“Came down in the hydrofoil,” the man said with a drawl, rising out of his chair. He pressed his moist palm into MacLean “Hell, that was some ride. You English?”

MacLean responded with a look of horror. “Oh no, I'm Scottish.”

“I'm one half Scotch and the other half soda,” the man said with his horse grin. “Sorry about the mix-up. I'm from Texas. Guess that would be like you thinking we were from Oklahoma.”