"Major Dirk Pitt, NUMA ship First Attempt. One hour down, nine to go. H.Z."

"Any…any reply, Major?" the voice stammered unevenly.

Suddenly Pitt became aware of the sickly expression on the radio operator's face. "You feel all right?"

"To tell the truth, Major, no. Ever since breakfast I've had the worst case of bowel drizzlies in my life, and I've barfed twice."

Pitt could not help grinning. "Compliments of the ship's cook. Is that it?"

The radioman shook his head and rubbed his eyes in one easy movement. "Can't be. Cooky's the greatest—strictly gourmetsville. Nah, it's probably the local version of the flu. Could even be a skunky bottle of beer or something."

"Stay with it," Pitt said. "We need a good man on the radio for the next twenty-four hours."

"You can count on me." The radioman forced a faint smile. "Besides, that chick you brought on board has been clucking over me like a mother hen. With that kind of attention, how much could I suffer?"

Pitt raised an eyebrow. "You must see something in her I don't."

"She's not bad. Not my usual fancy, but not bad. Anyway, she's been bringing tea all morning—a regular Florence Nightingale."

The young black suddenly broke off. His eyes went wide and he threw a hand to his mouth. Then he jumped to his feet, knocking over the chair, ran outside and hung like a dead man over the railing. Animal-like grunts carried back into the cabin, accompanied by low, agonizing moans.

Pitt walked out and lightly patted the ailing radioman on the back.

"I need you by the radio my friend. Hang in there while I send for the ship's doctor."

The radioman slowly nodded his head and said nothing. Then Pitt turned and left, making sure he walked upwind.

After a few minutes spent looking for the ship's physician and asking him to look in on the radio operator, Pitt entered Gunn's cabin and found it dark, the curtains drawn. Cool air flowed from the ventilator, giving the steel cubicle a comfortable, inviting atmosphere, a vast improvement over the intolerable heat of yesterday. In the dim light he made out Teri sitting on the desk. Her chin was resting on a drawn-up knee. She looked up at him and smiled.

"What kept you?"

"Business," he replied.

"Monkey business I'll bet." Her face bore a distinct feminine pout. "Where is the big adventure you promised me? Every time I turn around you've disappeared."

"When duty calls, dearheart, I must answer." Pitt straddled a chair and leaned over the backrest. "A very intriguing bit of apparel you're wearing. Where did you get it?"

"Nothing to it really—"

"I can see that."