Austin accepted the invitation, and they sat on the patio talking until the dinner bell clanged. They ate in the dining room with a half dozen staffers, then retired to the patio to enjoy an after-dinner drink as the island became enveloped by a liquid darkness. Austin had repacked the sakau, and they were drinking a less lethal port.

Kurt and Song talked for hours, with the sensuous sounds and smells of the semitropic night in the background, and it was late when they realized that the rest of the staff had drifted off and they were all alone.

Austin glanced at his watch, and said, “It’s almost midnight. I had better call Dooley to have him pick me up.”

Song laughed softly, and said, “Dooley is in bed by now. And you would have to climb the water tower to pick up a signal. Why don’t you stay the night with me in my cottage? It’s quite snug and comfortable.”

“Never let it be said that Kurt Austin stood in the way of warm Chinese-American relations,” he said. “But these clothes are all I have. I left my pajamas at home.”

Song reached out and touched Kurt’s hand.

“You won’t need them,” she said with a smile in her voice.

THEY AWOKE EARLY THE next day to a waterbird symphony. Austin had to get back to Washington for a meeting. While he climbed the tower to call Dooley, Song and the lab technicians produced a send-off breakfast that was heavy on fresh fruit. As they dined on the patio, Austin savored the peace and quiet of the island.

“It’s going to be tough to leave paradise,” he said.

“Do you really have to go so soon?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. I’m sorry to rush off.”

“Maybe you can rush back just as quickly.”

“I have the feeling we’ll be seeing each other sooner than we think. How’s your research going on the New Bedford anomaly?”

“I’ve been going over what material I have. But so much is missing.” She frowned, and said, “I think I hear Dooley.”

Song walked Kurt to the end of the dock. They embraced and kissed good-bye. Before Austin got in the boat, he reached into his rucksack and pulled out a package wrapped in plain paper. He handed it to Lee.

“You might find this of interest,” he said.

Lee took the wrapping off and stared at the book in her hand.

The blue leather cover was crinkled with age and weathered from the time it had spent at sea. She turned to the first page and read aloud:

“November 20, 1847. Wind northwest at ten knots. Good ship Princess departs New Bedford on maiden voyage. Adventure and prosperity beckon. H. Dobbs.”

“It’s the missing logbook!” she said. “Where did you find it?”