Near the low-lying hump that was NaushonIsland, Trout pointed the boat toward a cloud of squalling seabirds diving in the water in search of bait being chased to the surface by larger links in the food chain. Amorphous yellow blobs were popping up on the fish-finder screen. There was a fishy scent in the air. He cut the engine and the boat plowed to a stop.

Gamay handed Trout a fishing rod and took the wheel. It was customary for the highliner on the last trip to let the lowliner go first. Trout settled into the swivel chair and let some line out. He started jigging, continuously jerking the rod to keep the lure traveling through the water.

“Fish on!” he yelled.

He cranked the reel and pulled in a thirty-two-inch-long striped bass. After measuring the fish, he threw it back. Gamay quickly caught a twenty-eight-incher. Again they tossed the fish overboard. They took turns catching stripers in roughly the same size range before the school played out, and they moved to another spot that was equally as productive.

They kept a running compilation and were in a dead heat when Trout felt a sharp tug on the line that almost pulled his arm out. This was going to be the tiebreaker. He was barely aware of a cell phone chiming. Gamay put the phone to her ear and, after a moment, said, “Kurt needs to talk to you.”

Trout cranked the reel like a man possessed. The silver body of a huge fish flashed near the surface. Damn. It was as big as a whale. He tried to concentrate.

“Tell him to wait,” he shouted over his shoulder.

“He can’t wait,” Gamay said. “He and Joe are on their way to Turkey.”

Turkey? The last Trout was aware of, Austin and Zavala were off to Newfoundland. In that instant, Trout lost his train of thought, and the fish. The line went slack. Oh, hell. He got up, handed the rod to Gamay, and took the phone in exchange.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Austin said.

“Naw,” Trout said. He stared disconsolately at the ripples where he’d last seen the giant striper. “What’s up, Kurt?”

“Can you come up with a computer model that will reconstruct a transatlantic ship voyage? I know it’s a tall order.”

“I’ll give it a try,” Trout said. “I’ll need a date. I can figure in currents, weather, and speed if that information is available.”

“Actually, very little is available. This was a Phoenician ship. The crossing was made around 900 B.C.”

Trout was more intrigued than discouraged. “Tell me more,” he said.

“I’ve sent you a package by special courier. Should be there by now. It will explain everything. This is urgent. I’ll call first chance I get. Bye.”

“What was that all about?” Gamay said after Trout clicked off.