“Name’s Maguire, and my friend’s Brown,” one said in a Kiwi accent. He was a dusty-haired figure with a stringy beard. “Formerly of the Gretchen. You just get off the Labrador?”

“Yes. She was called the Adelaide when we went aboard.” Pitt introduced himself and Giordino.

“First time I’ve seen a hijacked ship here,” Maguire said. “They usually steal the cargo at sea and scuttle the ship. That’s what they did to the Gretchen, right off Tahiti. Zapped us with their microwave device and took control before we knew what hit us.”

“Was it mounted on a big square dish?” Pitt asked.

“Yes. Know what it is?”

“We think it’s an offshoot of an Army crowd-control device called the Active Denial System or ADS.”

“It’s bloody nasty, whatever you call it.”

“How long have you been here?” Giordino asked.

“About two months. You’re the second crew I’ve seen come in. Our numbers have been down as the attrition rate’s a little high,” he said in a low voice. “Just drink plenty of water and you’ll be okay. At least they don’t short us that.” He swabbed up the remains of his soup with a hard crust of bread.

“Pardon the ignorance,” Pitt said, “but where exactly are we?”

Maguire laughed. “Always the first question. You’re in the hot, rainy, wretched jungles of Panama. Exactly where in Panama, I can’t say.”

“Maguire here has befriended one of the guards,” Brown said. “They apparently take periodic leave by boat in Colón, so we must be near the Atlantic side.”

Maguire nodded. “Some of the boys think we’re in the Canal Zone, but it’s hard to know for sure as we never get off our little five-acre island of joy. The boss comes and goes by helicopter, so true civilization must be a bit farther away.”

“Anybody ever make it out of here?” Giordino asked. “Seems like the prisoners heavily outnumber the guards.”

Both men shook their heads. “Seen a few try,” Brown said. “Even if you get past the death stripes, they’ll come after you with the dogs.” He noted the welt on Giordino’s arm. “You get kissed by Johnny the Whip today?”

“Something more than a peck,” Giordino said.

“He’s a sick one, no doubt about it. Best to steer clear of him whenever possible.”

“Who ultimately does run this place?” Pitt asked.

“A guy named Edward Bolcke. Some sort of genius mining engineer. He’s got his own residence just up the way.” Maguire pointed toward the dock. “He built this entire complex to extract and refine rare earth elements. From what we’ve learned, he’s a major player in the world market, and is particularly tight with the Chinese. One of the extraction workers claims a quarter of a billion dollars’ worth of rare earth elements are processed here a year, much of it stolen.”