“Ah, Admiral Zheng. What about it?”

“Actually, I’m talking about Admiral Tsai Song.”

“I’m afraid that’s a myth,” Perlmutter started, and then stopped speaking for a moment. “Did you find evidence that he really existed? He’s real?”

“Are you familiar with the Pine Island Treasure Pit?”

“Yes, of course,” Perlmutter’s voice suddenly shot up a couple of octaves. “My God. That was Tsai?”

“There’s a secret chamber off the main shaft. He left a plaque there, giving a hint to where they abandoned one of their other ships.”

“So it wasn’t pirate loot at all. I never believed it was, but this is fantastic. Tsai Song’s voyage was thought to be nothing more than a story, most likely invented in the eighteenth century as a way of claiming national pride when China was in the throes of unrest due to British meddling.”

“Kind of ‘Look at us, we once had an empire bigger than yours.’ ”

“Exactly. Listen, Captain Cabrillo—”

“Juan, please.”

“Juan, I’m not really the person you need to be speaking with. All I know is that there was a claim that Tsai sailed to America and back sometime around the end of the 1400s. I am going to put you in touch with Tamara Wright. She’s a Chinese history scholar who wrote an excellent book about Admiral Zheng’s voyage to India and Africa and has pieced together a history of the Admiral Tsai legend. Can I call you in ten minutes?”

“Sure.” Juan gave him his cell number and glanced at Max. “You just witnessed history, my friend. Dirk Pitt told me that in all the years he’s known Perlmutter, he’s never been able to stump the man.”

Not knowing St. Julian, Hanley was underwhelmed. “I’ll mention it next time I’m at NUMA.”

Juan’s phone trilled a few minutes later. “Bad news, I’m afraid. Tamara’s on vacation and won’t be back to her office at Dartmouth until next Monday.”

“For reasons I can’t discuss,” Juan said, “time might be of the essence. We only need a couple of minutes of her time.”

“That’s just it. She’s unavailable. The grad student who answered at her office said Tamara left her cell phone behind.”

“Do you know where she’s vacationing? Maybe there’s a way we can track her down.”

“Is it really that important?” Perlmutter asked, and then spoke again before Juan could reply, “Of course it is or you wouldn’t have asked. She’s on a Mississippi River jazz cruise aboard the Natchez Belle. I have no idea where they are right now, but you can probably get that information from the cruise line.”

“I’m already logging on to their website,” Cabrillo said. “Thank you, Mr. Perlmutter.”

“You can forget my crab and send me a translation of that plaque, and we’ll call it even.”

“Done and done.”

“So?” Max asked.