By the time they were drawing near the islands, the day had changed. A cold wind had blown in from the northwest and the fog seemed to come rolling up out of the sea like snow falling from winter clouds. As it moved in upon the mainland, the mountains there soon looked like a giant stone wall against which a heavy snow had drifted, burying the coastline and the city far beneath it. Pulling the collar of his raincoat up around his neck, Hook went out onto the stern deck, and almost immediately Parnelli came clambering down the ladder from the cockpit and gathered up his scuba gear and went on into the cabin, all without glancing at Hook. As the husky Italian started to get out of his clothes, Hook climbed up on the cockpit ladder and asked Douglas if he and Parnelli were still going spearfishing.

Douglas cut the engine to idle and the boat pitched forward, leveling. “Why not?” he asked.

“It’s not a very good day, is it?”

“The fish like this kind of day.” Douglas punched a button and Hook heard the anchor drop into the water.

“You’re going down too?”

Now Douglas spun around in his pilot’s seat. “Not today. Somehow things just don’t seem normal for me today.”

He got up, and Hook climbed back down the ladder ahead of him. In the cabin Parnelli was pulling the armor-like wet suit on over thermal long underwear. Seeing Hook, he snapped on a sneer.

“Hey, you wanta go fishing, shitkicker?”

Hook said nothing.

“Come on. You wanta go down with me? With me, remember—not on me.”

Liz came out of the low cabin now, yawning, zipping on a windbreaker with a hood. But Parnelli ignored her. He was still after Hook.

“What’s the matter? This look a little bit scary to you? You don’t think you’d dig it down there with all them little fishies? Shit, you’d have nothing to worry about, pal. Old Bo’d take good care of you, get you back home nice and safe with that family you’re so concerned about.”

“I’ll pass,” Hook said.

“You sure? I mean we’ve got the gear, man. I’ll give you a few minutes’ expert instruction in the drink and down we go. Christ, maybe you’ll spear a whale your first shot. Now wouldn’t that be something to tell the old folks at home?”

Douglas had moved past Hook into the galley, where he got out a fifth of Cutty Sark and poured some of it into two glasses, one of which he gave to Parnelli now. “I think you’re wasting your time, Bo,” he said. “I don’t think Mr. Hook would feel at home down there in the briny deep. And as we all know, he doesn’t like to go anywhere he doesn’t feel at home.”

“I thought scuba divers were cautious,” Hook said. “I didn’t know they went down in weather like this.”

Douglas grinned. “Well, let’s just say Bo’s the incautious type. When he’s down there, there’s just one more shark in the water.”