"The northeast, you say," replied a voice like sandpaper.

"Probably on a cruise from Tahiti to New Zealand."

"Any sign of weapons or armed personnel?"

"None."

"She doesn't look threatening?" asked the rough voice.

"Not unless you consider two naked people in a Jacuzzi threatening."

"Is she making toward the channel?"

The security guard examined the heading of the twin bows as the yacht sped closer. "She looks to be going past."

"Stay on the air and report any suspicious movement. If she turns into the channel, you know what you have to do."

The guard glanced at one of the missile launchers. "A pity to destroy such a handsome boat." He swung in his chair and gazed at the boat through the glasses again, somewhat pleased at seeing it continue on a course past the channel. He watched until it became a tiny speck in the distance. Then he called over the radio again. "This is Pirate. The yacht is gone. It appears as if she dropped anchor in the open lagoon on the south end of Macaulay Island."

"Then she's harmless," said a rough voice.

"It would seem so."

"Watch her lights after dark and make sure she stays put."

"I suspect she settled in for the night. Her passengers and crew are probably going to barbecue steaks on the beach. They just look like yachtsmen on a South Pacific cruise."

"I'll fly a reconnaissance in the helicopter and see if you're right."

Misty and Giordino were not naked in the hot tub. They were wearing swimsuits provided by Cussler. They were, however, sipping rum collinses as the boat cruised under the steep palisades of Raoul Island. Cussler and Pitt were not as lucky. The old man sat at the helm station with a chart in his lap, eyeing the depth sounder and examining the bottom coral reefs that could have sliced the Periwinkle's twin hulls like razor blades through cardboard. Pitt had the worst job of all. He lay sweating under a pile of pillows and towels on the lower lounge deck, videotaping the guardhouse at the top of the cliffs overlooking the channel entrance.

Once the yacht was anchored, they all settled into the main salon and gazed at the monitor while Pitt played the tape on the VCR. The telephoto lens on the camera, combined with the video enhancement, revealed the guard through the windows of the guardhouse in slightly fuzzy detail but clear enough to distinguish him peering at them through a pair of huge binoculars. Added to the video was the soundtrack of the conversation between the guard and the coarse voice of his colleague somewhere in the Raoul Island lagoon, as traced and recorded by Cussler's high-tech communications systems.

"We fooled them," said Misty, unhesitating.

"Lucky we didn't attempt to run up the channel with all flags flying," Giordino said, pressing a bottle of cold beer against his forehead.

"They didn't give the impression they take kindly to strangers," Pitt agreed.