The captain and his deck mates conferred in hushed tones as the boat slowly swung around to point directly away from the shore. One of the men disappeared below briefly. When he reappeared he was wearing a bandolier and carrying an AK47 assault rifle. In the distance some exotic bird cried, casting an eerie spell over the scene.

“They are afraid of pirates,” Bentley whispered to Marissa and Tristan.

“There are still pirates?” Marissa whispered.

“There have always been pirates in the Pearl River,” Bentley whispered in return. “Always have been and always will be.”

About five tense minutes passed with only the drone of mosquitoes and the lap of waves disturbing the silence.

Then, out of the mist appeared a small wooden boat with two figures in it. One was in the stern using a sweep oar. The other was sitting amidships, facing forward.

The captain addressed the men. The armed deckhand kept his automatic rifle pointed at them. One of the men answered timidly in a whisper. The captain listened and then motioned for them to come aboard. With that, everyone seemed to relax a little.

“It’s the men they were expecting,” Bentley said with relief.

The man with the sweep oar moved the small boat around the side of the junk.

Marissa leaned over the gunwale to see the two Chinese men climb aboard. They abandoned the small boat, letting it drift off into the fog.

Within seconds, the anchor chain was pulled up from the depths. The captain ordered the sail hoisted to take advantage of the light offshore breeze. Silently, the large junk sailed away from the shore. The silhouettes of the treetops soon vanished in the mist.

“We must stay very quiet for another half hour,” Bentley whispered. All eyes strained into the velvety blackness; all ears listened for the slightest sound of another boat. But all they could hear was the creaking of their own rigging.

The two newly arrived Chinese men huddled together against the mast. No one spoke to them. They were dressed in simple black cotton clothing which reminded Marissa of pictures she’d seen of the Viet Cong during the Vietnam War.

“What should we do?” Tristan asked Bentley in a hushed whisper. “Can we go talk to those buggers?”

“Wait until the captain gives the word,” Bentley told him. “We have to get far enough away from shore.”

Even Marissa began to relax. The sea was like a sheet of black glass. Looking up, she could see the great billow of the sail against the gray mantle of the sky. Through the fog she saw a single star, a far cry from the profusion she’d seen in the Australian outback.

Lowering her eyes, Marissa was shocked to see once again the dim silhouette of treetops. They were again close to land!

“There’s the shoreline again,” Marissa whispered.

Tristan and Bentley looked.

“That’s strange,” Bentley said. “Just a moment. I’ll be right back.”