“At three o’clock in the morning?” muttered the confused man, studying Jarvis’s identification under the floodlights. Then he turned to the guard.

“They’re okay; let them through.” He faced Jarvis again. “The way to the dock is a bit tricky. I’d better come along. By the way, I’m Metz, Lou Metz, superintendent of the shipyard.”

Metz went back to his car and said something to a woman sitting on the passenger side. “My wife,” he explained, hunching into Pitt’s backseat. “Tonight is our anniversary. We were on our way home from celebrating and I happened to drop by the yard to pick up some blueprints.”

O’Shea unhooked the barrier cable and dropped it to the wet ground. He motioned to Pitt to hold while he leaned in the window. “If you see that bus driver, Mr. Metz, ask him what’s delaying his departure.”

Metz looked puzzled. “Bus driver?”

“Came through about seven o’clock this evening carrying a load of about seventy black guys. They were headed for the Iowa.”

“You let them through?” Metz asked incredulously.

“They all had proper passes, including the driver of the truck, who followed them in.”

“Fawkes!” Metz snapped angrily. “What’s that crazy Scot up to now?”

Pitt shifted into drive and steered the car into the yard. “Who’s Fawkes?” he asked.

“Captain Patrick McKenzie Fawkes,” Metz said. “Royal Navy retired. He made no secret of the fact that some black terrorist bunch hired him to refit the ship. The man is nuttier than a cashew factory.”

No Re turn Ticket I 213

Jarvis turned and faced Metz. “How so?”

“Fawkes has driven me and my crew up the bulkheads giving the entire vessel a major facelift. He’s made us strip her down next to nothing and replace half the superstructure with wood.”

“The/owa was never designed to float like a cork,” said Pitt. “If her buoyancy and gravity centers are drastically altered, she could capsize in a heavy storm.”

“Tell me about it,” Metz grunted. “I’ve argued with that stubborn bastard for months. I might as well have farted at a hurricane for all the good it did me. He even demanded we remove two perfectly good General Electric geared turbine engines and seal their shafts.” He paused and tapped Pitt on the shoulder. “Turn right at the next pile of steel plating and then swing a left at the derrick’s rail tracks.”

The temperature had dropped and the rain was becoming an icy sheet. Two large boxlike shadows materialized under the headlights. “The bus and truck,” announced Pitt. He parked the car but left the motor running and the lights on.

“No sign of the drivers,” said Jarvis.