“Maybe he could bird-dog this thing for us. Too bad you can't get in touch with him.”

Austin set his drink down, pulled his wallet from his pocket and extracted the card Aguirrez had given him as he was leaving the Basque's yacht. He handed the card to Gunn, who noted the phone number on the back. “Why not?” he said, and handed the card back.

Austin picked up a phone and punched out the number. He was tired from the night's exertions, and his expectations were low. So he was startled when he heard the familiar basso voice on the line.

“What a pleasant surprise, Mr. Austin. I had the feeling we'd be talking again.”

“Hope I'm not interrupting anything important.”

“Not at all.”

“Are you still in the Faroes?”

“I am in Washington on business.”

“Washington?” “Yes, the fishing in the Faroes didn't live up to its reputation. What can I do for you, Mr. Austin?”

"I called to thank you for pulling me out of some difficulties in

Copenhagen."

Aguirrez made no attempt to deny that his men had chased away the club-yielding thugs who'd attacked Austin and Them Weld. He simply laughed and said, “You have a way of getting yourself in dif- ficult situations, my friend.”

"Most of my troubles have to do with a company called Oceanus.

I was hoping we might chat about that subject again. Maybe you could bring me up to date on your archaeological investigation as well."

“I'd like that very much,” Aguirrez said. “I have meetings in the morning, but tomorrow afternoon would be convenient.”

They agreed on a time, and Austin jotted down the directions Aguirrez gave him for an address in Washington. He hung up and started to fill Gunn in on the short conversation, when the phone rang. It was Zavala, who had returned from Europe. Joe had fixed the problems with the Sea Lamprey, then had jumped ship when the Beebe had been invited by the Danish vessel Thor to join in a Faroe Islands research project.

“Just wanted to let you know I'm home. I've hugged my Corvette and I'm about to head out for a nightcap with a beautiful young lady,” Zavala said. “Anything new since I last saw you?”

“The usual stuff. Tonight, a crazy Eskimo on a dogsled chased me through the Mall with murder in his heart. Other than that, things are quiet.”

There was silence at the other end of the line. Then Zavala said, “You're not kidding, are you?”

“Nope. Rudi's here. Drop by my place and you'll get the whole sor- did story.”

Zavala lived in a small building in Arlington, Virginia that had once housed a district library. “Guess I'm cancelling that date. Be by in a few minutes,” he said.

“One more thing. Still got that bottle of tequila we were going to break into back in the Faroes?” “Sure, it's in my duffel bag.” “I think you better bring it with you.”