With Zavala and the Basques keeping watch, Austin stepped in- side and flashed his light around. The shed was empty, except for some lines, anchors, buoys and other boating paraphernalia. After a quick glance around, he was about to leave, when Ben, who had fol- lowed him inside, said, “Wait.”

The Indian pointed to the concrete floor. All Austin saw were mounds of dirt tracked in by those using the building. Ben got down on one knee, and with his finger, traced the small footprint of a child. Austin's eyes hardened, and he strode back outside to find Zavala and the Aguirrez brothers staring at some lights that were moving in the lake. Austin thought he heard the sound of a motor. He couldn't be sure, because the sound of Barker's voice was still being carried on the wind. He reached into his pack and pulled out a pair of night- vision goggles, which he put to his eyes. “It's some sort of boat. Square-built with low sides.”

He handed the goggles to Ben, who peered through the lenses and said, “That's the catamaran I saw the first time I was here.”

“I don't recall you mentioning it.”

“Sorry. There was so much happening that night. When Josh Green and I brought my canoe in, we saw it tied up to the dock. Didn't seem important at the time.”

“It could be very important. Tell me about it.”

Ben shrugged. “I'd say it was more than fifty feet long. Kind of a barge, but with a catamaran hull. A conveyor belt a couple of yards across ran down the center from a big bin at the bow back to the stern, which slopes down. We figured it was used to feed the fish.”

“Feed the fish,” Austin murmured.

“You remember what I told you about the fish cages I saw.”

Austin wasn't thinking about fish in cages. Ben's words had con- jured up the Mafia cliche associated with concrete overshoes and a trip to the bottom of the East River. He cursed as he recalled the nasty habit that had got the Kiolya in trouble with its neighbor tribes. Barker had cooked up a mass human sacrifice to go along with his send-off.

Austin trotted to the end of the dock. He stopped and squinted through the night-vision goggles again. With Ben's description run- ning through his mind, he had a better understanding of what he was seeing. The low-slung craft was moving slowly and had almost reached the middle of the lake. In the illumination cast by the run- ning lights, he could see people moving around the deck. He couldn't tell what they were up to, but he had a good idea.

Pablo had followed him. “What is it?” he said, looking out at the lights reflected in the water.

“Trouble,” Austin replied. “Call in the SeaCobra.”

Pablo undipped the radio from his belt and barked an order in Spanish.