He shrugged. “When we talked to the provincial fisheries people, they said the fish musta moved off, looking for better feeding. They didn't even send someone like we asked. Don't want to get their feet wet, I guess. The marine biologists all must be busy sitting on their fat asses looking at their computers.”

“Do you agree with what they said about the fish moving off?” He grinned. “For a tourist, you've got lots of questions.” “When I'm not a tourist, I'm a marine biologist.” Neal blushed. “Sorry. I wasn't, talking about your fat ass. Oh, hell-”

Gamay laughed. “I know exactly what you mean about computer biologists who never leave their lab. I think fishermen have more practical knowledge of the sea than any scientist. At the same time, professional expertise doesn't hurt. Maybe I can help you figure out why there are no fish to catch.”

A cloud passed over Neal's features. "I didn't say there are no fish.

There are fish all right."

“Then what's the problem?”

“These aren't like any fish I've seen in all my years of fishing.” “I don't understand.”

Neal shrugged. Apparently this was one subject he didn't want to talk about.

“I've studied fish in and out of the water all over the world,” Gamay said. “There isn't much that would surprise me.” “Bet this would.”

Gamay stuck her hand out. “Okay, it's a bet. How much is your engine repair bill?”

“Seven hundred fifty dollars, Canadian.”

“I'll pay that if you show me what you're talking about. Let me buy you a beer to seal the deal.”

Neal's unshaven jaw dropped open. “You're serious?” “Very. Look Mike, there are no fences in the ocean. Fish go pretty much where they please. There may be something harmful in these waters that could affect American fishermen as well.”

“Okay,” he said, shaking her hand. “When can you go?” “How about today?”

Neal grinned like a Cheshire cat. The source of his happiness wasn't hard to figure out. A nice-looking and friendly American woman was paying his boatyard bill and going out on his boat, alone, where he could turn on his rugged charm. Just then, Paul Trout walked into the bar and came over to the table.

“Sorry I took so long,” Paul said. “Harbor's pretty deserted.”

“This is Mike Neal,” Gamay said. “Mike, I'd like you to meet my husband.”

Neal glanced up at Trout's nearly seven-foot-tall figure, and his fantasies about Gamay evaporated. But he was a practical man-a deal was a deal. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. They shook hands.

“Mike here has agreed to take us out on his boat to show us some unusual fish,” Gamay said.

“We can leave in an hour,” Neal said. “That'll give you time to eat your lunch. See you over at the boat.” He rose from his chair and started to leave.

“Do we need to bring anything?” Paul asked.