Austin glanced around at his surroundings, his memories return- ing. “Ship's doctor? This is the blue yacht, isn't it?”

“That's right. My name is Balthazar Aguirrez. This is my boat.” With his barrel chest and large hands, Aguirrez looked more like a longshoreman than the owner of a yacht that was probably worth several million dollars. He had a broad forehead and thick black eye- brows over a strong nose, a wide mouth that curved upward in a natural grin, and a chin like a granite ledge. His eyes were the purple- black of ripe olives. He wore a light-blue sweat suit identical to the

one on loan to Austin. A black beret was perched at a jaunty angle on his thick pepper-and-salt hair.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Aguirrez. My name is Kurt Austin. Thanks for your hospitality.”

Aguirrez extended his hand in a bone-crunching grip. “Think nothing of it, Mr. Austin. We like to entertain guests.” His dark eyes danced with amusement. "Most arrive on board in a

more conventional manner, however. May I pour you another Izarra?"

Austin waved it off. He wanted to keep a clear head. “Perhaps after you have some food. Are you hungry?”

Austin had worked up an appetite since the bread and cheese he'd eaten for brunch. “Yes, now that you mention it. I wouldn't mind a sandwich.”

"I would be a poor host if I could not do better than a sandwich.

If you feel well enough, I'd like you to join me for a light meal in the salon."

Austin levered himself out of the chair and stood, somewhat shak- ily. “I'll be fine.”

Aguirrez said, “Splendid. I'll give you a few minutes. Come when you're ready.” He rose and left the cabin. Austin stared at the closed door and shook his head. His brain still felt waterlogged. He was weak from blood loss. He went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He looked like a commercial for ghoul makeup. Not sur- prising after being stabbed, shot at and blown out of the water. He washed his face with cold, then hot, water. Noticing an electric shaver, he removed the stubble on his chin. When he stepped back into the stateroom, he saw he had company.

The tough-faced stewards who had escorted him earlier were wait- ing. One opened the door and led the way, while the other man took up the rear. The walk gave Austin ample opportunity to exercise, and he felt his legs grow stronger with every step. They came to the main deck salon, and one of the men motioned for Austin to enter. Then he and the other man left him alone.

Austin stepped into the salon and raised his eyebrows. He had been on dozens of yachts and had found the decor to be similar. Chrome and leather and clean contemporary lines were the norm. But the Navarras salon resembled the interior of a southern European farmhouse.