Happy to be back on the ship; its movements now very welcome next to the high-risk steadiness of the solid ground we’d worked our way up, over, and out of just a bit of time before.

“Since we are in this together,” I stated, loudly, with acid in my tone, “just what the hell is the Aguiak, and what are you supposed to get there during your ‘shore party.’?”

Dutch looked the picture of innocence.

“The Aguiak is an island. We’re putting in off its natural harbor so the crew can re-attach the link to the bulkhead in the chain locker, without the ship bouncing all over the place. I’m going ashore to lead a hike of the more athletic passengers up to the summit of the peak there.”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, Dutch, but I know I’m going along on that hike. I also note that you haven’t mentioned what the little sack is supposed to be for, or why it was delivered by a German Officer.”

I pointed at the bureau, but he offered nothing more.

It was going to be an interesting hike once we were on ‘The Aguiak.’

I checked my watch. We were due to deliver our ‘stand-up’ ten-minute lectures to the assembled passengers in half an hour. That would give me time to kill sitting in the bar. Marlys might not even be there, I kidded myself. On the way up the stairs, I noted that the deck was beginning to heave again. We were in for more great swells. I reached into my pocket and felt the silver anklet inside, massaging the dolphins. I wished I had remembered to bring my digital camera with me from the room. I wanted a photo of the mysterious woman. Maybe her image wouldn’t show up using such a medium. I’d check to see if I could see her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. I laughed at the thought. I’d taken shots of the Isle of the Tsar of Russia with the camera, from my porthole, while it was still burning. I wondered if I’d need them when we hit the Pribilofs, if we ever got to the Pribilofs.

The Lido deck (on ships, the deck named after a famous resort called Lido de Venezia) was filled with passengers lounging. Most took note of me when I walked by, but no one said anything. I behaved as I imagined a real anthropology lecturer and guide would. I wandered casually over to the bar. My corner spot was open, so I took it. Wedged in, I waited. A few moments later, Marlys rounded the corner from the storeroom behind the bar, carrying some liquor bottles. As always, she was stunning. White blouse, tied at the top of her black trousers. Her midriff was bare.

I checked the mirror and found her reflection. I was unaccountably relieved. She poured a cup of coffee, then came over to the corner where I sat. The cup was not a cup. It was one of those tall glass things. The way I glanced at it caused her to comment.

You don’t like it?” she said in her dusky, mysterious voice. The tinge of Dutch (or was it Surinamese?) was not irritating. It was alluring.

I didn’t answer her, not wanting to say something stupid.

“We have other cups,” she volunteered, seeming to know that the tall, vaguely feminine glass bothered me. “What do you normally drink your coffee from?”

I searched for something profound to say. Anything.

“Ah, I drink my coffee from thick ceramic bowls, usually, when I can find them. It’s an old Navy thing.” I blushed. I couldn’t believe what had come out of my mouth.

She stood square and straight, and then looked directly into my face.m  “Were you in the Navy?’ she inquired, waiting.

“Ah, no,” I answered, truthfully… and stupidly.

She just continued standing there, looking at the biggest idiot aboard the ship.

“I want to talk to you,” she stated, after a moment of silent staring.

“Yes, I know,” I began, reaching into my pocket for the anklet.

“No,” she said, her voice nearly a soft hiss. She extended one hand out toward me. “I’ll come to you.”

“But your anklet,” I tried again.

She stopped me.

“The anklet is to hold you,” she explained, offhandedly, like it was something I might be expected to hear anywhere or anytime from anyone.

She moved back toward the storeroom, while I admired the departing curve of her backside, the material covering it not tight, just warmly snug. Such quality, I thought, as I was left to consider what she might have meant by her comment. Maybe it was a language thing, I guessed. I fingered the anklet inside my pocket.

Marlys reappeared, briskly walked the length of the bar, and grabbed my coffee glass. She poured its contents into a cream-colored ceramic bowl. She walked away with neither look nor word. I stared into my swirling coffee.

“Great,” I chastised myself.

I was doomed to spend the remainder of my time aboard drinking coffee like “Cochon,” the Navy veteran from the Golden Nugget in Nome. I was a Marine. Some kind of reverse violation of code, but I wasn’t going to spend any more time thinking about it.

Don joined me at the bar. His great bulk was a comfort beside me.

“What are you going to say to the passengers?” he asked, innocently.

I shrugged. We hadn’t seen anybody that entire day. Outside of the Russian fishermen, that is. We never did catch sight of any Russian Commandos. We weren’t even dead certain they’d been there. What could I report on since no anthropology had occurred? Other staff crew members gathered near the bar.

Benito soon appeared, set up the pedestal microphone, and then lined up a row of chairs in a semi-circle behind the device. She motioned for all of our staff, sitting around, to occupy the chairs.

I left my bowl of coffee on the bar. My place was at the end of the row, with Don beside me. I looked behind him. High up on the bulkhead, I spotted something that hadn’t been there before. I peered at the small insignia with squinted eyes. My eyebrows shot up as I recognized the small drawing. It was the head of Mickey Mouse. I prodded Don. I motioned toward the small effigy, but he would not turn to look. He just chortled quietly.

“Your Mouseketeers are here,” he whispered.

My stomach felt strange looking again at Mickey, high up on the wall. The mission was still way up ahead of me, but the whole world around me was spinning out of control. It wasn’t just loss of control, I realized. It was worse than that. I had also lost the ability to comprehend what was spinning.

Everyone took his or her turn at the microphone. I was last. Benito introduced me. I got up and walked to stand behind the raised instrument. Benito passed behind me. She flagrantly moved her hand across my butt as she passed. To my credit, I did not jump, but I did look behind me into Don’s eyes. His face was screwed up and contorted, but he hadn’t let out a sound. The crowd of almost a hundred people had all paid over twenty thousand dollars each to spend ten days with us. Somehow that reassured me.

“I’m Professor…” I began, but that was it.

They applauded. Then they rose and clapped some more. I was dumbfounded. I just stood there, like a mummy, until the din eventually quieted. I turned to Don, beseeching him for help. He leaned forward.

“Just tell them, you know, the story of what happened on the island,” Don suggested, “after all, it’s the big adventure of their cruise,” he finished.

I thought for a brief moment, inhaled deeply, and then began to lie about the incident

When I finished my hurriedly rushed story, spoken out to the assembled passengers, the staff crew and the audience repaired to the back of the Lido deck. The World Discoverer’s (‘Disco”) fantail was one flat teak surface, polished clean with brushes and stones at least once a day. There were tables and lounge chairs aplenty. No one had to stand, so, except for a few people at the rail who were watching both the Isle of the Tsar of Russia Islands waning in the distance, everyone collected in pockets around the tables. Marlys and a few of her assistants took orders. They brought out drinks from the inside bar.

I sat with Don and Dutch at the same table. Marlys delivered a bowl of coffee, already pre-mixed with cream and sugar, and placed it in front of me, then walked off to let an assistant take the other’s orders. Don’s eyes twinkled. He looked at my coffee bowl, his squinty expression one of suspicion.

Several passengers had come and gone from our table. Their questions were endless, all revolving around the rather grim survival tale I had spun earlier. By transforming Don into the true leader of our adventure away from the ship, my fake story never approached the true risks we had faced.

A young woman made her way through the crowd. I was amazed when I recognized her. I had never seen the Basque outside of Don’s cabin. Her body was as exotic and alluring as her face. The crowd parted around her, the men turning in waves to watch her movements. She leaned over Don’s shoulder. He didn’t notice. She tapped him on the arm. Don started, leaning in to hear something she said. When she finished, he got up and departed. They walked away together.

Dutch and I watched them intently. Mostly we analyzed and appreciated the back of her body.   Dutch signed for several large tropical drinks when Marlys’ assistant returned. I wondered what an Assistant Cruise Director earned, particularly when I spied the size of the bill. Drinks from the Lido bar were not cheap.

Dutch drank half of one of the Mai Tais down, or whatever the bright colored drink was.

Wiping his mouth, he asked: “What do you suppose she wants?”

I drew a blank. The Basque was not a woman I could figure out. The mere thought of attempting it caused me to look for Marlys.

“What’s the plan when we get to St. Paul?” Dutch inquired when it became apparent that I wasn’t going to be drawn into a discussion about the strange woman.

“St. Paul?” I asked.

I had already checked my satellite maps, though, and I knew that St. Paul was the westernmost of the Pribilof Island chain. The only one with a natural harbor. It also had a permanent population. Dutch presumed correctly that I knew something about the place. I concealed my knowledge, however.

“The pouch? Are you going to tell me about the pouch?” I pestered him, still watching the serious discussion between the Basque and Botany Bay.

Dutch went to work on the second drink, saying nothing more. He vacated his seat without comment when Don returned with Maialen on his arm, but he didn’t leave. Dutch didn’t comment until he was ready to depart.

“Kessler’s meeting us in St. Paul. He got himself aboard a fishing boat out of Sitka.” Dutch shook his head while he spoke, his expression sour, but there was something else in it.

I couldn’t quite understand, possibly a tinge of fear or despondency.

“Who’s Kessler?” I asked, not liking Dutch’s expression at all.

Don answered as the Assistant Cruise Director was walking away.

“Kessler’s the real captain. He’s quite a nice gentleman. But he exercises no control over Borman. And Borman will be angry that he can’t make believe he’s the captain anymore. He’ll also be all over the place with his sadistic anger, instead of up on the bridge.”

The Basque began to hum gently. It was The Mouseketeer Song. Don smiled at her but spoke to me.

“Kessler’s also her dad, or rather, her step-father,” Don continued.

I grimaced, covering my intense surprise, but said nothing. Kessler was the Basque’s father. Somehow, that had to be bad news, I knew.

Don had indicated that the Aguiak Island would be reached around dawn.

I needed sleep. I was also intensely hungry. I ran down to the empty Filipino kitchen. Ham sandwiches sat atop a serving plate. I ate four of them in only minutes before departing to my cabin.

A constant knocking brought me out of my sleep. The cabin was totally dark. I had sealed over the porthole using duct tape and cardboard. I oriented myself and then checked my watch. The big radiating numbers and hands indicated that it was nearly two a.m. I moved to my door, the top sheet wrapped about my body. I didn’t switch on the light. I turned the handle.

Marlys forced the door open. She slid through, closing it behind her, then glided by me. She found my single chair in the dark. I returned to my bunk, pressing myself into the bulkhead.

She began to talk. “I promised to take off my clothes if you asked me to.”

I said nothing, but adrenaline surged through me.  I wasn’t used to being in a small enclosed space with a beautiful woman who was not my wife.

“Are you going to ask me?” she went on.

I looked to where she had to be but could see nothing of her in the darkness.

“It’s dark. I can’t see in the dark. It’d be pointless,” I stalled.

She knew it and came right back at me.

“You can turn on the light. It won’t offend me.”

I swallowed. I had expected the meeting, but I had not expected a full-frontal attack as I emerged from a deep sleep. Where was her finesse? And I had not expected her analytical presentation, flatly cold in its delivery, with emotional words expressed without emotion.

“You said you wanted to talk to me,” I began. “It’s late. I’m tired. Very tired. What is it you came here to say?”

I looked to where I thought the door to be and wondered who else might wander on in. Alice, I thought, from Alice in Wonderland? Why not?

“You seem to think that I’m some sort of religious leader, or guru, or something like that. I’ve heard the talk. I’m not what you think. They also say that you are something other than what you say. That you are more than you admit. I don’t know what to believe. But I need your help.”

My eyes could finally make her out, sitting on my chair, not five feet away. I considered her words.

“Is that why you’re here in the middle of the night? To induce me to help you in some unknown way?” I didn’t need to put the question to her, of course. I knew the answer.

“Yes,” she answered immediately, and then paused. “Mostly,” she finished.

“Will you help me?” she begged. I breathed in and out deeply.

“Let’s make a deal,” I suggested, “whatever the problem is, if it’s within my power, I’ll help you fix it, but can I go back to sleep now?”

She said nothing, sitting in the darkness. I heard gentle movement. I felt her close.  Then she went to the door and was gone. The door clicked after her, and I couldn’t sleep for another hour or so. My last thought was about the assistance she needed. Probably wanted somebody killed, which seemed likely with everything else that had happened so far. I realized that, if that was the case, it was assistance I could provide rather easily as long as it conformed to the accomplishment of the mission, if I ever got to the physical part of the mission.

My chain locker alarm went off with wild abandon. I jumped out of sleep and then settled back. The Filipinos were beginning their work on the anchor. Sleep was done. I hurried into my clothes and gear, wearing the Wellingtons, even though there would be some climbing. With the cardboard off my porthole, I saw that the summit of the island approximated the altitude of the massif we had climbed when we were on the Isle of the Tsar of Russia.

I grabbed my canvas sack with the Stryker and morphine inside, just in case, then made my way towards the Zodiac portal, arriving just in time. Filipe saw me stick my head out the hatch. I heard Dutch command him to depart, but Filipe only looked around and dawdled. I jumped onto the big rubber tube, depositing myself next to Dutch at the bow.

“Thanks for waiting,” I said, as Filipe opened up the outboard’s throttle.

We skimmed across the calm water at top speed. Our passenger group of ‘volunteers’ for the ‘hearty athletic hike’ was small. Only six males.   Filipe kept the throttle at maximum. The shore of Aguiak closed quickly. I could see small lapping surf throwing itself onto mounded stacks of golf ball-sized stones. Polished black stones. We went at the beach hard, hitting the rocks at nearly thirty-five miles per hour. The Zodiac glided up onto the stones. We stopped dead, after sliding a distance twice the length of the boat. Filipe had canted the motor up at the very last second, to clear the shallows and any underwater rocks. I thought it an amazing feat of seamanship. I saluted the man, without expression. His own face turned serious. He made no gesture, but I read his look. One warrior to another.

Aguiak Island had two mountains, one on either end of the kidney-shaped island. It was almost two islands, I saw, with the surf nearly crossing the flats between the two raised portions. Dutch set out as soon as all passengers were helped out of their life vests. We followed his brisk lead. I took up the rear. The stones made fatigue the hike’s most significant factor. My feet plunged nearly a foot deep into the stones with each step. The labor of inserting them into the stones, then forcefully withdrawing them, was draining. It got harder with each step.

By the time my group of hearty adventurers reached the foot of the mountain, Dutch was already a hundred feet above us, up near the rise. I realized that he was younger, and in great shape, and that he was using those attributes to distance himself. The passengers were tuckered out. They sat or milled about near the notch up from the base of the mount. I told them that I’d make the climb with Dutch, then return and lead them back to the boat. I got no argument from any of them.

I pulled off my Wellingtons, threw them over my shoulders, and ran. My double-socked feet barely sank into the rocks at all. I skimmed over the stones, like a boat when it hits planing. Upon reaching the mountain itself, I jammed the Wellingtons back on and climbed aggressively. I was actually running up the side of the mountain. Just before Dutch reached the summit, I caught up with him. His natural advantages below had done him little good as the climb got steeper. He was simply too big and heavy to be a fast climber. Gravity made the rules and enforced them. When I pulled up next to him, he collapsed to the ground. His breathing was hard, as was mine. We rested together.

“Damn,” he wheezed out, finally. “I guess you are in. What else can I do?”

I just looked at him, catching my own breath. The view was staggering. The entire island lay below us, with the ship beautifully set into the gentle waters of the natural harbor. Both mountains of Aguiak were covered in bright green lichen, run through with clumps of yellow and red flowers. A great black band of stones surrounded the base of both peaks. It also ran as a thick band between them. I couldn’t think of anywhere I had ever been in my life that was as magnificent.

“You might as well show me whatever it is you’re talking about,” I stated, rising to my feet.

Dutch rose, his expression resigned. He turned toward the summit above us. We climbed carefully, and then ambled right over the top, not stopping. Down the other side, we entered a narrow cleft. It spiraled down for a short distance, then petered out. It appeared to be a crack in the mountain, not something caused by erosion.

I prepared myself for a stash of drugs or smuggled jewelry. I was not at all prepared, however, for what was there

Dutch continued to where the cleft narrowed. His big shoulders were almost touching each side when he stooped down. From one of his thigh pockets, he pulled out a small fold-up pick and struck the bottom of one wall, time after time. Then he stopped, replaced the hammer-like instrument in his pocket, and took out the pouch Günter had provided. Dutch turned to me with a slowly opening fist. What he held in his unclenched hand was a gold nugget.

I had never seen one like it, but there was no doubt what it was. The nugget was run through with green lines. I plucked the lemon-sized nugget out of his hand. I hefted it. It was extremely heavy for its size.

“The green lines are copper; the blue are turquoise,” he said, pointing down.

I thought for a few seconds, knowledge coming from somewhere in the archives of useless data stored within an unused corner of my mind. The nugget must have weighed several pounds, even for its small size. Dutch snatched it back. He forced it into the small pouch and then placed the pouch in one of his trouser thigh pockets.

I waited for him to move out of the way and then knelt to check out the place from which he’d had removed the nugget. What I saw was a vein. A foot wide, and about ten feet long, running down into the ground at the end of the cleft. I did some very rough calculations in my head. I came up with maybe ten tons of gold, if the vein played out after only twenty feet, or so, and was only five feet deep. The likelihood was that it ran farther and deeper than that. We climbed out of the cleft without saying anything. Dutch walked over to the very summit, sat on the highest stone, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I crouched next to him.

“So now you know,” he said with a sigh, as he blew out a puff of smoke.

I knew. My mind whirled.

Who else knows?” I asked him.

“Kessler, Günter, and me,” he answered. “But it’s U.S. government land. Kessler’s got to get some rights or permission. We’re not even supposed to be here right now. Borman’s drunk in his quarters, or else we wouldn’t be here. Had to get him drunk. Had to get here. Günter’s got to get this sample assayed in Dutch Harbor, so we’re sure. It’s my only chance now.”

“Your only chance?” I said, in exasperation. “What the hell was that all about with the anchor, then?”

He studied me.

“None of this matters if immigration takes me in when we hit St. Paul. I go straight into the system. I get deported back to Easter Island without ever seeing or talking to anyone. I don’t get a share of anything.” His frown was so intense that both of his eyebrows had become one.

I could not help but smile.

“What’s so funny?” he snapped, with real anger.

“This isn’t your only chance,” I said, pointing back behind us at the cleft. “I’m your other chance.”

I smiled up at him again.

The frown left his face as he began to think.

“Yeah, I guess so, but what about this?” At that, I snickered openly.

He pulled the fat canvas pouch from his pocket to inspect it.

“That, not your status,” I said, slowly and carefully, “Is very likely the reason why immigration is waiting for you in St. Paul, or quite possibly us.”

“Maybe so,” Dutch replied, his tone indicating that he wasn’t convinced of anything.

“Does the Disco have ship-to-shore communications?” I asked, not letting on that I had a small but dependable satellite phone in my luggage.  I was fully sensitized to the fact that having immigration show up in any form or at any time might be a huge mission problem.