"You'll see." She lifted her voice. "All engines stop. Bring out the grapples."
Floating over the spot minutes later, they lowered grappling hooks, swirling them around until they encountered drag, and winched them up.
Up came a clump of netting festooned with seaweed and orange flotation balls and two wooden panels the size of doors.
"Otter net," Sandy said, examining it. "Looks like it was cut or released in an awful hurry. Only a few cod in the cod end."
"So what made the pinging?" Remo inquired.
Sandy fingered a small electrical stud sewn into the net.
"See these? They're radio transmitters called pingers. They're attached to the nets to scare off porpoises. Environmental regulations mandate them to keep porpoises from getting caught with the cod."
"Very wise," said Chiun.
"Think this is off the missing boat?" asked Remo.
"I'd bet my sea legs on it," Sandy said. "The Santo Fado was in this area." She stood up. "Maybe it still is."
They trolled the area until the sonar scope came up with a big undersea contact.
They lowered an underwater camera by a cable and found the wreck.
"That's it. The Santo Fado. No sign of storm damage. Maybe a big wave capsized her."
"So where are the crew?" asked Remo.
"Maybe drowned. Hypothermia got them otherwise. Bad way to go. All alone in the drink with no hope of rescue." She frowned. "Still and all, they should have gotten off a distress signal."
Ordering the underwater camera recalled, Sandy Heckman gave the order to return to the Cape Cod Coast Guard station.
"So," Remo said after the cutter was charging back toward land, "you interested in dinner when we get back?"
"No."
"How about a movie?"
"Not a chance."
"Then I suppose sex is out, too?"
Sandy Heckman looked at Remo as if he were a bug. "I wouldn't have sex with you if you came with a winning lottery ticket."
Remo grinned. "Great."
She looked at him, then stomped off.
After she disappeared below, the Master of Sinanju joined Remo at the rail.
"I cannot believe your crudity. That was inexcusable," Chiun scolded.
"Had to make sure it was the shark scent and not her sweet disposition," said Remo happily.
"If you desire a woman who does not desire you, take her. Do not ask. Asking is the same as apologizing. It shows weakness. Women are not attracted to weakness, not that it matters what they want or do not want. Unless, of course, you intend to marry the female you desire. Wives matter. Other women do not."
"I'll keep that in mind. Meanwhile I'm enjoying a break from being chased around the quarterdeck."
"It will wear off," Chiun warned.
"There's plenty more shark in the sea ...."
"You will eat duck until I say otherwise," Chiun said darkly.
Chapter 19
Harold Smith sat on the horns of a dilemma.
In actual fact he sat in the cracked leather executive's chair with his back to Long Island Sound and his pinched, patrician face washed by the amber glow of his computer terminal.
Smith was waiting for the medical examiner's report on the body pulled out of the Atlantic by the Cutter Cayuga. While he waited, he created a simple table of organization.
What had begun with the inexplicable sinking of the Korean fishing vessel Ingo Pungo had apparently been going on for some time. Smith saw that clearly now. Commercial-fishing-vessel losses were at a twelve-year high. Statistically that was significant. The winter had been cold, but not particularly stormy.
The list of lost vessels filled the screen:
Maria D.
Eliese A.
Rimwracked II
Doreen G.
Miss Fortune
Mary Rita
Jeannie I
Santo Fado
All had been lost without a trace. All had vanished in a period of less than six weeks. No survivors found. The whitefaced corpse now being autopsied by the Barnstable County medical examiner in Cape Cod was the first. And the turbot inserted into his rectum was at least as significant as the blue fleur-de-lis smeared on his dead face.
Up in Canada, Parti Quebecois separatists were inching toward another referendum on separation. It was impossible to say this many months before the event whether it would result in the secession of Quebec from the rest of Canada. It wasn't impossible.
In Ottawa the Canadian federal government was busy appeasing the separatists. This was only causing English Canada to grow more resentful of French-speaking Canada.