"Unless somebody else keeps luring the sharks away," said Remo. "Come aboard."
Chiun was in the main saloon, belowdecks, watching television. The selection had to have been abysmal, as they found him staring at an infomercial for an exercise device designed for toning stomach muscles, called the Ab Solution. Remo grimaced at a blond hard body with a thousand-candlepower smile and eyes that looked as if she was coming down from six or seven weeks on speed. The old Korean sat motionless in front of the plasma screen, surrounded by darkness, so motionless he might have been stuffed.
"Is that the best we have to offer, Little Father?" Remo asked Chiun.
"A moment ago this channel was showing a fine Argentinean drama," the old Korean said. "The moment you and the harlot stepped aboard, the signal went haywire and my lovely story of intrigue and romance was replaced with this!"
"You don't need an Ab Solution, Little Father," Remo chided. "Chiun, this is Stacy Armitage. Her father is the senator who turned the screws on you-know-who, who turned the screws on Upstairs."
Chiun never moved a muscle, but the TV abruptly went black. Stacy seemed to see the faintest reflection of a very lined face in the surface of the plasma screen, then the screen blazed back to life. The wizened Korean face was wiped out by a gleaming, muscular woman doing exercises. Even she looked uncomfortable using the Ab Solution, but every rep brought her large breasts, bulging out of their bikini top, looming into the camera lens. Her boobs filled the huge screen, forty-times life-sized.
"Shall I record it for you?" Chiun asked.
"No, thanks."
"The senator's trolloping offspring doesn't quite measure up, does she?" Chiun asked in Korean.
"That's enough." Remo steered Stacy out of the media room.
"He's a friendly old fart," Stacy said in a whisper. "You caught him at a bad time," Remo said. "He wants his MTV. M as in Mexican."
"Listen, do you think those guys tonight were ...well, you know?"
"Good citizens? The welcoming committee? Talent scouts? I'd vote for none of the above," said Remo.
"Dammit, this is serious. I need to know if they were in on what happened to Richard."
"It's a little late to ask them now," said Remo, "but I doubt it."
"Why?" she asked.
"It's just a hunch," he answered, "but they didn't have that pirate feel about them. Not a peg leg in the bunch, for openers. No parrots on their shoulders that I noticed."
"Very funny, Mr. Rubble."
"Call me Remo. If I had to guess, I'd say those four were city boys who didn't spend a lot of time at sea. In fact, I don't think they cared much for drinking water, much less sailing on it. What you did is set yourself up to be robbed and raped by some gorillas who had time to kill. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised to hear they'd pulled that kind of thing before. But hijacking a ship at sea?" He shook his head. "It doesn't wash."
"Unfortunately, I believe you're right," she said.
"So, now that you've experienced the wild life, may I take it you'll be going home?"
"Did I say that?"
"Not yet," said Remo, "but I keep hoping for some evidence of common sense."
Her cheeks flushed pink at that, but Stacy swallowed the sarcastic answer that immediately came to mind. "My brother's dead," she told him, "and I want to find the men responsible. What's wrong with that?"
"In theory, nothing," Remo answered, "but in practice ...well, you've seen how it plays out. You need some basic skills to go along with the enthusiasm, or you're just a sitting target."
"You could teach me," Stacy said, "and I can help you, too. You'll make a more inviting target with a woman on board ship."
"I'm guessing that you never had much problem with false modesty," said Remo.
"None at all," she answered, smiling for the first time in their brief acquaintance. "And you know I'm right. Admit it."
"Either way, it makes no difference," Remo said. "Do you have any other siblings, Stacy?"
"What?" She was confused by Remo's change of tack. "No, there was just my brother. What's that got to do with anything?"
"In case you didn't know, your father is the man behind this operation," Remo said. "He called in some markers with the big cheese and got things rolling. I don't imagine he'd approve my using you for bait. What do you think?"
"So you're afraid of him? That's it?"
"I have a job to do. Right now, you're in the way."
"I won't go back," she said. "You can't make me."
"Oh, really?" Remo let her see a twisted, mirthless smile.
The silence stretched between them long enough for Stacy to replay the alley scene in her mind and watch him kill four would-be rapists. Her voice was softer, carrying a tad less self-assurance when she said, "You wouldn't."
"Damage you?" He shook his head. "But I'll be glad to put you on the next flight to Miami, maybe call and have your father send down an escort. That should embarrass him enough to get him off his ass and make him take care of the problem. In the meantime, though, the men who killed your brother will have that much extra time for covering their tracks."
"You send me back, and I won't stay," she said. "I swear to God, I'll be right back here in another day or two. I don't care what my father says or does. I won't give up until I find the men who murdered Richard."
"And then what?" asked Remo.
Stacy held his eyes with hers. "I want to see them die. That's your department, I believe."
"If I decide to let you stay," said Remo, trying to ignore the little clucking sound Chiun was making in the media room, now two rooms away, "we have some ground rules going in. The first time you break one of them, I bounce your preppie ass back to D.C. Agreed?"
"Let's hear the rules," she said, then smiled.
Chapter 9
Remo and Stacy Armitage were window-shopping on Bay Street when Trade Winds Travel opened for business at 9:30 a.m. Remo felt rested and relaxed, despite Chiun's displeasure with Remo's decision to allow Stacy to travel with them.
"He doesn't like me, does he?" Stacy had asked over a breakfast of steamed rice.
"Chiun takes some getting used to," Remo said.
"That's okay. So do I."
Remo hadn't replied to that. Whatever happened, one way or another, he knew Stacy wouldn't be around that long.
The sole proprietor of Trade Winds Travel was a forty-something Englishman whose baked-in tan made him resemble a Hawaiian islander, until he opened his mouth. Long years of living in the tropics had done nothing to disguise the Cockney accent that betrayed his origins. His sun-bleached hair was showing threads of silver at the temples and receding slightly from a pointed widow's peak. The body underneath his lightweight cotton suit seemed fit enough, though he would never be mistaken for an athlete.
"Here, come in, come in!" he said as Remo followed Stacy through the office door, a cowbell clanking overhead. "What can I do for you this morning, aye?"
"Your poster advertises guided tours," Stacy said.
"That it does. You've got a sharp eye there, if I may say so. Howard Morgan, at your service."
"Remo Rubble, my wife, Stacy," Remo told him.
"Charmed," Morgan said. "Actually, we have several different packages available. If you require a boat-"
"We have our own," Stacy informed him, sounding just snotty enough for a well-bred child of privilege.
The travel agent fairly beamed. "That's all the better, then," he said. "Reduces overhead, you understand. In that case, I can fix you up with special maps, brochures and booklets for an independent cruise, if you want privacy. Guides are available on almost any island you may care to visit, and I can retain their services on your behalf, as well. We have them ready, that way, when you reach your port of call."