With this crew of merciless rabble, taking the floating puss parlor named the Melody would be a piece of cake—unlike the deadly and unexpected encounter of the night before.

  They had run into the small, utilitarian craft almost by accident. Teach had been planning to leave it alone, but the men on the small boat had other plans. They had approached Teach’s ship. To flee would have invited suspicion—and it turned out, these were very suspicious boaters.

  They weren’t suspicious anymore.

  They were closing on the Melody now, their Jolly Roger flapping in the breeze, and Teach’s men were lined up on the deck just like a proper firing squad, prepared to spray the yacht with bullets if their man on board couldn’t control the passengers.

  If anyone had asked for his opinion, Billy Teach would have informed them that he didn’t care so much for planting men aboard the boats they meant to raid. His reasons were twofold. First, you couldn’t really trust another pirate much beyond your line of sight, and he was always worried that the men they sent ashore to work as plants would turn somehow, betray them to the law, or else go into business for themselves. It hadn’t happened so far, but there was a first time for everything, and it made Billy nervous. The second reason was that he preferred the old ways, coming at your target in a rush, catching him unawares if possible, or else compelling him by brute force to submit. It felt wrong, somehow, when the work was more than half done by a single man on board the target vessel, and the raiders hadn’t even stepped aboard yet. Where was the adventure, then? The risk? The rush of spilling blood in combat?

  He recognized the need for bloody action as a failing of his own. God knew, Kidd had reminded him of that time and again, telling him that the smart thief was the one who bagged his loot without a struggle, then disposed of witnesses as quickly and efficiently as possible. No fuss, no muss. Each time potential targets were engaged in combat, there was risk to Billy’s crew, to Teach himself—and all for what? The path of least resistance was the road of preference for wily buccaneers, and those who lived to see old age would verify that fact.

  Teach knew all that, and still he missed the action on an easy raid. Perhaps this time they would get lucky. Maybe someone on the tub they were about to loot would have more balls than brains and try to make a fight of it.

  On the other hand, there were incidents like their predawn encounter. Those men had been nosy and stupid, a combination sure to get you killed. And it did get them killed. But the killing had been simple butchery. Very efficient, over within seconds and not very exciting.

  Teach kept his fingers crossed and manned the railing as his first mate steered the trawler close enough for them to board the Melody. A sickly sweet name that was, but he reckoned the Colombians would change it soon enough if they agreed to buy the cabin cruiser. There was little fear that they would turn it down, given the way Ramirez and his people went through boats on smuggling runs to the United States. Between the Coast Guard, DEA and mainland hijackers, the cocaine barons never seemed to have sufficient vessels to fulfill their needs.

  Three men were waiting for Teach at the Melody’s starboard railing. One of them he recognized, if only vaguely, as their inside man. His name was Paco something, Billy thought, but it made no real difference. The only thing that mattered was that he had done his job, keeping the others covered, making sure they offered no resistance to the boarding party. Too bad.

  Checking out the other two, Teach had to smile. In fact, it was an effort not to laugh out loud. The taller of the men looked soft, as tourists often did, more suited to a desk job than to a sailing tour of the treacherous Caribbean. Teach would have bet his share of any loot they found aboard the cabin cruiser that her skipper had soft hands, together with a yellow streak that ran the full length of his spine.

  It was the Melody’s second passenger who made Teach want to crow with laughter as they pulled alongside and prepared to board. He was an ancient Asian, possibly Chinese, whose few remaining strands of hair were baby fine, stirred by a breeze that wafted from the south. He wore some kind of robe that looked as if it were made of silk. Long sleeves almost concealed the old man’s hands, but Teach could tell that he was scrawny in the Asian style, a stringy skeleton wrapped up in yellow skin. The man had to be a hundred, and he probably weighed less than that.

  Some kind of servant, Teach decided. Probably the cook. It gave him hope if these two landlubbers were rich enough to drag a Chinese cook along with them when they went on vacation. That could mean there was cash aboard the Melody, perhaps with some expensive jewelry for dessert.

  “Ahoy, there!” he called out to Paco something at the rail.

  The young man raised his free hand in a kind of vague salute, keeping his pistol trained on Melody’s passengers. “We ready for joo,” he replied. “But there’s a problem. I cannot find the woman!”

  “Can’t find the woman?” Teach knew the younger man was supposed to have his wife on board. His blood chilled slightly.

  “We’ll find her!” Wink shouted.

  “Hold, dogs!” Teach commanded, and suddenly an odd stillness fell among the expectant, rambunctious crew. “Describe this woman!” Teach shouted.

  “Can we kill them now?” Chiun asked. He had grudgingly allowed himself to be rousted from the television at gunpoint to join them on deck, and the look he gave Remo spoke volumes. Remo could read those volumes, which mostly described how off-putting this entire charade was, how personally in debt Remo was for Chiun’s vast patience with it all and how Chiun would much rather have silently switched Pablo off so he could go on watching his soap opera.

  Pablo had seen the same look on the old Korean’s face when he ordered him out of the media room, but to Pablo, ignorant of the fact that those who interrupted Chiun’s TV watching were typically committing suicide, interpreted it as an expression of fear.

  “Be my guest and swim on over,” Remo replied, voice low and lips barely moving. Pablo was too busy to notice them speaking. “I think I’ll wait until the boat is within jumping range. Just remember to leave enough alive to take us to their secret pirate fort.”

  “You want me to do all the work,” Chiun complained.

  Remo wasn’t listening to Chiun any longer as the pirate on the approaching ship shouted to Pablo, “Describe this woman!”

  Pablo looked confused, but shouted back a brief list of Stacy Armitage’s physical attributes.

  The pirate captain then looked worried. He turned to one of the crew and barked, “Bring her up.”

  “Oh, crap,” Remo Williams muttered. He knew what he was going to see next, and Fate didn’t disappoint him.

  Stacy Armitage, disheveled, frightened and furious, was dragged up from the depths of the trawler. Chiun sniffed. Remo was more vocal in his frustration.

  “Shut up!” Pablo said savagely. He was scared now. “What is going on?” he demanded of the pirate captain.

  “We took her off a boat we met up with a few hours ago. She was with two DEA agents,” the pirate called.

  “Now can we start killing them?” Chiun asked as the pirates tossed padded grappling hooks over the Melody’s rail and Pablo took the time to set them fast, still covering his prisoners.

  Remo was watching the pirate captain, who placed a pair of his men to guard the senator’s daughter, and sent them belowdecks.

  “Not yet, Little Father. Not until Stacy is safe.”

  Chiun gave Remo another look. It said simply, Well, okay, but you are going to owe me big time.

  Okay, Remo thought, bringing the babe was a big boo-boo. Chiun was right and he was wrong. But what the hell was he supposed to do, let her wander the streets of Puerta Plata asking the wrong people the wrong questions until she got herself thoroughly killed?

  Well, yeah, that probably would have been better than letting her fall into the hands of this freaked-out band of buccaneer wanna-bes.

  Self-recrimination was one of the two trains of thought jockeying for dominance in Remo’s brain as the pirates boarded the Melody. The second was an unquenchable disbelief in what he was seeing. He had never really believed they’d run into a bunch of pirates who really thought they were pirates. It was nuts. But here they were, all decked out in garb that, minus zippers and assorted other trivia, could easily have passed inspection in another century. Half of them were shirtless, while the rest wore shirts sporting bishop sleeves and antique-looking buttons where they closed in front at all. A lot of them left their shirts gaping open like some pretty boy on the cover of an historical romance novel. Their pants were faded, baggy, patched, some held in place with rope strung through the belt loops. Several of the men wore cross belts, supporting a variety of swords or sabers, in addition to the firearms they displayed. Bright-colored scarves were knotted around several necks, and two of the attackers wore bandannas on their heads. One of the boarders wore an eye patch, and the trawler’s captain had produced a tricorne hat from somewhere, prior to boarding, and it perched atop his head now, like a kooky badge of rank.

  “Permission to come aboard, sir,” the pirate captain in the tricorne said, laughing aloud at his own wit. A couple of the others chuckled, too, but it was plainly more from courtesy than any real appreciation of the joke. Most of the boarding party had seemed intent on stripping Stacy with their eyes, or else examining the Melody for any sign of loot.

  “Permission granted,” Remo said, playing the game.

  “Ah, courtesy.” The pirate leader smiled. “We don’t be seein’ much of that these days.”

  “Life’s hard,” said Remo.

  “That’s the ever-lovin’ truth, and gettin’ harder all the time,” the pirate said. “William Teach, at your service. I’ll be takin’ command of your vessel today.”

  It was a bad sign that the leader of the boarding party gave his name, Remo knew. It meant that Teach didn’t anticipate survivors testifying in a court of law against him. Even though that knowledge came as no surprise to Remo, still it emphasized the desperate nature of his mission, and the peril facing Stacy, should anything go wrong beyond that point. “I don’t suppose you’d entertain objections?” Remo asked. It was pushing his luck, but he felt better, stalling for time.

  “Oh, aye,” said William Teach. “I’ll entertain whatever you’ve a mind to offer, but I doubt that it will do you or the missus any good. If she’s really your missus, which I doubt. Name?”

  “I’m Remo Rubble. You’ve already met my wife, Stacy. And Chiun, a family friend.” He let his voice turn hard as he glanced back toward Pablo Altamira. “You know our guide, I take it.”

  “That’s the dyin’ truth,” Teach said, and laughed again. “Young Paco there’s a friend o’ mine.”

  “Pablo,” the young Dominican corrected Teach.

  “Whatever.” Teach didn’t so much as spare a glance for the offended gunman.

  “Under the circumstances,” Remo said, “he won’t mind if I hold up payment for his services.”

  Teach brayed another laugh, enjoying Remo’s wit. “Hold up his payment! That’s a corker, it is. But you’re right as rain, sir. You’ll be payin’ me this trip. I’ll see young Paco taken care of, right and proper.”

  “That’s a load off my mind,” Remo told the pirate, managing a smile. “Why not let my wife join us?”

  “No more games,” Teach said, but he was still smiling. “You DEA?”

  “No, but the DEA asked us to keep an eye out for suspicious activity while we were on our cruise,” Remo said, coming up with a cover story on the spot.

  “See, we have all this special stuff in the helm. Computers and what have you. Paid an extra half million just for the electronics. I guess the DEA’s stuff isn’t as good, so they said as long as we were cruising around maybe we could keep an electronic record of ship activity.”

  “That doesn’t explain why we found the missus in a DEA boat before dawn this morning,” Teach prodded.

  “They radioed last night that they thought a big drug run was going on in the vicinity and offered to take Stacy to safety. Since she was debarking in a couple of days anyway, we took them up on the offer. Where are the DEA agents?”

  Teach nodded vaguely at the vast Caribbean. The meaning was clear. The DEA agents were feeding the fishes. Teach’s smile was taunting now. “Not a very likely story, Mr…Remo, was it? Now, what kinda name is that, if I may ask?”

  “Unlucky,” Remo said.

  The pirate laughed again. “Truer words were never spoke, my friend. Unlucky’s what you are, all right, but as it happens, I’ve been feeling generous all day. How would it be if I said you could choose the way you’ll die?”

  “I’d pick old age.”

  “Well said!” Teach answered, chuckling. “But that method isn’t on the menu, I’m afraid. Suppose I tell you what’s available, and you pick what you like.”

  “Whatever.”

  “We could try keelhauling, but I don’t recommend it to the friendly sort. There’s still beheading, and the firing squad, of course. Old standbys, if you will. I’d offer you a duel, but that’s too time-consuming, I’m afraid. If you’re a sporting man, you just might want to walk the plank.”

  “And have you shoot me in the water?” Remo asked.

  Teach placed one hand over his heart and raised the other, with a shiny pistol in it, to the sky. “My word of honor as a gentleman,” he said without apparent irony. “We’ll leave you sink or swim, as Fate would have it.”

  “What about my wife?” asked Remo. “And Chiun?”

  “Your ‘wife’ goes with us, o’ course, just in case your friends happen to catch up to us, which they will not,” said Teach. “We’re not as cruel as that, to kill a sweet young thing who’s barely gotten started on the road of life. She’ll not be lonely in her widowhood, I promise you. As for the Chinaman, I haven’t made my mind up yet. He wouldn’t cook, by any chance?”

  Remo was sure Chiun was going to start doing some killing before the entire word “Chinaman” was uttered, but the old master stood stock-still, hands in his sleeves, face impassive. Remo couldn’t begin to calculate the favors he was going to owe Chiun.

  “This really is your lucky day,” said Remo, holding on to his peculiar smile. “He makes the best damn Chinese food you ever tasted.”

  “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try him out, then,” Teach replied. “Not promisin’ you anything, o’ course, if he don’t pull his weight.”

  “I understand,” said Remo. “Every man for himself.”

  “That’s it in a nutshell,” Teach agreed. “Now, as to walkin’ that there plank, we haven’t really got a plank, as such. It’s more a matter of you jumpin’ o’er the rail, you see.”

  “Just diving in?”

  “Simple as that,” Teach said.

  “And you won’t shoot me, once I’m in?” asked Remo.

  “I already give my word on that,” Teach answered, frowning. “You’re not tryin’ to insult me, are you?”

  “Not at all,” said Remo. “I’m just making sure we understand each other.”

  “Fair enough, then. Off you go.”

  Remo strolled past Chiun and muttered briefly in Korean. “Keep them from killing her. Please. I’ll catch up soon.”

  “There is very little an old Chinese cook can hope to accomplish,” Chiun protested.

  “Goodbye, old friend,” Remo said formally, in English, for show. “For me, Little Father,” he added in Korean.

  “I’ll do what I can,” Chiun sniffed.

  Cripes, Remo thought. He was going to be doing all the cooking for the next six months.

  “What’d you say to him?” Teach asked.

  “I asked him to refrain from killing the lot of you before I could catch up,” Remo said.

  Teach chuckled as he and a couple of his crewmen herded him along the deck, their weapons trained on his back. Remo reached the stern rail, stepped up onto it, arms spread for balance and pitched forward, out of sight.

  Teach wasn’t chuckling now. He actually admired the man, going so stoically to his death. When the pirate on his left prepared to aim and fire his shotgun, Teach thrust out a hand and jarred the man off balance, cursing him.

  “I give my word, you scurvy bastard! Make a liar outta me an’ I’ll be forced to do for you.”

  The pirate with the shotgun glowered but didn’t protest the insult. Moments later, Teach came back to Chiun, surrounded by the other members of his boarding party.

  “Mr. Chin, I hope for your sake that you make some mighty fine chop suey, because that’s the currency yer gonna be buying your mortal existence on.”

  Chiun, Master Emeritus of Sinanju, said in a squeaky voice, “I understand, Captain.”

  But what he was thinking was, That inconsiderate white son of mine is going to be doing the cooking for the next six months. Maybe longer.

  “Where are we going, Captain?” he asked.

  “A true pirate’s home,” said William Teach. “A tropic island paradise, and no mistake.”

  Remo struck the azure surface of the water in an imperfect swan dive, making sure to create a splash. He could have entered the water soundlessly, without a ripple that the eyes of the pirates could see, but he didn’t want them getting suspicious.

  Plunging deep, he left a trail of bubbles in his wake for some distance, also for show on the surface. He submerged to thirty feet and began releasing only the tiniest carbon dioxide bubbles as he progressed rapidly. When he surfaced he was 150 yards due south of the Melody and her companion vessel. Without field glasses, he knew his head would be invisible to anyone on board the boats. He watched the activity. His plan was to board whichever vessel Stacy ended up on and get her safe. There was a sudden fury of activity, men passing between the vessels, and Remo was heading for the trawler when he smelled a distraction.

  A slight tang in the water. Human blood. So Teach wasn’t so honorable after all. He hadn’t shot at Remo, as he promised he wouldn’t, but he had taken some steps to insure Remo died in the water, one way or another.