Chapter 2

What is it they say about plans? Oh ... I remember...

They never survive first contact.

Hineahuone stepped out on deck in standard ocean voyage uniform ... nothing. A dusky Grace lookalike ... I admired.

"Quit that."

"Quit what?"

She pointed at the tent in my khaki shorts. "Either drop the shorts or lose the tent. It's fairly obvious you like to look at me."

"I should ... you look like Grace and I love looking at her ... by the way ... what are you doing?"

"Two things. I'm going out with your darling wife and get some sun ... and the Navy wants you on the radio."

"Sun? You mean you're going to tan?"

"I'll probably burn ... I brought some Australian Sunblock. I hope it works."

"Burn?"

"Since we started wearing western clothes ... we burn if we get too much sun. Damn Europeans and their contrary God. They claim He made us ... but we're supposed to cover up His work," Hineahuone said. "Go answer the radio ... I'll take the wheel."

I released the wheel to her and headed below. I seated myself and picked up the microphone. The mike was one of those pedestal mikes with the switch in the base. Damn awkward. I clicked the switch.

"Anderson."

"Took your time."

"I had to relinquish the wheel, explain the course and admire the new helmsman."

"Ah yes, Hineahuone Te Wherowhero. The boys are extremely upset you kidnapped her."

"Didn't!"

"We know. She was more than willing ... tell me ... is she more than willing?"

"Wouldn't know ... if I did I wouldn't say. My mom would beat me severely if I were less than a gentleman."

"Ah ... I do understand ... rumors ... that women tan in the altogether when they're at sea. Is such the case on the K5?"

"Yes."

"Oh good ... there's a Navy C-130R on the way with a message that shouldn't go out over the airways. Pick it up ... there's a good chap."

I didn't know that the message came in the guise of a good chap. I thought it was just a saying.

"Thanks for picking me up, mate. It was looking lonely out here." He was a blond, blue eyed Scots ... at least he had the right accent. He was about six foot eight and very fit. He had quite the story:

"My Da was a German Para ... or so he claimed ... early on in the war ... or maybe even before ... somehow he ended up in Old Deer at the Russell's, spoke excellent British ... married the daughter ... my Ma. Settled in and had a houseful. The Army took over the house and the family moved to New Zealand," he complained, "Sodding Pommys ... trashed the homeplace and still wanted tax ... so Da took off the roof ... there's grass growing in the Great Room. It's not a house if there's no roof ... no roof, no tax."

"Interesting," I said. "Why are you here?"

"You have to go back."