Julia waved back and threw them kisses. “Whoever those wonderful men are, they saved our lives.”

“Their names are Al Giordino and Rudi Gunn.”

“Friends of yours?”

“For many, many years,” Pitt said, beaming like a lighthouse.

The struggling old Chrysler marine engine almost carried them to the end of their harrowing voyage, but not quite. Its bearings and pistons finally froze from lack of oil, and it gave up the ghost only two hundred yards from the dock that extended from the main street of the seaside village of Grapevine. A young teenager with an outboard boat towed the battered Chris-Craft and its weary passengers to the dock, where two men and one woman waited. None of the tourists strolling the wooden pier nor any of the local residents fishing over the railings would have guessed by the casual clothing that the three people standing at the end of the dock were INS agents about to collect a group of illegal immigrants.

“Your people?” Pitt asked Julia.

She nodded. “I've never met him but I assume one of them is the district director of investigations.”

Pitt held up the little boy, made a funny face and was rewarded with a smile and a laugh. “What will happen to these people now?”

“They're illegal aliens. Under the law they must be sent back to China.”

He looked at her and scowled. “After what they've endured, it would be a crime to send them back.”

“I agree,” said Julia. “But my hands are tied. I can fill out the required paperwork and recommend they be allowed to stay. But their final disposition is beyond my control.”

“Paperwork!” Pitt nearly spat the word. “You can do better than that. The minute they step foot in their homeland, Shang's people will have them killed, and you damned well know it. They wouldn't be alive if you hadn't shot down the ultralights. You know the rule, save someone's life and you're forever responsible for them. You can't wash your hands of them and not care about their fate.”

“I do care,” Julia said firmly. She looked at Pitt the way women usually look at men when they feel as if they're talking to the village idiot. “And I'm not about to wash my hands of them. And because it is entirely possible, as you suggest, that they might be murdered if they returned to the Chinese mainland, it goes without saying that they'll be given every opportunity to apply for political asylum. There are laws, Mr. Pitt, whether you or I like them or not. But they're for a purpose and must be followed. I promise you that if it is humanly possible for these people to become United States citizens, it shall be.”

“I'll hold you to that promise,” Pitt said quietly. “Believe me,” she said earnestly, “I'll do everything in my power to help them.”

“Should you run into problems, please contact me through NUMA. I have a bit of political influence and might arrange for the Senate to back their cause.”

She looked at him skeptically. “How could a marine engineer with NUMA possibly have political influence in the Senate?”

“Would it help if I told you my father is Senator George Pitt of California?”

“Yes,” she murmured, properly awed. “I can see you might prove useful.”

The boy in the outboard cast off the towline, and the Chris-Craft bumped against the dock pilings. The Chinese immigrants were all smiles. They were happy at not being shot at any longer, and elated to have at last reached safety in America. Any apprehension about their fate was set aside for the moment. Pitt passed up the little boy and girl to the waiting hands of the INS agents and then turned to help the mother and father step up to the dock.

A tall, jovial-looking man with twinkling eyes stepped up to Julia and put his arm around her. The look on his face was one of compassion at seeing the bruised and swollen face with blood caked around the split lips. “Ms. Lee, I'm George Sim-mons.”

“Yes, the assistant district director. I spoke to you over the phone from the cabin.”

“You don't know how happy we are to see you alive, how grateful for your information.”

“Not as happy as I am,” she said, wincing with pain as she tried to crack a smile.

“Jack Farrar, the district director, would have greeted you himself, but he's directing the cleanup operation on Orion Lake.”

“It's started?”

“Our agents dropped onto the grounds by helicopter eight minutes ago.”

“The prisoners inside the building?”

“All alive, but in need of medical care.”

“The security guards?”

“Rounded up without a fight. At last report only their head man had yet to be apprehended. But he should be in custody shortly.”

Julia turned to Pitt, who was helping the last of the elderly immigrants out of the runabout. “Mr. Simmons, may I introduce Mr. Dirk Pitt of NUMA, who made your raid possible.”

Simmons stuck out his hand to Pitt. “Ms. Lee didn't have time to fill me in on the details, Mr. Pitt, but I gather that you pulled off a remarkable achievement.”

“They call it being hi the right place at the right time,” said Pitt, gripping the INS agent's hand.

“Seems to me it was more like the right man being where it counts most,” said Simmons. “If you don't mind, I'd like a report of your activities over the past two days.”

Pitt nodded and then pointed at the Chinese who were being herded by the other INS agents to a waiting bus at the end of the dock. “These people have gone through the worst ordeal imaginable. I hope they'll be treated in a humane manner.”

“I can safely say, Mr. Pitt, they will be given every consideration.”

“Thank you, Mr. Simmons. I appreciate your concern.”

Simmons nodded at Julia. “If you feel up to it, Ms. Lee, my boss would like your presence at the retreat to assist as a translator.”

“I think I can stay awake a little longer,” she said stoutly. She turned and looked up at Pitt, who stood beside her. “I guess this is good-bye.” He grinned. “I'm sorry I proved to be a lousy date.”

She ignored the pain and smiled. “I can't say it was romantic, but it was exciting.”

“I promise to show more savoir faire the next time.”

“Are you going back to Washington?”

“I haven't received my marching orders yet,” he replied, “but I suspect they came with my pals, Giordino and Gunn. And you? Where will the needs of the service send you?”

“My home office is in San Francisco. I assume that's where they'll want me.”

He moved forward and took her in his arms, kissing her gently on the forehead. “Next time we meet,” he said softly, tenderly touching his fingertips to her cut and swollen lips, “I'll kiss you full on the mouth.”

“Are you a good kisser?”

“Girls come from miles around to kiss me.”

“If there is a next time,” she murmured softly, “I'll return the favor.”

Then she was walking with Simmons to a waiting car. Pitt stood alone by the forlorn Chris-Craft and watched until the car rounded a streetcorner. He was standing there when Giordino and Gunn came bounding across the dock, shouting like madmen.

They had remained in the air until the runabout was safely tied to the town dock. Seeing an INS helicopter sitting in a field about a mile north of town, Giordino would have none of it. He set the NUMA helicopter down in a parking lot less than a block from the dock, much to the annoyance of a deputy sheriff, who threatened him with arrest. Giordino pacified him by claiming they were scouting locations for a Hollywood production company and promised they would recommend Grapevine as the perfect backdrop for a new big-budget horror movie. Suitably charmed by NUMA's most renowned con artist, the deputy insisted on driving Giordino and Rudi Gunn to the dock.

Standing only five feet four inches but with shoulders nearly as wide as he was tall, Giordino lifted Pitt off his feet in a great bear hug. “What is it with you?” he said, elated to see Pitt alive. “Every time I let you out of my sight you get into trouble.”