"That's right. My name is Balthazar Aguirrez. This is my boat." With his barrel chest and large hands, Aguirrez looked more like a longshoreman than the owner of a yacht that was probably worth several million dollars. He had a broad forehead and thick black eye- brows over a strong nose, a wide mouth that curved upward in a natural grin, and a chin like a granite ledge. His eyes were the purple- black of ripe olives. He wore a light-blue sweat suit identical to the
one on loan to Austin. A black beret was perched at a jaunty angle on his thick pepper-and-salt hair.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Aguirrez. My name is Kurt Austin. Thanks for your hospitality."
Aguirrez extended his hand in a bone-crunching grip. "Think nothing of it, Mr. Austin. We like to entertain guests." His dark eyes danced with amusement. "Most arrive on board in a
more conventional manner, however. May I pour you another Izarra?"
Austin waved it off. He wanted to keep a clear head. "Perhaps after you have some food. Are you hungry?"
Austin had worked up an appetite since the bread and cheese he'd eaten for brunch. "Yes, now that you mention it. I wouldn't mind a sandwich."
"I would be a poor host if I could not do better than a sandwich.
If you feel well enough, I'd like you to join me for a light meal in the salon."
Austin levered himself out of the chair and stood, somewhat shak- ily. "I'll be fine."
Aguirrez said, "Splendid. I'll give you a few minutes. Come when you're ready." He rose and left the cabin. Austin stared at the closed door and shook his head. His brain still felt waterlogged. He was weak from blood loss. He went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. He looked like a commercial for ghoul makeup. Not sur- prising after being stabbed, shot at and blown out of the water. He washed his face with cold, then hot, water. Noticing an electric shaver, he removed the stubble on his chin. When he stepped back into the stateroom, he saw he had company.
The tough-faced stewards who had escorted him earlier were wait- ing. One opened the door and led the way, while the other man took up the rear. The walk gave Austin ample opportunity to exercise, and he felt his legs grow stronger with every step. They came to the main deck salon, and one of the men motioned for Austin to enter. Then he and the other man left him alone.
Austin stepped into the salon and raised his eyebrows. He had been on dozens of yachts and had found the decor to be similar. Chrome and leather and clean contemporary lines were the norm. But the Navarras salon resembled the interior of a southern European farmhouse.
The eggshell-white walls and ceiling were of stucco, inlaid with rough-hewn beams, and the floor was a red tile. A fire w
as crackling in a large, stone fireplace that had been built into one wall. Over the mantle was a painting of men playing a game Austin recognized as jai alai. He went up to a still-life painting of assorted fruit and was examining the signature when a deep voice said, "Interested in art, Mr. Austin?"
Aguirrez had come up from behind without making a sound. Austin said, "I collect dueling pistols, which I think of as a form of art."
"Without question! Deadly art is still art. I picked up that Cezanne for my little collection last year. The other pieces I found at auction or acquired from private sources."
Austin strolled past the Gauguins, a Degas, Manets and Monets. The "little collection" was more extensive than that found in many museums. He moved to another wall that was covered with large photographs.
"These are originals, too?"
"A few of my holdings," Aguirrez said, with a shrug. "Ship- building yards, steel mills and so forth." He sounded like a jaded waiter rattling off items on a menu. "But enough of business." He took Austin by the arm. "Dinner is ready."
He led the way through sliding doors into an elegant dining room. At the center of the room was an oval mahogany table set for twelve. Aguirrez removed his beret and, with a snap of his wrist and great accuracy, flung it to a chair across the room. He gestured grandly to- ward the two opposite chairs at one end of the table. As the two men
took their seats, a waiter appeared from nowhere and poured their tall goblets full of wine.
"I think you will like this sturdy Spanish Rioja," Aguirrez said. He raised his glass. "To art."
"To the master and crew of the Navarra "You're very gracious," Aguirrez said with obvious approval. "Ah good," he said, his eyes lighting up. "I see that our feast is about to begin.
There were no appetizers, and they dug right into the main course, a hearty bean, pepper and pork-rib dish served with cabbage. Austin complimented the chef and asked what the dish was.
"This is called alubias de tolosa" Aguirrez said, downing his food with gusto. "We Basques treat it with an almost mystical reverence."
"Basque. Of course. Navarra is a Basque province. Then there's the jai alai painting. And the black beret."
"I'm impressed, Mr. Austin! You seem to know a great deal about my people."
"Anyone interested in the sea knows that the Basques were the greatest explorers, sailors and shipbuilders in the world."
Aguirrez clapped his hands. "Bravo." He refilled Austin's wine- glass and leaned forward. "Tell me, what is your interest in the sea?" He maintained his ferocious grin, but pinioned Austin with a pene- trating gaze.