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ite。 Boaters stopped to snap pictures until police showed up and hastily cut down the rope。 The spectacle of the bullet…riddled boats all but vanquished hopes that the Matsibu executives would be found safe。
It now appeared that they'd been abducted by either psychopaths or terrorists…a far more devastating scenario； publicity…wise； than a simple crocodile attack。 A dour…faced contingent from the Japanese consulate in Miami arrived by private jet at Ocean Reef； where they were given a suite of waterfront rooms and unlimited long…distance privileges。 Meanwhile； in Washington； a team of FBI forensic experts already had packed for the trip to Florida…they awaited only the somber phone call； reporting that the deposing bodies had been located。
Then the dozen Japanese canoeists surprised everybody by turning up alive； unharmed and closemouthed。 By daybreak on April 30； the Matsibu men and women were on a chartered Gulfstream 5； speeding back to Tokyo。 The local press milked what it could from the ecotour…gone…awry angle； but in the absence of first…person quotes （and corpses）； the story faded quickly from the headlines。
Lt。 Jim Tile had heard about it before it made the TV news； the state Highway Patrol sent five road troopers and its top K…9 unit to join the search for the important visitors。 The discovery of the canoes…and the emphatic manner in which they'd been sabotaged and strung up for display…confirmed Jim Tile's suspicions about the incident on Steamboat Creek。 He was hopeful the Japanese would remain silent； so that no other authorities would make the connection。 Obviously Dick Artemus had not。 Jim Tile purposely hadn't shared his theory about the ecotour abduction with the governor during their brief meeting in Tallahassee。
That afternoon； though； the trooper dialed the voice…mail number they customarily used to trade messages…he and his friend； the long…ago governor…and was annoyed to find the line disconnected。 So he packed an overnight bag； kissed Brenda good…bye and drove south nonstop； virtually the full length of the state。 The sun had been up an hour by the time he arrived at the gatehouse of the Ocean Reef Club in North Key Largo。 The trooper was admitted to the premises by a surly young security guard who apparently had failed the rudimentary knuckle…dragging literacy quiz required to join regular police departments。 The guard reluctantly escorted Jim Tile to the club's executive offices； where…after producing a letter of introduction from the attorney general…the trooper was permitted to examine a roll of film that had been found in a camera bag left behind by one of the Japanese canoeists。
The film had been developed into a black…and…white contact sheet by the local sheriff's lab technician； who had understandably failed to recognize its evidentiary value： Thirty…five of the thirty…six frames were dominated by a blurred finger in the foreground…not an unmon phenomenon； when a 35…mm camera was placed in the excitable hands of a tourist。 But； to Jim Tile； the finger in the snapshots from Steamboat Creek did not appear to be the wayward pinkie of a slightly built Japanese business executive； but rather the fleshy； hairy； crooked； scarred…up middle digit of a six…foot…six Anglo…American hermit with a furious sense of humor。
The last photograph on the roll； the only photograph without the finger； was of equal interest to the trooper。 He turned to the slug…like security guard and said： 〃Does the club have a boat I can borrow？ A skiff would do fine。〃
〃We keep a twelve…footer tied up at the marina。 But I can't letcha take it out by yourself。 That'd be 'gainst policy。〃
Jim Tile folded the contact sheet and slipped it into a brown office envelope； the same envelope Dick Artemus had handed to him at the governor's mansion。
〃So； where's the marina？〃 the trooper asked the security guard。
〃You ain't authorized。〃
〃I know。 That's why you're ing with me。〃
It was a shallow…draft johnboat； powered by a fifteen…horse outboard。 The guard； whose name was Gale； cranked the engine on the third pull。 Over his ill…fitting uniform he buckled a bright orange life vest； and told Jim Tile to do the same。
〃Policy；〃 Gale explained。
〃Fair enough。〃
〃Kin you swim？〃
〃Yep；〃 said the trooper。
〃No shit？ I thought black guys couldn't swim。〃
〃Where you from； Gale？〃
〃Lake City。〃
〃Lake City； Florida。〃
〃Is they another one？〃
〃And you never met a black person that could swim？〃
〃Sure； in the catfish ponds and so forth。 But I'm talking about the ocean； man。 Salt water。〃
〃And that's a different deal？〃
〃Way different；〃 the guard said matter…of…factly。 〃That's how e the life jackets。〃
They crossed Card Sound behind a northerly breeze； the johnboat's squared…off hull slapping on the brows of the waves。 Gale entered the mouth of Steamboat Creek at full throttle but slowed beneath the low bridge。
He said to the trooper； up in the bow： 〃How far you need to go？〃
〃I'll tell you when we get there； Gale。〃
〃Is that a 。357 you got？〃
〃It is。〃
〃I don't got my carry permit yet。 But at home I keep a Smith 。38 by the bed。〃
〃Good choice；〃 said Jim Tile。
〃I b'lieve I'll get somethin' heavier for the streets。〃
〃See the eagle？ Up there in the top of that tree。〃 The trooper pointed。
〃Cool！〃 exclaimed Gale the security guard。 〃Now for that； you need a pump gun； twenty…gauge minimum 。。。 Hey； I gotta stop'n take aleak。〃
〃Then stop；〃 said Jim Tile。
〃I drank about a gallon of Sanka this morning and I'm fit to 'splode。〃
〃Anywhere's fine。 Gale。〃
The guard cut the engine and the boat coasted silently in the milky green water。 Gale removed the life vest and modestly turned around to urinate off the stern。 The featherweight boat swung sidelong in the current； and at that moment an ill…timed gust of wind disrupted Gale's golden outflow； blowing it back on the front of his uniform。 He let out a yowl and clumsily zipped himself up。
〃Goddammit。 That won't work。〃 He started the engine and idled the nose of the boat into the trees； up against the bank。 Stepping out； he snagged one foot on a barnacled root and nearly went down。 〃Be right back；〃 he told the state trooper。
〃Take your time； Gale。〃
To escape the messy effect of the breeze； the security guard clomped twenty yards into the woods before choosing a spot to unzip。 He was midstream…and pissing gloriously； like a stallion…when he heard the chuk…a…chuk of the outboard motor。 Gale strained to halt his mighty cascade； tucked in his pecker and charged back toward the water's edge。 When he got there； the johnboat was gone。
Jim Tile headed down Steamboat Creek at half throttle。 A school of finger mullet scattered in silvery streaks ahead of the bow。 From behind he heard Gale the security guard bellowing hoarsely in the mangroves。 He hoped the young man wouldn't do something pletely idiotic； such as attempt to walk out。
As he followed the creek； the trooper closely scanned the shoreline along both sides。 He wasn't expecting an obvious sign； a flotilla of searchers had been up and down the waterway and found nothing。 Jim Tile knew his friend would be careful not to leave tracks。 The trooper shed the life vest and