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ass stern。 Despite his short； rotund； and almost ical frame； he radiated that indefinable air of someone accustomed to the upper rungs of authority。 He wore his silver…yellow hair cropped excessively short； Prussian style。 His narrow eyebrows very nearly matched his clipped moustache。
The second vehicle in the caravan was an ambulance。 Church watched as a figure on a stretcher was lifted out and carried on board； but he failed to discern any features because of heavy mosquito netting that covered the face。 Though the person on the stretcher was obviously part of his entourage； Gottschalk took little notice； turning his attention instead to the chain…drive Mack truck that brought up the rear。
He gazed anxiously as a large oblong crate was hoisted in the air by one of the ship's loading booms and swung into the forward cargo partment。 As if on cue； Worley appeared and personally supervised the battening down of the hatch。 Then he greeted Gottschalk and escorted him to his quarters。 Almost immediately； the mooring lines were cast off and the ship got under way and was heading out to sea through the harbor entrance。
Gottschalk turned and noticed Church standing in the passageway。 He stepped from the cabin and closed the door behind him； his eyes narrowed with suspicion。 〃Something I can help you with； Lieutenant。 。 。〃
〃Church； sir。 I was just finishing an inspection of the ship and heading for the wardroom for a cup of coffee。 Would you care to join me？〃
A faint expression of relief passed over the consul general's face and he smiled。 〃Might as well。 I can never sleep more than a few hours at a stretch。 Drives my wife crazy。〃
〃She remain in Rio this trip？〃
〃No； I sent her on ahead to our home in Maryland。 I terminated my assignment in Brazil。 I hope to spend the rest of my State Department service in Washington。〃
Gottschalk appeared unduly nervous to Church。 His eyes darted up and down the passageway； and he constantly dabbed a linen handkerchief at his small mouth。 He took Church by the arm。
〃Before we have coffee； would you be so kind； Lieutenant； as to escort me to the baggage cargo hold？〃
Church stared at him。 〃Yes； sir； if you wish。〃
〃Thank you；〃 said Gottschalk。 〃I need something from one of my trunks。〃
If Church thought the request unusual； he said nothing； simply nodded and started off toward the forward part of the ship with the fat little consul general huffing in his wake。 They made their way topside and walked along the runway leading from the aft deckhouses toward the forecastle； passing under the bridge superstructure awkwardly suspended on steel stiltlike stanchions。 The steaming light； suspended between the two forward masts that formed a support for the skeletal grid connecting the coaling derricks； cast a weird glow that was reflected by the eerie radiance of the approaching swells。
Stopping at a hatch； Church undogged the latches and motioned Gottschalk down a ladder； illuminating the way with his flashlight。 When they reached the bottom deck of the cargo hold； Church found the switch and flicked on the overhead lights； which lit the area with an unearthly yellow glow。
Gottschalk shouldered past Church and walked directly to the crate； which was secured by chains whose end links were padlocked into eyebolts protruding from the deck。 He stood there for a few moments； a reverent expression on his face as he stared at it； his thoughts wandering in another place； another time。
Church studied the crate up close for the first time。 There were no markings on the stout wooden sides。 He judged its measurements at nine feet long by three feet high by four feet wide。 He couldn't begin to guess the weight； but knew the contents were heavy。 He recalled how the winch had strained when it hoisted the crate on board。 Curiosity overcame his mask of unconcern。
〃Mind if I ask what's inside？〃
Gottschalk's gaze remained on the crate。 〃An archeological artifact on its way to a museum；〃 he said vaguely。
〃Must be valuable；〃 Church probed。
Gottschalk did not answer。 Something along the edge of the lid struck his eye。 He pulled out a pair of reading spectacles and peered through the lenses。 His hands trembled and his body stiffened。
〃It's been opened！〃 he gasped。
〃Not possible；〃 said Church。 〃The top is so tightly secured by chains that the links have made indentations on the edges of the wood。〃
〃But look here；〃 he said； pointing。 〃You can see the pry marks where the lid was forced up。〃
〃Those scratches were probably caused when the crate was sealed。〃
〃They were not there when I checked the crate two days ago；〃 said Gottschalk firmly。 〃Someone in your crew had tampered with it。〃
〃You're unduly concerned。 What crew member would have any interest in an old artifact that must weigh at least two tons？ Besides； who else but you has the key to the padlocks？〃
Gottschalk dropped to his knees and jerked one of the locks。 The shackle came off in his hand。 Instead of steel； it was carved from wood。 He looked frightened now。 As if hypnotized； he slowly rose； looked wildly about the cargo partment； and uttered one word。
〃Zanona。〃
It was as if he triggered a nightmare。 The next sixty seconds were locked in horror。 The murder of the consul general happened so quickly that Church could only stand frozen in shock； his mind unprehending of what his eyes witnessed。
A figure leaped from the shadows onto the top of the crate。 He was dressed in the uniform of a Navy seaman； but there was no denying the racial characteristics of his coarse； straight black hair； the prominent cheekbones； the unusually dark； expressionless eyes。
Without uttering a sound； the South American Indian plunged a spearlike shaft through Gottschalk's chest until the barbed point protruded nearly a foot beyond the shoulder blades。 The consul general did not immediately fall。 He slowly turned his head and stared at Church； his eyes wide and devoid of recognition。 He tried to say something； but no words came out； only a sickening； gurgling kind of cough that turned his lips and chin red。 As he began to sag the Indian put a foot on his chest and yanked out the spear。
Church had never seen the assassin before。 The Indian was not one of the Cyclops' crew and could only be a stowaway。 There was no malevolence in the brown face； no anger or hate； only an inscrutable expression of total blankness。 He grasped the spear almost negligently and silently jumped from the crate。
Church braced himself for the onslaught。 He deftly sidestepped the spear's thrust and hurled the flashlight at the Indian's face。 There was a soft thud as the metal tube smashed into the right jaw； breaking the bone and loosening several teeth。 Then he lashed out with his fist and struck the Indian's throat。 The spear dropped onto the deck and Church snatched up the wooden shaft and lifted it above his head。
Suddenly； the world inside the cargo partment went mad and Church found himself fighting to keep his balance as the deck canted nearly sixty degrees。 He somehow kept his footing； running downhill with gravity until he reached the slanting forward bulkhead。 The India