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ure。 He had a strong body； he was young and had seemed okay when they'd met at the Landfall Tavern that afternoon； but now he was so detached and distant。 〃Wasn't everything as you wanted it？〃 she asked him finally。
〃Yes。〃 He wiped the moisture from his face； stood up。 〃It was fine。〃 He got a striped terry…cloth robe out of his closet and put it on。 When he turned back he saw the sea shimmering； patches of silver and black； through the terrace doors。 The moon hung in the center of pendulous； free…form clouds。 From its position in the sky Moore estimated that it was a little past three。 His gaze moved； as if drawn； to the dark line that lay just outside the sheen of the harbor。 He could see the flashes of white breaking around the reef's exposed bommies； then he saw that other thing； that long black shape lying across the reef。 It seemed still wedged tight in the same position it had been in when he'd looked last。 He was afraid the surf would eventually beat the hulk free； but it was still angled toward the sky； the sea foaming in silver and green swirls of luminescence along its hull。
The hulk； dappled with moonlight and cloud…shadow like an eerie camouflage； sent a slow crawl up his spine。 How the hell did it e to be buried beneath the sand？ he wondered。 And； more importantly； whose boat was it？ British？ American？ German？ He focused his eyes； aware of the rustling of the girl's skirt across the room。 A U…boat？ One of Hitler's wolf…boats prowling the deep currents； here in the placid Caribbean？ It looked like a dark coffin recently exhumed。 He shook off the image quickly； but he couldn't shake a strange idea he'd had all day； something that had made him want to get to the Landfall Tavern； down a few forting shots of rum； and seek some panionship for the night ahead。
It was almost as if he'd felt pelled to try to dig that thing out underwater； he had known he was approaching his diving limits and he shouldn't have been that deep。 He had this feeling he'd been lured there； enticed by that periscope jutting from the sand。 He wasn't responsible for finding the submarine； rather； it had somehow found him and pressed him into service。
Claire was buttoning her blouse； still watching him； tired but half…hopeful he would warm to her again； offer her a bit more money。 He was an attractive man and he had made love to her in a gentle but demanding way that had nearly succeeded in exciting her。
Suddenly he turned from the window。 〃I'll make you something to eat before you go；〃 he told her。
She closed the last button。 〃I can't eat in the middle of the night；〃 she said； laughing。
He shut the terrace doors and waited until they were out in the corridor before he switched on the lights。 They descended a stairway； and when they got to the front room Moore turned on a pair of lamps； which surrounded them with a warm； smoky glow。 Claire squinted a fraction through sleep…swollen eyes and smoothed her skirt down over her hips because she knew it was wrinkled。 〃I don't look too good in the light；〃 she apologized。
Moore gazed at her； she was a pretty girl； very young； hardly out of her teens； but already the lines were showing。 Very few women were able to keep their looks after a few years under the searing Caribbean sun； and she would be no exception。 But he smiled at her； knowing she was fishing for a pliment。 〃I think you're very attractive。 Sexy。 How about a cup of coffee？〃
She gave a half…nod and sat down in one of the wicker chairs。 She put her purse； made a bit heavier by his money； on the long table made of a solid piece of driftwood； sanded and oiled。 Across the bare wood floor there was a rug of woven seagrass； there were book…lined shelves； most of them old paperbacks； a small fireplace with a stone mantel。 A group of primitive paintings； done in wild and vivid splashes of color by some island artist； decorated one wall。
Moore went back through a connecting doorway down another corridor to a kitchen； he made two cups of the strong； rather sweet； island brew and brought one of them to her。 He crossed the room and took a decanter from a shelf to pour a stiff shot of dark rum into his cup。 He sipped at the fortified coffee； feeling it light up his insides and chase the bad dreams away。 As he turned back to her he caught a glimpse of the harbor stretched out below the hotel through one of the many square windows that lined the room。 Moonlight glistened on the submarine； giving it shadowy teeth。
〃Too early for that；〃 Claire said； indicating his cup。 〃You drank a good bit down in the tavern。〃
He shrugged offhandedly and sat down in a chair across from her； unable to concentrate on anything but his dream and the events of the previous day。 He had filled out some forms at the constable's office and Kip had witnessed them。 He was uncertain about procedure on a military vessel but； he'd said； at least they were getting something down on paper。 Then； there were two ways to go： contacting the Coast Guard to have the boat towed off and possibly sunk in deeper water； or sending out feelers over the radio…telephone to the two nearest large islands。 Jamaica was approximately two hundred miles to the northwest and Haiti one hundred to the north。 Kip had a cousin working for the police in Kingston； who could probably fill them in on the procedures so everything would be aboveboard and legal。 If anyone wanted a look at the boat the word would get out。 Moore had decided to wait on informing the Coast Guard and see what developed。 Kip had agreed； for as long as he could placate Mayor Reynard。 Then he cautioned Moore against any more diving in that damned Abyss…at least until the mess was cleared up。 〃Where'd that thing e from？〃 Claire asked him。
He looked up at her； finally registering what she'd said。 〃What thing？〃
〃I saw you lookin' at it； upstairs； and then out the window。 The boat。〃
〃Underwater；〃 he said。 〃Other than that I don't know。〃
The girl was right： It was too early for rum。 You're older and wiser and this only pounds the sickness。 Or so the doctors had said。 Time doesn't heal； Moore thought suddenly； it only makes you forget the name of your illness。 And what was it called？ There was a medical term for it that Moore didn't remember。 The layman's label was much simpler： 〃survivor's syndrome。〃
Claire looked up； putting the empty cup aside； went to the window； and gazed down。 〃It's a big one。 The men are already talking about it in the taverns。〃
〃Are they？ What do they say？〃
〃Funny things； things I don't understand so good。 It's made some of them afraid； and there's a lot of whisperin' goin' on。〃
〃Are you afraid of it？〃 he asked。
She paused； then smiled awkwardly； but the smile was quickly gone。 〃I've never seen nothin' like it before。 But。。。 I don't know。 Mebbe。 A closed…up thing like that； as huge as it is； like something from a bad night。 I get chills thinking about it。〃 She watched him； seeing his gaze go through her as if she were invisible。 She picked up her purse。 〃I should go。〃
〃Let me get dressed and I'll walk you down；〃 he told her as he got to his feet； but she shook her head。
〃No need。 I be all right。 You ever want to see me again