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oat was buffeted by a gust of wind； and McFarlane pulled his parka tighter around him。
〃To the right is Argentina；〃 Glinn said。 〃To the left； Chile。〃
〃And I'm heading inside；〃 said Britton； turning toward the pilothouse。
An hour later； Puerto Williams rose out of the gray light off the port bow： a collection of shabby wooden buildings； yellow with red roofs； nestled in a bowl between hills。 Behind it rose a range of hyperborean mountains； white and sharp as teeth。 At the foot of the town stood a row of decaying piers。 Wooden draggers and single…masted gaff sloops with tarred hulls were moored in the harbor。 Nearby； McFarlane could see the Barrio de los Indios： a crooked assortment of planked houses and damp huts； tendrils of smoke rising from makeshift chimneys。 Beyond them lay the naval station itself； a forlorn row of corrugated metal buildings。 What looked like two naval tenders and an old destroyer were moored nearby。
Within the space of a few minutes； it seemed； the bright morning sky had darkened。 As the launch pulled up to one of the wooden piers； a smell of rotting fish； shot through with odors of sewage and seaweed； washed over them。 Several men appeared from nearby huts and came shambling down gangplanks。 Shouting and gesturing； they tried to entice the launch to land at any of half a dozen places； each holding up a hawser or pointing at a cleat。 The boat slid into the dock and a loud argument ensued between the two nearest men； quieted only when Glinn passed out cigarettes。
The three climbed out on the slippery dock and looked up at the dismal town。 Stray flakes of snow dusted the shoulders of McFarlane's parka。
〃Where is the office of customs？〃 Glinn asked one of the men in Spanish。
〃I will take you there；〃 said three simultaneously。 Now women were arriving； crowding around with plastic buckets full of sea urchins； mussels； and congrio colorado； jostling one another aside and shoving the ripe shellfish into their faces。
〃Sea urchin；〃 said one woman in broken English。 She had the wizened face of a septuagenarian and sported a single； remarkably white tooth。 〃Very good for man。 Make hard。 Muy fuerte。〃 She gestured with a stiff upraised arm to indicate its results； while the men roared with laughter。
〃No gracias senora；〃 Glinn said； shoving his way through the crowd to follow his self…appointed guides。
The men led the way up the pier and along the waterfront in the direction of the naval station。 Here； beside another pier only slightly less shabby； they stopped at a low planked building。 Light streamed from its sole window into the darkening air； and the fragrant smoke of a wood fire billowed from a tin pipe in the far wall。 A faded Chilean flag hung beside the door。
Glinn tipped their guides and pushed open the door； Britton following behind him。 McFarlane came last。 He took a deep breath of the ripe； chill air； reminding himself it was very unlikely anyone here would recognize him from the Atacama business。
The inside was what he expected： the scarred table； the potbellied stove； the dark…eyed official。 Walking voluntarily into a Chilean government office … even one as remote and provincial as this … made him nervous。 His eyes strayed involuntarily to the tattered…looking sheaf of wanted posters hanging from a wall by a rusted metal clamp。 Cool it； he told himself。
The customs official had carefully slicked…back hair and an immaculate uniform。 He smiled at them； revealing an expanse of gold teeth。 〃Please；〃 he said in Spanish。 〃Sit down。〃 He had a soft； effeminate voice。 The man radiated a kind well…being that seemed extravagantly out of place in such a forlorn outpost。
From a back room of the customs office； voices that had been raised in argument were suddenly hushed。 McFarlane waited for Glinn and Britton to sit down； then followed their lead； lowering himself gingerly into a scuffed wooden chair。 The potbellied stove crackled； giving off a wonderful glow of heat。
〃Por favor；〃 the official said； pushing a cedar box full of cigarettes at them。 Everyone declined except Glinn； who took two。 He stuck one between his lips and popped the other into his pocket。 〃Mas tarde；〃 he said with a grin。
The man leaned across the table and lit Glinn's cigarette with a gold lighter。 Glinn took a deep drag on the unfiltered cigarette； then leaned over to spit a small piece of tobacco off his tongue。 McFarlane glanced from him to Britton。
〃Wele to Chile；〃 the official said in English； turning the lighter over in his delicate hands before slipping it back in his jacket pocket。 Then he switched back to Spanish。 〃You are from the American mining ship Rolvaag； of course？〃
〃Yes；〃 said Britton； also in Spanish。 With seeming carelessness； she slipped some papers and a wad of passports out of a battered leather portfolio。
〃Looking for iron？〃 the man asked with a smile。
Glinn nodded。
〃And you expect to find this iron on Isla Desolacion？〃 His smile held a touch of cynicism； McFarlane thought。 Or was it suspicion？
〃Of course；〃 Glinn answered quickly； after stifling a wet cough。 〃We are equipped with all the latest mining equipment and a fine ore carrier。 This is a highly professional operation。〃
The slightly amused expression on the official's face indicated that he had already received information about the big rust bucket anchored beyond the channel。 He drew the papers toward him and flipped through them casually。 〃It will take some time to process these；〃 he said。 〃We will probably want to visit your ship。 Where is the captain？〃
〃I am the master of the Rolvaag；〃 said Britton。
At this the official's eyebrows shot up。 There was a shuffling of feet from the back room of the customs house； and two more officials of indistinct rank came through the door。 Heading to the stove； they sat down on a bench beside it。
〃You are the captain；〃 the official said。
〃Si。〃
The official grunted； looked down at the papers； casually leafed through them； and looked up at her again。 〃And you； senor？〃 he asked； swiveling his gaze to McFarlane。
Glinn spoke。 〃This is Dr。 Widmanstatten； senior scientist。 He speaks no Spanish。 I am the chief engineer； Eli Ishmael。〃
McFarlane felt the official's gaze linger on him。 〃Widmanstatten；〃 the man repeated slowly； as if tasting the name。 The two other officials turned to look at him。
McFarlane's mouth went dry。 His face hadn't been in the Chilean newspapers for at least five years。 And he'd had a beard at the time。 Nothing to worry about； he told himself。 Sweat began to form at his temples。
The Chileans stared at him curiously； as if detecting his agitation with some kind of professional sixth sense。
〃No speak Spanish？〃 the official said to him。 His eyes narrowed as he stared。
There was a brief silence。 Then； involuntarily； McFarlane blurted out the first thing that came to mind： 〃Quiero una puta。〃
There was sudden laughter from the Chilean officials。 〃He speaks well enough；〃 said the man behind the table。 McFarlane sat back and licked his lips； exhaling slowly。
Glinn coughed again； a hideous racking cough。 〃Pardon me；〃 he said； pulling out a grimy handkerchief； wiping his chin； scattering yellow phlegm with a savage shake