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same for my pain-in-the-ass fishing boat."
"You have a salty tongue," said Chiun. "Perhaps you should spare our gracious
ears and still it."
"Stow it," said Sandy. "I spend half my time policing fishermen who are either
breaking maritime law or getting their screws caught in foul weather. They've
dragged their nets along the ocean floor until it's as barren of life as the
moon and won't be satisfied until they've eaten every last fish in the sea."
"The greedy swine," said Chiun.
"Damn right," said Sandy, stationing herself beside a port and taking up a
clipboard and binoculars.
Remo took the opposite porthole and hoped the jet didn't have to ditch. The
last thing he wanted to do was go for another enforced swim.
Chapter 15
Sea gulls swooped and wheeled in the sunless sky. From time to time they
dipped and splashed their wingtips against the gray Atlantic, then lifted up
again with flapping sardines in their sharp bills.
And far above them, the Master of Sinanju was counting his grievances.
"I was promised char," he lamented.
"Char?"
"Arctic char," said Chiun, consulting a ricepaper scroll on his lap. "Twenty
weights suitable for salt curing. Char is best eaten dry." His right index
finger, capped by a filigreed horn of jade, tapped the slashing Korean
characters on the scroll. "Cod and croaker were promised. Pollock and pogy,
shad and salmon from both great oceans. Sea bass. Sea bream. Mullet and
menhaden. Trout and tilapia. Lemon sole and ling. Swordfish exceeding the
length of a tall man."
"No shark?" asked Remo.
"Of course not."
"Good. I hate shark. I never want to eat it again."
"You smell of shark."
"That's one reason why I hate it."
They were over the Atlantic now. The Coast Guard Falcon jet flew low. The
pilot paid them no heed, and neither did Coast Guard Lieutenant Sandy Heckman,
much to Remo's surprise.
"You know," he confided to Chiun, "she doesn't seem to be attracted to me."
"Why should she be? You stink of carrion sango."
"I showered."
"Sango exudes from your pores. It is inescapable."
Remo glanced toward Lieutenant Heckman curiously. So far she hadn't expressed
a single ounce of interest in him. That was pretty unusual, especially these
days. For almost as long as Remo had been under Chiun's tutelage, he had
exerted a powerful effect on women. It had gotten worse in the past year or
so-to the point where Remo was fighting them off. Sometimes literally. He'd
gotten so tired of it he decided to go with the flow and ask them out first.
So far it hadn't been very successful. The one woman who hadn't tried to jump
his bones from a cold start turned out to be gay.
Remo was starting to wonder about Lieutenant Heckman.
Remo wandered over to her at her jump-seat station.
Sandy Heckman was looking down through a port with her eyes clamped to a pair
of binoculars. She was scanning the crinkled, greenish gray surface of the
Atlantic for fishing boats.
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A rust-colored trawler churned a path through the water below. The jet tilted
one wing toward the laboring vessel.
Abruptly Sandy snapped a switch and yanked a cabin microphone to her mouth.
"Fishing vessel Sicilian Gold, this is the U.S. Coast Guard. Your vessel is
over a closed area in violation of the Magnunson Act. Charges may be filed and
your catch seized later. Proceed out of the area immediately."
Grabbing a clipboard, she took down the trawler's name and went back to
searching the sea.
"What's the Magnunson Act?" asked Remo.
"A congressional law regulating commercial fishing takings. When it was first
enacted back in '76, it stopped foreign fishing vessels-mostly Canadian-from
plundering U.S. waters. But Congress got around to making it law too late. The
Canadians had made a big dent in the stocks. Now it regulates where our
fishermen can go, how long they can go out and how much fish they can take.
But most coastal areas are pretty much fished out now."
"It's a big ocean. Can't be that bad."
"It's a crisis. And some of these damn fishermen don't seem to be getting it.
This is supposed to be a rescue mission. If I don't get some more rescues
under my belt, it's back to buoy tenders for me. Or worse, Alaska and the
halibut patrol."
"Halibut patrol?"
"They're scarce, too."
"Mind if I ask you a personal question?" asked Remo.
"I don't date civilians. Sorry."
"That wasn't my question."
"Then what was your question?"
"Are you gay?"
"No!"
"Great!"
"Forget it. I don't date."
"I wasn't asking for a date."
"Good, because you weren't going to get one. Now, will you take a seat? Like I
said, this is a search-and-rescue mission. If we happen upon your mystery sub
en route, fine. If not, you're just so much supercargo. So kindly shoo."
Suppressing a smile, Remo turned to the Master of Sinanju. "She doesn't want
to date me. Isn't that great?"
Chiun nodded sagely. "It is the shark smell."
A flicker of interest crossed Remo's high-cheekboned face. "Little Father, are
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