take care of it."

"Insurance will take care of the 'copter but not of my neck. _Are_ you a
scientist?"

"Of course. Didn't I tell you--"

"What kind of a scientist are you?"

"I--ah--What do you mean?"

"What's your specialty? Are you a biologist, a physicist, or what?"

"I--"

"I don't believe you are a scientist at all. You don't talk like one."

"Damn it, I told you what I am and that's what I am!" Retch's face
showed sullen and his hand moved toward the gun. Parker tensed. Retch
stopped the movement of his hand. He glared at the big pilot.

"Okay," Parker said. "It doesn't make any difference anyhow." He resumed
paddling.

The sun slid down the western sky. Retch and Mercedes huddled in the
front end of the raft and whispered to each other. From time to time,
the woman glanced at Parker. He paid no attention to her.

The sea was calm. In the distance, a school of flying fish skittered
over the surface. A dozen gulls played near the surface. A high-riding
fin cut the water. Shark, sensing food.

The sun reached the horizon and wallowed in the sea like a fat, round
shining pig on fire.

Mercedes screamed, pointed, jerked a terror-stricken face toward Parker.
"Beel! Beel!" She scuttled across the raft, threw herself into his arms.
"Look, Beel, look!"

Terror and panic almost beyond understanding were in her words.

Parker looked where she was pointing. His heart climbed up into his
mouth and threatened to choke him. He had thought he was shock-proof,
that nothing could jar him. But here was something that made his mind
reel.

_Walking across the water toward the raft were three men._

Clad in knee-length breeches, wearing cloaks, the three men looked as if
they had just stepped out of the 17th century. Two wore big,
broad-brimmed hats, the third had a handkerchief wrapped around his
head. He also had a wooden leg and he stalked across the surface of the
sea with all the sureness he might have had with concrete under him. He
carried a curved cutlass in one hand. The other two men were armed with
swords, in scabbards. In addition, heavy, clumsy-looking pistols were
thrust into sashes at their belts.

They looked like men out of a nightmare--or like pirates out of the
olden days; swash-buckling buccaneers who had somehow managed to survive
their proper period in history and to live into the 20th century.

"Ghosts!" Mercedes screamed. "Devils! They've come up out of hell
because of our sins!" She