"Remember, the deck boss and the remaining deckhand backed him up on this."

"Ned Nordhoff and Seth Skinner."

Jack nodded again. "So he drove the boat over to the nearest island, anchored, and the other crew members"Jack fumbled impatiently with the pile of paper in his lap-"doggone it, okay, here it is-their names were Christopher Alcala and Stuart Brown-went ashore to look for water."

The faces of the two young crewmen appeared again before Kate's eyes. "Went ashore where?"

"Ah, what, the island's name was Anua."

"Got a map?"

Jack fished around in his daypack and tossed a folded piece of paper over to her. She flattened it on the bunk and found the little island halfway down the chain, ringed in a circle of black Marksalot she had no difficulty in identifying as Jack's handiwork. Jack had always leaned toward black Marksalot for notes, arrows and marginal balloons on any piece of evidence that was write-onable, to the vocal disgust of the district attorneys who had then to introduce the evidence into the trial record. "What's on it? On Anua, I mean?"

"An airstrip dating back to World War 11, an active volcano. That's about it. Pretty standard for an Aleutian island."

Kate measured the air miles between Dutch Harbor and Anua, her brows puckered. "Mmm."

He waited, but that was all she said. "Alcala and Brown left the Avilda at about four in the afternoon, in the skiff. They had a flashlight and a bunch of jerry cans."

"That all?"

"Uh-huh."

"No survival gear? No tent, no sleeping bags, not even matches?"

"According to Gault, they weren't anticipating spending the night."

"This was March?"

"Yeah."

"In the Aleutians?"

"Yeah."

Kate lay back down on the bunk. "Kind of gives new meaning to the word 'dumb,' don't it. What happened?"

"What you might expect, and remember this was the first trip north for both of them."