"And in first place on some bad apple's to-do list," Remo added.

"Which is you," said the narrow-faced man, raising his gun.

Lee Clark dropped the shotgun and cursed his clumsiness, stooping to grab it back. He didn't see it on the deck. Come to think of it, he hadn't heard the clatter when it hit the deck. And how come it just left his hands like that?

"Here," Remo said. He was still standing in the same spot on the other side of the deck hatch but now, somehow, he was holding Clark's shotgun.

"How'd you do that?"

"Did you notice I am not murdering you at the moment, even though I have the gun?" Remo asked.

"Yes." Clark's tone made it clear he didn't expect his luck to continue long.

"Good. Your next unexpected visitor isn't going to show you that courtesy, if my hunch is correct," Remo said as he removed the shell from the shotgun and tossed

it to Clark. The sailor looked at it as if he'd never seen it before.

"I helped myself to this, too." Remo was holding up a short, thick chunk of cable with heavy screw clamps on either end. Clark knew it looked familiar, but it took him a few seconds to place it.

"That's a battery cable."

"I'll put it back when I'm done," Remo assured him. "Your generator and batteries will be useless without it, and I could stop you before you could rig up a replacement for this. I don't want you calling for help."

Clark laughed sourly. "So what are you up to if you aren't the killer, eh?"

"I'm the killer catcher," Remo explained. "You're my bait, whether you like it or not."

Clark felt his hopes sink as the man in the summer clothes tossed the shotgun over his shoulder, and he had to have tossed it harder than it seemed because it took a long time for the weapon to rise, vanish against the slate-gray sky, then appear again, falling butt first and straight as a spear. It slid into a rising wave.