"Maybe we shouldn't charge for these," Jiminez suggested. "A sample for new clients."

"Are either of them from the United States?"

"No," Jiminez replied. "If you'd prefer it, there are at least two from New York out in the Caribbean."

Whitehall shook his head firmly. "The United States can afford to pay. This one is from Mexico?" George Jiminez nodded. "Okay, let them both have it on us." Through the swarming seagulls he read the markings on the next scow. "Russian. There's some irony, I suppose," he muttered under his breath. "They've got an environmental movement now. With the mess they've got they'll need our services."

A half-dozen cell phones appeared from suit jackets. Arrangements were made to off-load the two scows.

Minister Carlos Whitehall spun on his heel. The tall man in the spotless beige suit began marching up the dock.

George Jiminez jogged to keep up. The wind was shifting out to sea. He came out from behind his handkerchief, testing the air. It was a little better.

"I've spoken with the president's office," Jiminez said, tucking his hankie back in his pocket. "Everything's set. "

"Of course it is," Whitehall snapped unhappily. "Our first-term executive president had to be dragged on board this project by me. He contributed nothing, George. Nothing. He only got elected at a propitious time."

They were at the parking area beyond the docks. Whitehall's driver ran around his limousine to open the back door for the finance minister.

George Jiminez knew this was a touchy subject. There was animosity between the finance minister and the executive president's office. Still, they would all be able to bury their differences soon. Today Mayana would take the first step to becoming the richest country in South America.

As Minister Whitehall climbed into the car, Jiminez glanced back over his shoulder.