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ealed infrared video cameras from the time she jumped from the barge until now。 But she had e too far to quit。 If this was a staging area for illegal immigrants； then Qin Shang wasn't operating under his usual formula of fanatical secrecy and tight security。
A broad…shouldered man might never have squirmed through the drainage pipe； but Julia had inches to spare。 At first； all she saw when she looked between her feet was blackness。 But after negotiating a slight bend in the pipe； she saw a circle of moonlight playing in a reflection of water。 At last she emerged into a concrete ditch filled with several inches of muck that ran around the main warehouse building to catch the rainwater that dropped from drain spouts on the roof。
She went immobile as she gazed to her left and right。 No sirens； no mad attack dogs； no searchlights greeted her entry into the sugar…mill pound。 Content that her presence wasn't detected； she stealthily moved along the building； searching for a way to enter。 She pressed her back against the moss…covered brick walls； deciding on which direction to take around the sugar mill。 The side where the railroad tracks sloped off into a basement was open and washed from the light on the pole； so she chose the opposite course； which offered dark shadows from a grove of cypress trees。 She stepped as noiselessly as possible； careful not to fall over any old rubbish that lay scattered about the ground。
A small thicket of brush blocked her way； and Julia crawled under it。 Her outstretched； probing fingers touched a stone step； and then a second one leading downward。 Squinting her eyes； she peered into the shadows and discovered a stairway dropping to the basement of the mill。 The steps were covered with debris； and she carefully had to step around and over it。 The door at the bottom of the stairs had seen better days。 Stout and made of oak； at one time it could have stopped a battering ram。 But a century of damp climate had rusted out the hinges； and Julia found that all she had to do was give it a hearty kick for the door to creak open just far enough to allow her to squeeze past。
Julia hesitated only long enough to see that she was in a concrete…walled passage。 There was a faint glow of light at the other end a good fifty feet away； she guessed。 The dank smell from the long…unused passage lay heavy。 The floor was dripping…damp and puddled in places where rainwater had seeped in from the outer door。 Debris and old furniture cast into the passageway when the sugar mill closed down made it difficult to pass through without undue sounds。 She became extra cautious when she reached the dim light that shone through the dirty glass window of a heavy oak door blocking the way。 She carefully turned a rusting door handle。 Unexpectedly； the bolt slid whisper…silent from its slot。 Then she painstakingly eased the door open a crack。 It swung on its hinges as smoothly as if it had been oiled only the day before。
She softly stepped inside with the expectation of a woman anticipating trouble。 She found herself inside an office furnished in the heavy oak furniture so popular in the early part of the twentieth century。 Julia froze。 The room was immaculately clean。 There wasn't a speck of dust or a cobweb to be seen。 It was like entering a time capsule。 She had also stepped into a trap。
She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach when the oak door clunked shut behind her and three men stepped from behind a screen that shielded a sitting room at the other end of the office。 All of the men were dressed in business suits； two carrying briefcases as though they had just e from a board…of…directors meeting。
Before she could transmit over her hidden radio； her arms were pinned and her mouth taped shut。
〃You are a most obstinate young lady； Ling T'ai； or should I call you Julia Lee？〃 said Ki Wong； Qin Shang's chief enforcer； as he gave a curt bow and grinned satanically。 〃You don't know how happy I am to meet you again。〃
Stowe stared across the bayou as he pressed the receiver against his ear with one hand and held the microphone of the transmitter until it nearly touched his lips。 〃Ms。 Lee。 If you read me； please answer。〃
He heard what seemed to be stifled voices for a moment before all munications with Julia went dead。 His first instinct was to rush across the bayou and charge the gate on the wharf。 But he could not be certain Julia had encountered a life…threatening situation。 Surely not certain enough to risk the lives of his men in a bat engagement。 Another factor that preyed on his mind was the possibility of ambush on territory that was unknown。 Stowe took the route used by astute officers since the first military force was formed： He laid the responsibility on his superior officer。
〃Weehawken； this is Lieutenant Stowe。〃
〃We read you；〃 came the voice of Captain Lewis。
〃Sir； I believe we have a situation。〃
〃Please explain。〃
〃Contact has been lost with Ms。 Lee。〃
There was a few moments' pause。 Then Lewis replied slowly。 〃Remain in your position and keep the sugar mill under surveillance。 Report any new information。 I'll get back to you。〃
Stowe stood in the launch and gazed across the bayou at the silent and dark buildings。 〃God help you if you've run into trouble；〃 Stowe muttered softly； 〃because I can't。〃
THERE WAS NO FEVERISH HURRY AFTER PITT AND GIORDINO left the burning hovercraft and mand post。 It seemed reasonable to assume that all munications between the security force and Qin Shang's headquarters were cut off when the plantation burned to the ground。 They continued their project of photographing the bed of the canal with the AUV as if no interruption ever occurred。 Neither man was of a mind to do a rushed； botched job。
They reached the Atchafalaya River and returned up Hooker's Bayou to the shantyboat just as the eastern sky was beginning to lighten from black to blue…gray。 Romberg greeted their arrival by opening his eyes only long enough to recognize them before instantly dropping off into dog dreamland again。
Without delay； they unloaded the dive equipment and the AUV。 Once the skiff was stowed on the roof； Giordino started the big Ford 427 engine as Pitt pulled the mooring stakes from the mud under the boat。 The sun had still to put in an appearance when the shantyboat swung onto the Atchafalaya and headed downriver。
〃Where to？〃 Giordino shouted down into the main cabin from the pilothouse。
〃Bartholomeaux；〃 Pitt yelled back over the roar of the engine。
Giordino said no more。 Boat traffic was not as light as he expected this early in the morning。 The oyster and crawfish boats were already on the river heading toward their favored fishing grounds。 Towboats with their trains of barges came south after passing through the Old River Canal Lock from the Mississippi into the Atchafalaya north of Baton Rouge。 He skirted the other vessels respectfully； but once past he took the big 427 up to half throttle； sending it barreling down the river at twenty…five miles an hour。
Inside the little house； Pitt sat on a small sofa and played the videotape shot by the cameras of the AUV of the canal bed beginning at the highway bordering the Mississippi and ending at the entrance to the Atchafalaya。 From start to finish the totally dull and boring show ran nearly six hours。 Except for a few fish； a passing turtle and a runty baby gator no more than a foot in length； the bottom of the canal was nothing but barren muck。 Pitt was relieved to find no bodies； nor was he surprised。 Qin Shang's incredibly plicated plan had a small crack in it。 The canal was the key； and Pitt was onto its purpose now。 But he still found himself on the short side of tangibility。 He had no proof。 Only a vague theory that even he found almost impossible to accept。
He turned off the TV monitor and sat back in the sofa。 He didn't dare close his eyes。 He could have easily slipped off to sleep； but it wouldn't be fair to Giordino。 There was still much to do。 He fixed breakfast and called Giordino down to a table laid with a plate of scrambled eggs and ham。 He'd brewed coffee in an old…fashioned pot and set out a carton of orange juice。 To save time； he spelled Giordino at the helm while his friend ate。
He turned the shantyboat into Berwick Bay several miles above Morgan City and traveled south through the Wax Lake Canal； entering Bayou Teche just above Patterson； only two miles from the old sugar mill at Bartholomeaux。 He gave the wheel back to Giordino and sat in his lawn chair on the veranda with Romberg curled up beside him。
They had made good time； and it was still shy of twelve noon when Giordino slowed the shantyboat as the abandoned sugar mill came into view around a bend just under a mile ahead。 Pitt stared through a pair of binoculars； scanning the
buildings and the long wharf that trailed along a stone breakwater。 A tight smile curled his lips at seeing the barge still loaded with trash。 He stood； leaned over the veranda railing； called up to Giordino and pointed down the bayou。 〃That must be the place。 The barge moored to the wharf looks like the same one we saw at Sungari。〃
Giordino picked up a brass te