What little moon there was this night was suddenly hidden by a cloud. The four-man craft had no running lights, and was therefore invisible in the darkness. “Damn!” Moore seethed through his chattering teeth. He wedged the tiller beneath his arm in order to more tightly pull his spray-drenched jacket around him. “Aren’t you cold?” he glared at Ki, who appeared to be quite comfortable in just his shirtsleeves and vest. “Cold is a state of mind,” Ki remarked amiably. He pointed to their left. “There it is. The cartel’s clipper.” The three-masted, square-rigged cargo ship loomed before them like an island. Glowing lanterns speckled the long craft. The sea winds roared and wailed in its billowing sails as the clipper cut a swath through the black chop and swell of the bay. Moore glanced over his shoulder at the distant, twinkling lights of the waterfront. “We’ve got to do it before they get much closer,” he announced quietly. “Hey! It just occurred to me. Getting all those coolies to shore is going to be a problem.”
