Cryptonomicon

Randy tears himself away from the microwave antenna, of which he is part owner, and looks in the direction Amy's pointing. The limestock flank of the island, which drops vertically the last few meters into the water, is riddled with holes.

"Yeah."

"Built by Americans to house beach defense guns. Enlarged by the Japanese as launch sites for suicide boats."

"Wow."

Randy notices a deep gargling noise, and looks over to see that a boat has fallen in alongside them. It is a canoe-shaped affair maybe forty feet long, with long outriggers on either side. A couple of ragged flags fly from a short mast, and bright laundry flaps gaily from various lines strung here and there. A big, naked diesel engine sits in the middle of the hull flailing the atmosphere with black smoke. Forward of that, several Filipinos, including women and children, are gathered in the shade of a bright blue tarpaulin, eating. Aft, a couple of men are fiddling with diving equipment. One of them is holding something up to his mouth: a microphone. A voice blares from Glory'sradio, speaking Tagalog. Ernesto stifles a laugh, picks up the mike, and answers briefly. Randy doesn't know what they are saying, but he suspects it is something like "Let's horse around later, our client is on the bridge right now."

"Business associates," Amy explains dryly. Her body language says that she wants to get away from Randy and back to work.

"Thanks for the tour," Randy says. "One question."

Amy raises her eyebrows, trying to look patient.

"How much of Semper Marine's revenue derives from treasure hunting?"

"This month? This year? The last ten years? Over the lifetime of the company?" Amy says.

"Whatever."

"That kind of income is sporadic," Amy says. "Glorywas paid for, and then some, by pottery that we recovered from a junk. But some years we get all of our revenue from jobs like this one."

"In other words, boring jobs that suck?" Randy says. He just blurts it out. Normally he controls his tongue a little better. But shaving off his beard has blurred his ego boundaries, or something.

He's expecting her to laugh or at least wink a him, but she takes it very seriously. She has a pretty good poker face. "Think of it as making license plates," she says.

"So you guys are basically a bunch of treasure hunters," Randy says. "You just make license plates to stabilize your cash flow."

"Call us treasure hunters if you like," Amy says. "Why are you in business, Randy?" She turns around and stalks out of the place.

Randy's still watching her go when he hears Ernesto cursing under his breath, not so much angry as astonished. Gloryis swinging around the tip of Corregidor's tail now and the entire southern side of the island is becoming visible for the first time. The last mile or so of the tail curves around to form a semicircular bay. Anchored in the center of this bay is a white ship that Randy identifies, at first, as a small ocean liner with rakish and wicked lines. Then he sees the name painted on its stern: RUI FALEIRO--SANTA MONICA, CALIFORNIA

Randy goes and stands next to Ernesto and they stare at the white ship for a while. Randy has heard about it, and Ernesto, like everyone else in the Philippines, knows about it. But seeing it is another thing entirely. A helicopter sits on its afterdeck like a toy. A dagger-shaped muscle boat hangs from a davit, ready for use as a dinghy. A brown-skinned man in a gleaming white uniform can be seen polishing a brass rail.

"Rui Faleiro was Magellan's cosmographer," Randy says.

"Cosmographer?"

"The brains of the operation," Randy says, tapping his head.

"He came here with Magellan?" Ernesto asks.

In most of the world, Magellan is thought of as the first guy who went around the world. Here, everyone knows he only made it as far as Mactan Island, where he was killed by Filipinos.

"When Magellan set out on his ship, Faleiro stayed behind in Seville," Randy says. "He went crazy."

"You know a lot about Magallanes, eh?" Ernesto says. "No," Randy says, "I know a lot about the Dentist."

***

"Don't talk to the Dentist. Ever. Not about anything. Not even tech stuff. Any technical question he asks you is just a stalking horse for some business tactic that is as far beyond your comprehension as Gödel's Proof would be to Daffy Duck."

Avi told Randy this spontaneously one evening, as they were tucking into dinner at a restaurant in downtown Makati. Avi refuses to discuss anything important within a mile of the Manila Hotel because he thinks every room, and every table, is under surveillance.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Randy said.

"Hey," Avi said, "I'm just trying to stake out my turf here--justify my existence in this project. I'll handle the business stuff."

"You're not being a little paranoid?"