CHAPTER 25
Michael’s mouth hung open. Even a half-hour of cruising slowly along the fringe of the small floating city that was San Francisco harbor hadn’t prepared him for this sight. He’d known that the Argo was a yacht, but he’d still pictured a typical V-shaped hull with a main deck and some boxy structures amidships stacked like the layers of a wedding cake. What he found instead was a gleaming white dart with a bow as sharp as a knife blade supporting two raked decks above the main one and topped with a tapered black pinnacle like the sail of a submarine. In fact, the Argo looked as if it could dive under the waves as easily as it could crest them and cavort like a porpoise if the captain wished it.
Sakiko Matthews had already crossed the boarding ramp from the pier to the stern of
