“Mr. Sanders,” Raymond said, more of an observation than a question.
The man’s eyes reacted, and Raymond’s recollections began to sharpen, the way the topography of a shoreline becomes recognizable as the distance to the land becomes smaller. It was the same man. The name of the boat then had been Blue Goose.
Blue Goose“My name is Reed Sanderson, actually,” the man said. “Have we met?”
“Trieste, 1938. My father and I were on a vacation. I think this boat belonged to my father’s friend, who was with the U.S. consulate general.”
Sanderson looked at Stegineo. Raymond guessed his hesitation was caused by suspicion and said, “He’s okay. He’s a Croatian partisan and we’re working together. I’m with an American intelligence outfit trying to help him get supplies back to his people. They’re fi
