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Then came the huts and the copra shed, their last line of defense, leading to the beach and the sea.

The expedition had been in complete control of this island for better than three months. Now they were pinned to a small and precarious beachhead.

Drake glanced at the lagoon behind him and remembered that there was still one line of retreat open. If the bug and his damned menagerie pressed too hard, they could still escape in the ketch. With luck.

Sorensen came over and sat down beside him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Drake grinned sourly. “Planning our master strategy.”

“How does it look?”

“I think we can hold out,” Drake said. “We’ve got plenty of ammo. If necessary, we’ll interdict the cleared area with gasoline. We certainly aren’t going to let that bug push us off the island.” He thought for a moment. “But it’s going to be damned hard digging for treasure.”

Sorensen nodded. “I wonder what the bug wants.”

“Maybe we’ll find out from Eakins,” Drake said.

They had to wait half an hour. Then Eakins’ voice came, sharp and shrill over the walkie-talkie.