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    He hadn’t been in the water since his near-fatal battle with Zeek the Pirate. Having come as close as one possibly could to drowning, Nolan wasn’t sure he ever wanted to go back in the water again.
    But now, with the bright sunshine and the warm Bahamian breeze, he was suddenly obsessed with the idea of jumping off the tallest part of the Dustboat into the crystal-clear bay.
    It was not to be, though. In the time it took him to race to his quarters, get on a pair of old shorts, and then climb the mast, a helicopter had appeared, and was circling the ship.
    It was a large Bell 430, considered to be among the Cadillacs of helicopters. It was painted blue and light purple, the colors of the islands, with a splash of yellow up around its engine cowlings, representing the sun.
    “We got a meeting—and our ride is here,” Batman said just as Nolan reached the top of the deck. Then he looked at Nolan and added: “Are you wearing that ?”
    *   *   *
    WITHIN FIVE MINUTES after the copter landed, Team Whiskey had climbed aboard. The pilots told them to strap in, then they took off and headed south.
    The team was used to doing things on the hush-hush—and except for the gaudy air taxi, this gig was no different. Conley had told them nothing about the job ahead, preferring to let them relax and recharge during the ocean crossing. The team assumed whoever they were meeting would be high on the food chain of some intelligence agency or military organization. And the request that they attend this meeting in civilian clothes was par for the course. They could understand someone not wanting them to stick out in their bright blue combat suits.
    “Just as long as they pay us,” Batman said as the chopper streaked through the air. “Preferably in cash.”
    The Bell 430 carried them over a long line of Bahamian outer islands. The team, after operating almost exclusively in the Indian Ocean and near the Java Sea, was enchanted as they looked down on the clear blue water at what seemed like another planet. They could actually make out the sea bottom in many places.
    During the flight, Batman was particularly animated. He’d lived in the Bahamas just before Whiskey re-formed.
    “If we can wrap this up quickly, maybe I can get back to my old digs,” he said, nose pressed against the copter’s window. “I could retrieve some expensive booze I left there. Maybe even crash there and do some bone fishing.”
    *   *   *
    THOUGH THE FLIGHT took less than twenty minutes, they had flown a zig-zag course—another nod to security. They finally turned due west and were soon approaching the island of Oyster Cay, in Exuma Sound. About five miles long and half that wide, it was thick with lush, emerald-colored vegetation.
    But instead of seeing some staid and hidden military-type building on the isolated island, the team saw instead what looked like a large saucer-shaped resort located on the island’s highest point. The futuristic building was about ten stories high, surrounded by swimming pools, waterfalls, golf courses and hundreds of perfectly shaped palm trees.
    “Are we in the right place?” Gunner asked looking down at the island. “This looks like a Disneyland for billionaires.”
    “Yeah,” Crash said. “If there was a Disneyland on Mars.”
    *   *   *
    THE COPTER SET down on a helipad next to the saucer-shaped building. The team climbed out, expecting to find an escort to lead them to the meeting.
    But instead of a person in uniform or a CIA spook type, they were met by a young woman dressed like a high-priced hooker from the future: micro-miniskirt, tight silver top, high heels, platinum blond hair.
    “I think I’ve seen this movie before,” Batman said. “Was it Goldfinger  … or Thunderball ?” Like the ultra-luxurious resort itself, the girl did look like something from a 007 movie.
    She ushered them to the rear entrance of the saucer building. Again, here they might have expected to be searched