“It was good that she did,” he said. “We’ve settled some refugees on the Isle of Avonshire, far north of here. They speak English there.”
“I know where it is,” she said. “But we’re not refugees. We’re smugglers and rebels.”
Agnarsson grew annoyed. “That’s not your determination to make.”
“Whose is it?”
“Mine!”
Suddenly, the ship-to-ship radio crackled again. It was Furibundo. Agnarsson held up his hand for silence and took the radio handset.
“Station 49, Corvette Captain Larrea requests the pleasure of your presence for supper. He would consider it a great honor to dine with you. If your duties do not allow you to leave your station, he and a small complement of officers might visit your station, food and preparations compliments of the Argentine Navy.”
‘Death by courtesy,’ Agnarsson thought and almost laughed, only restraining himself for the sake of the young woman that stood behind him. “Please extend my thanks to Captain Larrea and your crew, but I must regretfully decline. I am ill and contagious with little appetite. Influenza, I think. Another time, perhaps.”
The Argentine reply was immediate and little too enthusiastic. “We can send the ship’s doctor to you right away.”
“Many thanks again, Furibundo, but that will not be necessary. I must attend to my duties now, Station 49 out.”
Agnarsson replaced the handset and turned to Sandra, eager to