A hurricane level windstorm threw its might against the old tramp freighter, Blue Devil, fighting to stay afloat.

Turbulent waves, relentless rain and an ominous sky made it almost impossible to see for the two seamen peering through a slashing windshield wiper on the bridge. The captain’s calm eyes reflected that he had dealt with the wrath of the ocean before. The sailor was frozen to the wheel. Their chart indicated the tiny island beyond the reef was uninhabited, but it did have a cove.

Angry waves pounded as the bow dipped below the water surface and, with a lurch, rose as though gasping for breath. Over and over it pitched and rolled until suddenly its massive hull ground and scraped to rest on an inner reef.

The two men against the sea collapsed from exhaustion as a thick night mist covered the vessel.

But the questions remained unanswered: where was the crew? Why didn’t anyone signal for help?

Deuce had been asked to come to an office in a three-story warehouse that overlooked a small harbor. Several cargo freighters were moored to docks below. Some were being loaded, others unloaded. Foghorns and ship whistles could be heard.

“I’m Talmon Triton,” said the tall man behind a