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covered with the white of the sand that he walked across. His briefcase, a chalk gray that matched his hair, had bumps on it – ostrich skin.Malone wasn’t puzzled that he had failed to hear the man’s car. After all, the roar of the surf on the shore was so strong that it obscured distant sounds. Nor was he puzzled by the intruder’s joyless clothing; even an island paradise couldn’t relax some harried business travelers. What did puzzle him, however, was that the man approached with a resolve that suggested he had come specifically because of Malone, but Malone had not told anyone where he would be.He took all this in while appearing not to do so, using the need of tilting his head toward his palette to disguise his periodic glances in the man’s direction. As he intensified the scarlet on his canvas, he heard the intruder come so close that the crunch of his shoes was distinct.Then the crunch stopped an arm’s length from Malone’s right. “Mr. Malone?”Malone ignored him.“I’m Alexander Potter.”Malone continued to ignore him.“I spoke to you on the phone yesterday. I told you I was flying in this afternoon.”“You wasted your time. I thought I made it clear: I’m not interested.”“Very clear. It’s just that my employer doesn’t take no for an answer.”“He’d better get used to it.” Malone applied more color to the canvas. Seagulls screeched. A minute passed.Potter broke the stalemate. “Perhaps it’s a matter of your fee not being sufficient. On the phone, I mentioned two hundred thousand dollars. My employer authorized me to double it.”“This isn’t about money.” Malone finally turned to him.“What is it about?”“I was once in a position where I had to follow a lot of orders.”Potter nodded. “Your experience in the Marines.”“After I got ou