Zircon thought it over. "It should work, unless they have a lookout posted at each side of the island. But we can't know that until we try. Frankly, I doubt it. I think they believe the island is safe on all sides except the west. Now, who will go on this reconnaissance?"
"Rick and me," Chahda said firmly.
"I'm going," Scotty stated.
Zircon held up his hand. "Wait. Chahda, from your tone of voice, you have a reason. What is it?"
"Plenty reason. This small island, so who goes ashore will be seen, I think. So, must be in Moro clothes. Professor, you and Scotty not good size for Moro. You too big, and Scotty has too wide shoulders. Rick is maybe a little tall, but not so wide. He can maybe stoop a little. Me, I perfect for Moro. Even same color."
"You're right," Zircon agreed. "No question of it. So curb your impatience, Scotty. Your turn will come and so will mine. Chahda, you take the lead in figuring out disguises for you and Rick. Scotty, you and I will take over the watch and get underway."
By morning the Swift Arrow, with the vinta in tow, was in Indonesian waters far from shipping lanes or fishing grounds. Zircon figured their position as 120 degrees 29 minutes longitude, and 4 degrees 21 seconds latitude. They had seen no sails for hours.
The MTB was allowed to drift while the group went about the business of making ready. Chahda had created a Moro cap for Rick from a piece of upholstery he had cut from a seat bottom. Rick had cut the seams in a pair of white duck trousers and laced them with twine from the rope locker until they fitted as tightly as Moro pants. One of his own shirts, dirtied up a little and left open at the collar, would complete his outfit.
Chahda cut one of his extra turbans in half and made sashes for both of them, and modified the wrapping of his own turban so that it was more like the flat Moro variety.