The river spread out behind the ship like a dull green ribbon. Moira watched the water while listening to the various conversations going on around her. One couple was talking about the wildlife, a cluster of women were bragging about their 'bargains', their husbands were off in another group complaining about all the bags they were going to have to carry.

From overheard comments, Moira knew that the next stop was their last. It had been peaceful and easy, riding the current instead of pushing through the brush, these last few days. She had needed the respite, sleeping through much of this leg of her journey, but was looking forward to putting the next step of her plan into action.

As they came around a bend in the river, their final destination came into sight. The port was large; three times the size of any of their other stops. Moira breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't recognized the city name when she'd heard it earlier and had been afraid the town would be too underdeveloped to have connection with the outside world.

The tourists began to drift toward the gangplank. Moira waited in the back, knowing those first off would get the worst of the begging, pushy merchants, and the pick-pockets. Besides, there was no reason for her to rush. It was early afternoon. She would get the best results if she showed up much closer to dusk.

Finally the way was clear. Moira shouldered her bags and wandered through the shopping district, her seemingly random meanderings were construed to flush out or lose any tail. After two hours she was fairly certain that she was not being followed, so she hailed a taxi.

"Where to Senora?" the driver's English was heavily accented, but still understandable.

"Where do all the Americans stay?" Moira grinned, giving her question a joking inflection.

"I should have guessed." He snorted and turned his attention back to the road. "Only an Americano would be out shopping alone when they're about to..." He trailed off as if he couldn't think of the word.

"Pop?" Moira chuckled, playing the senseless tourist to the hilt. "I had a craving, and then decided to pick up some gifts. I'd like there to be some surprises under the Christmas tree this year."

"Whatever you say, Senora," He shook his head and kept his silence until they pulled up in front of a tall white hotel, with tasteful landscaping that almost managed to distract one from the fact that the architecture was wildly incongruent with the surrounding buildings.

"That'll be fifteen pesos,"

"Hey, American, not stupid," Moira retorted, "That was hardly worth five."

"Five? My children would starve if I were to accept such a miserly sum. Thirteen,"

"You can feed an entire army for a month on thirteen pesos. Unless you're as fecund as a rabbit, there's no way you need that much food. Eight,"

"Did you just insult muy machismo? I have eleven children! All of them boys," his chest puffed out in pride.

"Eleven? I am impressed. Your wife must be an amazing woman," Moira replied, tongue in cheek, "Then eleven it is, but only if you'll carry my bags to the elevator for me."

"Done and done," he put the taxi in park and hopped out.

Moira passed him her shopping and used the doorframe to pull herself out of the car. The two of them breezed by the check-in desk and headed straight to the burnished steel doors of the elevators. The clerk never even looked at them, completely engrossed in the soap opera that was playing on the little television she had behind the counter.

They parted ways at the elevator, and Moira pressed the button for the top floor. After visiting three floors she saw what she was looking for, a maid's cart. It was nothing to wait until the roar of a vacuum announced that the cleaning woman was going to be occupied for a while and read her work chart. If she were interpreting the marks on the sheet correctly, there were two rooms vacant on this floor. Moira 'borrowed' the master key off the side of the cart and went to check her theory.

A turn of the key and a quick survey of the room showed it to be empty, so Moira left the door open and hustled to put the keys back before the maid finished cleaning. She probably could have afforded a room for the night, but there was no telling how long it would take her to get out of the country.

Plan for the worst, and you'll come out the best, her Granny had always said. With that bit of sound advice in mind, Moira wedged a chair under the doorknob and went to take a shower. A good night's sleep and she would be off to find the nearest British Consulate.

Since the more remote areas of Ireland tended to paper registration at the church, all Moira had to do was create a believably bogus identity and claim her passport had been stolen. Being pregnant with triplets made it look like she was much further along than she was. All she had to do was pretend to be experiencing labor pains and they would hustle her back to Ireland.

That was one of the more interesting things about Irish law, a child born to Irish parents on foreign soil was not automatically an Irish citizen, but would have to petition for residence and citizenship. The law was not popular, and it would take a hard man indeed to ignore the tearful pleadings of a soon-to-be mother who didn't want her offspring considered a foreign national.

The only part of the plan she was having trouble with was the whereabouts of her fictitious husband. She couldn't have him dead or incapacitated somewhere; that would raise too many questions.

Perhaps an archeologist? They were notoriously self-absorbed and tended to ignore the right now in favor of the distant past. No, all dig sites had to be authorized by the local government. It would be too easy to check her story out and find out it was bogus.

What about a botanist? He could be out in the field gathering specimens, and her pains had started earlier than they were supposed to? She could claim that she had left him a message at his base camp, and had every confidence he would follow just as soon as he returned, but she couldn't wait for him.

That might work better for her, as Moira could talk enough about plant research, and what it entailed, to throw off any suspicion. Not to mention, she could invent her base camp somewhere damn inconvenient to get to, which would virtually ensure that no one would bother to try and contact her 'husband'.