Did Michael Crichton even read Pirate Latitudes, at least in the form we have it today? I wonder. He died more than a year before the book saw publication, and it reads like an outline for a novel rather than a fleshed-out example of one.
The storycraft is patchy, the typical Crichton invention uneven. Perhaps he worked on this as an exercise between more serious efforts, thinking he'd have time to give it the fresher perspective it needed.
Alas, death has a habit of catching one unawares.