Jon’s heart thumped wildly as panic began to take over, but he managed to keep a cool head and think. If the Guard could be lured into dense vegetation, perhaps he could sneak back to shore unseen and get to the car before it figured out what was going on. With this in mind, he continued on until the vehicle appeared in view round a small point. It was parked in a grass clearing at the place where the narrow road from The Track joined the one round the reservoir. Jon decided to continue swimming some distance past the clearing to lead the Guard to a suitable spot with plenty of shrubs and bushes. As he started on his way, he had a better idea. When he had gone a few hundred yards, he would turn back and confuse the creature by swimming underwater. With luck, it might give up and go away when he disappeared beneath the surface. If not, there was a good chance he could reach the car first.
In order to entice the Guard away from the Ford, Jon yelled and splashed to attract its attention. It was almost too easy. He led it along the shoreline for about a quarter of a mile, then set about retracing his course underwater. Each time he came up for air, he did so with great care, trying to ensure there was some tree or rock or other feature between him and the animal. He could hear it thrashing about in the bushes the first few times he surfaced, but when he found himself close to the water’s edge and right opposite the car, all was quiet. He checked that he could touch the muddy bottom, and quickly assessed the situation, his lungs aching after his exertions. He would swim a little further until the water became too shallow—that way he would be less visible. Then he would bend as low as he could, wade to dry land, and run the thirty or forty feet to the Ford. He remembered he hadn’t locked it, which was fortunate, but on the debit side it faced the reservoir, so he would have to circle round on the grass to make his getaway.
Jon had just reached shallow water when he heard the sound of breaking vegetation. It was now or never. Tucking his sneakers under one arm, he threw caution to the winds and ran the rest of the way through the water. Then he sprinted for his life. His hand was on the car door handle when the beast broke from the shrubs about fifty feet away, moving fast on all fours and growling. After slamming the door, Jon fumbled the ignition keys, wasting valuable seconds, but he got the engine started. The Guard wasn’t fazed by the noise, and reached up to smash in the driver’s side window. But it was too late. The rear wheels spun, and the back end slewed round, spraying a jet of mud and stones straight into its evil eyes. Blinded, the beast could do nothing but bellow and roar in anger. With frequent glances in the rearview mirror, and with his hands shaking on the wheel, Jon finally regained the main road, and turned toward Saddles.
By the time he was approaching the village, he had calmed down. He rounded the corner before Norton Grinder’s store, and there was the owner, large as life, walking from the door to the beetle, which was parked out front. He looked straight at Jon, but Grinder’s glance seemed to go clean through him as if he didn’t exist. The disguise had worked again, thank God. It definitely wasn’t part of his plan to give himself away to the store man just yet.
There was no traffic on the road as he continued on to Leeward. As he drove slowly up the driveway, he didn’t notice any changes until he came to the artificial pond. The grass that separated it from the empty car park was long now, with tall, brown, seed-bearing stems waving in the breeze. It hadn’t been cut for many weeks. The once neat flower beds beside the house were full of weeds and dead flower heads bent over in untidy profusion. In short, the garden was a mess.
He tried the main door. As he had half expected, it was locked, but fearing there might be a guard, he made his presence known by pressing the bell. He heard its distant ring and waited a good minute. There wasn’t a sound. Hands in pockets, and looking as natural as possible, he sauntered down the path that led round the back to the kitchen patio. Everything was more or less unchanged, but by the looks of it, someone had used the tables. There were several empty beer bottles on one of them. He glanced at the kitchen door. One of its two windows had been broken, and when he tried the handle, he found it unlocked. It was dark inside, and the stench of decaying food was overpowering. He tried the light switch, and to his surprise there was power, but the mess he saw was terrible; the place was a complete shambles. Almost everything had been turned over, including one of the fridges.
Jon went through the lobby and several of the guest bedrooms, most of which were untidy and filthy. But in eerie contrast, the family wing was virtually untouched. In Peter and Meg’s room, all their clothes were hanging in the closets and the bed was unmade, just as they must have left it. Even Peter’s shaving things were in their rightful places in the bathroom. Opening the door to his own room was like passing through a time warp. He almost expected Josie to walk in, and with that thought a sadness came over him. Leaving everything untouched, he investigated the rest of the building, and found little damage. The place was deserted.
Completely exhausted, Jon returned to the Ford and drove back to the Holiday Inn. By now it was beginning to get dark so he went directly to his room, fished the key out of his pocket, and opened the door. The bedside light was on. Then he nearly collapsed with fright, because someone had turned round the one and only armchair so that its back was toward the door, and that someone was sitting in it. Jon’s mind seized up and the scene became dream-like. The visitor didn’t move, and Jon noticed his or her legs, which were crossed and slightly to one side of his line of vision. They wore spotless white pants. The owner’s hand, clearly visible, belonged to a black person, a man by the looks of it. But Jon’s mind flatly refused to process these observations and he stood there, totally immobile, keys in hand, the door still open behind him. After what seemed like minutes, but was in fact about ten seconds, the head began to turn. Jon expected to see the barrel of a gun at any moment, but the person in the chair obviously had no evil intent, judging from his broad grin.
“Gotcha!” said Trilby, and dissolved into fits of laughter.
Jon leaned against the frame of the bathroom door for support. “Shit, Joel! What the hell are you trying to do?”
“I might well ask you the same thing. You’re taking an enormous risk coming here, you know.”
“Garbage. But how did you find me?”
“Your disguise isn’t bad, Jon Moresby, I’ll give you that. But it didn’t take me long to see through it.”
“Okay. Fine. But what the hell are you doing here? That is, if I’m allowed to ask.”
“Of course you can ask. But the answer will rattle your brain. I’m here to visit the Minister of Security and his right hand man, the Chief of Police.”
“Jesus, what the—”
Jon backed toward the door.
“Now then, there’s no need to swear. It doesn’t suit you. And I’m not going to arrest you. I’m here in my capacity as regional agent for Thibald and Sörnsen. It’s a long story.”
“You mean you still work for them?”
“Absolutely. I pick up a pay check in Kingston every month.”
“No shit.”
“Are you going to stand there all night? Pour yourself a drink and take a seat. I’ve already got one as you can see.”
Jon went to the mini-bar and selected a miniature of Scotch. “What are you seeing Stoker and Green about? Or is it a secret?”
“They wanted to give me my instructions. I’ve only skimmed through them and there aren’t many surprises, but all of them are unpleasant.”
Trilby refilled his glass and settled back in his chair.
“I saw Stoker this afternoon. He has a fancy office in the Assembly Buildings with a well-stocked bar and a sexy secretary. It seems that Larsen has put me at the disposal of the St. Barbe’s Government.”
“Who’s Larsen?” asked Jon.
“He’s one of the directors at Thibald and Sörnsen, and we think he’s responsible for the disappearance of Anna and Hans. I don’t suppose you’ve heard about the kidnapping attempt in Stockholm. Judge Winchester and a detective called Kurt
Gruber tried to grab Larsen for questioning, but it didn’t work out.” There was a lot of information that hadn’t been passed on to Jon and Josie, and Trilby tried to fill in the blanks. He paused for a few moments, then backtracked to the situation in hand. “As I was saying, I am now an official Thibald and Sörnsen regional agent and will be based in Jamaica. I’ve rented an apartment near the villa as a cover, but don’t expect to use it. Stoker grilled me about my reasons for not living in Kingston itself, and I told him that my job as a real estate agent required me to live in the area where my work was. He then went on to assign my duties, which would be to visit other islands to assess their political situation for Thibald and Sörnsen. I’ll be sending my reports to Larsen by mail with a copy going to St. Barbe’s via the US Consulate in Kingston—that was one of the surprises. It seems these people are everywhere.”
“What people?”
“The Organization. I just told you about it. I’m beginning to think we may be up against a scheme for world domination.”
“And you think it’s up to us to do something?”
“You got it.”
“But there’s no way, Joel.”
“I know. You’re right. Suddenly the whole business isn’t like a spy movie any more. It’s real, it’s deadly, and it’s downright bloody evil.”
“Sounds like things have changed lately.”
“They have, Jon, they have. Now I’ve told you my story, what about yours?”
“I got fed up after fighting with Josie,” Jon replied. “So I took the first flight out of Boston. It ended up in Bermuda, and I had a chance to think. I decided to come back here and see if there was anything I could do for Meg. She’s given up everything, you know. At the same time I wanted to try and contribute to our efforts on my own, and, well, I dunno.” He went on to tell of the Guard and his visit to Leeward.
“I always thought you were pretty far out, my friend,” said Trilby when Jon had finished. “But I grudgingly admit you’re doing a good job. And we should do something about that thing at the reservoir. You’re lucky to be alive. Right now I’m for bed as I’ve got to see Stoker again tomorrow. Then it’s back to Jamaica the day after. But before I leave, I want to visit Norton Grinder. He might not trust me since we’ve never met, so I hope you’ll come along. Since you have a car, would you mind driving me out to Saddles at about eight tomorrow evening?”
“No problem, Joel.”
They both stood and Trilby went to the door. “Watch your arse, Jon.”
Saturday, November 10, St. Barbe’s
By the time Jon awoke, it was almost noon. He was stiff from the previous day’s exertions, but otherwise none the worse for his experience. Later in the afternoon, he decided to call Norton Grinder in advance of his visit; the poor man would probably have a fit if he turned up unannounced, especially after dark.
“I don’t believe it,” answered the store man when he heard Jon’s voice. “Is it really you? I suppose it must be because your voice sounds right. Where the hell are you?”
“At the Holiday Inn right here on the island. I’m playing tourist.”
“Shit! That’s bloody dangerous. Have you gone soft in the head or something?”
“Certainly not. I have good reasons for being here, Norton, very good reasons. One of them is that I want you to meet Joel Trilby. He was the guy in the chopper who winched Hans Wetzlar off Joshua’s boat after the Leeward rescue. Surely Josh told you the story?"
“I remember that of course. But I haven’t heard anything new since hell knows when.”
“Never mind. Trilby and I will fill you in tonight.”
“What? You mean you’re coming out here?”
“You bet.”
“I suppose it’s all right, but don’t get followed. And park round the back.”
“Will do. See you around eight forty-five.”
The journey to Saddles was uneventful. They took a side exit from the Holiday Inn and used the north route to the village, and were certain no one followed them. When they arrived, Norton Grinder made them sit in the storeroom at the rear, then brought in some cold beer. Joshua Barker joined them a few minutes later.
“This is good,” said Jon.
“It’ll loosen your tongue without getting you drunk,” Grinder replied. “Come on then, let’s hear it all.”
Trilby covered just about every detail of what had happened. It took over half an hour including several interruptions when Norton had to attend to customers. The sound of the bell above the shop door made Jon jump each time. Obviously he was under more stress than he realized.
“By the way, I tried to get through to you several times, Norton,” Trilby concluded. “But you were either out, or I was told the lines from Jamaica were closed.”
Jon noticed that Trilby and Grinder were on Christian name terms already, which was a good sign, but the store man’s face fell. “That’s a bloody pain. I heard tell of the phone system being deliberately shut down, but never found out why. There are other rumors too. Maybe there’s some truth in them.”
“What kind of rumors?” asked Jon.
“About what’s been going on in Jamestown,” replied Grinder. “I started hearing things when I went to pick up stock. At first it sounded like crap to me, but where there’s smoke and all that shit, so I began to take it a bit more serious. Now you come along with your tale, and I’m beginning to think it’s all true.”
“Stop all that garbage-talk and make some sense!” cried Joshua Barker.
Norton Grinder lowered his voice a bit. “It seems that a few people were framed for crimes they didn’t do, kind of like the Callunas. That was the first odd thing. I know people do get framed now and again, but rumor had it that the cops were doing the framing. Then they went to trial. Most of the crimes were bad enough so they’d need bail money, but half the time bail was refused, and when it wasn’t, all the bail bond agencies suddenly got tight-fisted. In the end, they finished up in some foreign slammer. They were shipped to God knows where. They just blew away. A few weeks later when their cases came up for trial, they reappeared—just like that. Then they were acquitted, no reasons given. The weird angle is that I knew one of these people, a girl who worked at a warehouse and was accused of stealing cash. She never went back to the warehouse, but I bumped into her in a store one day. I couldn’t put a finger on it but she wasn’t quite the same. A couple of weeks ago I found out she had a new job as secretary to the Minister of Tourism.”
“Bloody peculiar,” said Trilby. “What about the other people?”
“Rumors again, nothing definite. People say most of ’em have good government positions, but that’s only half the story. There were other characters serving sentences in Jamaica for real crimes. You know, thieving and all that kind of stuff. Apparently some of them were rehabilitated, whatever that means, then given early parole. Some even got jobs. I’m told one of the security guards at the Holiday Inn is a convicted murderer.” Norton Grinder noticed Jon’s incredulous expression and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “No shit, man, it’s true. It’s like they’re different people.”
“And what do you think’s going on?” asked Jon.
“Dunno. Haven’t a bloody clue.”
Norton Grinder went over to the ancient fridge by the shop counter and brought over more beer.
“And that’s not all. I keep forgetting things. Umbrella Mountain is now a restricted area. The government says it’s opening up an agricultural research facility on the lower slopes of the north side. Something to do with better sugar cane. Like hell it is. And the people are paying for it.”
Trilby glanced at his watch and got to his feet. “Come on, Jon. We’d better get our butts out of here. It’s getting late.”
After another uneventful drive, Jon turned the car into the Holiday Inn car park, and pulled up in a more or less secluded space.
“I’ll go inside first,” said Trilby. “Take care my young friend, and when you’ve finished your sleuthing, follow
me to Jamaica. I’m leaving tomorrow afternoon.”
They shook hands, and Trilby left.
Monday, November 12, St. Barbe’s
Jon awoke early, raring to go after spending the whole of the previous day resting under a palm tree. Right after breakfast he called the store in Saddles to say he was coming over.
Norton Grinder answered immediately. “I’m surprised you’re still here,” he said.
“What do you mean, Norton? Why would I want to leave?”
“Didn’t you hear the weather forecast? There’s a hurricane heading straight for the island and from all accounts it’s a doozy.”
“That’s all we need, a late-season storm. When is it supposed to hit?”
“Day after tomorrow, if they’re right. Sounds like you’re stuck here, Jon. Seems all flights out are booked solid.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Monday, November 12, Bonnie Beach, Jamaica
Trilby got back to the villa after midnight on Sunday. The place was in darkness, and everyone was in bed. During the drive back from the airport, he had pondered exactly what to say about Jon’s presence on St. Barbe’s. It was going to be difficult to explain without alarming both Meg and the Judge. In the end he had settled on half the truth; it would be much more convincing than lying.
Next morning, Trilby awoke late. He put on a clean navy shirt and white cricket pants, then made his way to the kitchen. Muriel and Rodney were there. He gave Rodney a letter from Joshua, and was on his second cup of coffee when the Judge and Meg came in from the garden. After describing his meetings with Stoker, he tried to break it gently that Jon was on the island. He started by emphasizing how effective Jon’s disguise was, and told them how he had wanted to take a look at Leeward for Meg, and also do something concrete toward their campaign against The Organization. Quite unexpectedly, Jon’s close encounter with the Guard had provided him with a more definite objective, namely its destruction. After expressing her initial surprise at Jon being on the island in the first place, Meg sat in silence throughout Trilby’s story.
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