by John Hunt
Petur shook his head. “Many of them are so completely immersed in their projects that it is the same as if they were in prison. These people would not leave unless forced. Thus, the spouses feel compelled to stay, whether they wish to or not.”
“That’s only a small percentage of the people, Petur. It’s not like this island is a desert wasteland. It’s beautiful and warm and easygoing. It’s like a permanent vacation spot. Most people love it here. I wish we didn’t have to ask them to leave.”
“They’ll all be able to come back shortly.”
It was Elisa’s turn to shake her head. “Petur, I’ve told you. You are being overly optimistic. The Mexicans are going to take this place — by force if necessary. They will not give it back. They have little interest in the effect this will have on the Project. They are simply using this place as a convenient propaganda tool to maintain the enormous wave of popular support for their new regime. In fact, even if the new president changed his mind, the people are now so riled up that they would swim out here themselves to evict us all. Nothing and no one can stop this. So please don’t foolishly think that they are going to let you waltz right back in and run this place again.”
“Elisa, just as there are things that I don’t know about you and your methods, there are things you might not know about me and mine.” He sat quietly for several seconds. “Now, is there anything that you would like to tell me about how you knew so much about what was to transpire in Mexico? Anything?”
“Not yet, Petur. Not yet. Sit tight.”
“I trust you will tell all, when the time arises?”
“I wouldn’t trust that at all, Petur. But please do trust that I am interested in your complete success.”
Petur nodded, rather solemnly.
Elisa stood up to go. “Thank you for letting me stay behind. I was worried when I saw my name on one of the passenger manifests. I thought you wanted me to leave.”
Petur arose from the booth to walk her out. “I did want you to leave, Elisa. I still do. It will be dangerous here. But, I knew you would want to stay, and you will be handy to have around when the Mexican envoy arrives.”
She looked down and rubbed her forehead. “Petur, if you really do have concrete plans to keep the Island somehow — to prevent the Mexicans from taking over — it will have to be an impressive trick. But then, you do seem to be have a knack for impressive tricks.” She seemed contemplative for a moment, and then sighed. “Keep the Mexican envoy on edge, Petur — always on edge. If he feels he is in charge, if he feels in control, if he feels confident — then you will never win.”
They approached the elevator. “And now, Petur, I will be in my house. Lots to do. Please notify me of any new developments. And tell me when the meeting with the envoy will take place so I can be in the Council chambers waiting when they arrive. And remember: keep him on edge. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She smiled at Petur as she pressed the button for the elevator. It arrived immediately, and as she stepped on, she turned around. But as the doors started to close, she thrust out a hand to hold them apart. She removed her glasses and looked deep into Petur’s eyes. “Petur — one more thing. Not all things are as you think they are.” And with that cryptic and irritating declaration, the doors closed and Elisa disappeared.
Petur stood, silently looking at the shining door of the elevator. The fleeting vision of her face without glasses swept clear the silt from a corner of his memory. A moment later the vision was lost and the silt returned. But the vision left behind a seed of sagacity, and he desperately nurtured it. The seed had not yet germinated, but Petur knew that it would, and soon, and when it did, the meaning of his thoughts would become manifest. He would let Elisa be alone for the next twenty-four hours.
Turning, Petur walked back to the booth where they had just been. He sat where Elisa had been sitting and closed his eyes, and felt the warmth from her body radiate from the leather upholstery.
Petur was unaware of how long he sat there. He must have fallen asleep, for when he next opened his eyes he was surprised to find that he was not alone.
“Well, Petur, good to see you joining the ranks of the living! I thought maybe you were dead. I’ve been sitting here for ages.”
Jeff Baddori, smiling broadly, sat across from him. His skin bore evidence of intense sun exposure, and his lips were dry and chapped. An intensely purple and swollen bruise marred his left cheek. He was wearing a white cotton shirt, and his muscled arms rested on the table. His face, in turn, rested on his hands.
“Jeff!” Petur shouted in glee. He jumped up from his chair and almost dove across the table to embrace the man. “You don’t look too good. God, we were worried about you. We had no idea where you were!”
“That happens in my line of work, from time to time. I thought you knew that. But I’m glad to see that people care!”
“Have you seen my sister yet? She’s been in a miserable state since you left. Hard to live with.”
“Yes. She sent me up here. I hear that her experiment was a huge success. It made the news all over the world today.”
“Yes. I was hoping this news might rescue us from the clutches of the new government of Mexico, but I hear otherwise.”
Jeff’s smile disappeared. “Sophia told me about that too. I know Mexico well.” He considered this more. “Actually, I know the dirtbags of Mexico well. I know the citizens little. But it sounds like the dirtbags are playing some role in all this. Drug smugglers side by side with businessmen and politicos.”
“Yes. If they’re successful, these islands will come to a miserable end. It’s a shame; a waste.”
“Are you giving up? That would not be the Petur Bjarnasson I know.”
“No. I am definitely not giving up. In fact… It’s nice to have you here, Jeff. You’ve come at just the right moment.”
“I was hoping to have a few days of rest, perhaps to lounge in the pool with your lovely sister, but judging by all the traffic in and out of the air terminal, I suppose that won’t be happening.”
Petur grinned tightly. “I’d like to do the same, with Elisa. But, no, Jeff — this is not the time. We plan on being rather busy.”
“I have yet to meet this Elisa of yours. She’s the source of most of your information about Mexico?”
“She’s reliable. If she’s wrong, things will not go as planned.”
“Tell me exactly what you’re planning; I’ll help.”
Petur crossed his legs under the table and leaned forward. His face was solemn. “First, you tell me what you’ve been up to. Have you heard that we’ve had a run-in with those saboteurs who almost blew us both up?”
Jeff smiled. “I heard something about that, yes.” Then his tone became serious. “In fact, I have a lot to tell you about that. But there will be plenty of time for that discussion later — it’s history. We must prepare for the future. So, I repeat, what have you got planned?”
“Suicide, I think: I want to fight the Mexicans.”
Jeff looked at Petur closely. Petur was deadly serious.
“How many troops do you have?”
Petur smiled, “Including you?”
“That many, huh?” Jeff grunted. “I understand there is soon to be a well-armed Mexican Navy vessel off our shores. Do you have torpedoes, mines, missiles?”
“Not even one.”
“Machine guns? Grenades? Pistols?”
“Nope.”
“But you want to fight.” Jeff was stating a fact, not posing a question.
“Yes.”
Jeff stretched his arms up over his head and then dropped them back down to the table. “Well then, count me in!” With his broad smile firmly back on his face, he hollered to the walls of the empty restaurant, “Waitress, two beers, please! And make ‘em real big!”
47. Arrival of the State
THE NEXT MORNING came quickly. The last planes had departed in the wee hours, carrying the last loads of people and cargo. The island was almost, but not
completely, deserted.
It was already a beautiful day. The cloud that usually hung high above the island was particularly small and particularly fluffy. The sky was the deepest of blues, and the lagoon glowed like an emerald. No storms threatened the island today — at least, none of nature’s storms.
Several people sat in the rooftop restaurant of Science Hall. There was little conversation, with the exception of the idle commentary on the beauty of their surroundings. Nobody discussed the substantial Mexican Navy cruiser that lay hove to just a short distance from the lagoon entrance, armed to the teeth, or the modern luxury megayacht that lay anchored nearby. But they all had been looking at them. The decks of the cruiser seemed overcrowded with people, way too many to be just the crew enjoying a topside view. No, the ship was serving as a troop transport. This was a display of force.
Petur tossed back the remaining orange juice in his glass, and rose. He looked around at the other people in the room.
Sophia was there, gazing through a window over the lagoon. She was too stubborn to leave, and he had rarely, if ever, been able to convince his sister to do what he wanted. This was no exception. She had made a valid case for why she needed to stay behind.
There were five men together at a table nearby. Heinrich Poll sat talking with Otto Wagner. They claimed that they built the whole island, and that they had no intention of just giving it all away without a fight. There were three engineers with them, each an enormous man sitting silently with a cup of coffee. Dr. Standall, who had been sitting at that table a few moments earlier, rose to walk over and stand beside Jeff. As Petur watched, the two men entered into a friendly conversation about nothing in particular. Standall had promised to demand his hundreds of millions of dollars back, immediately, if he was sent off the island. So he was staying too.
Isaac had not made an appearance this morning, although Petur knew exactly where he was. There was no particular reason for Isaac to stay on the island, as far as Petur could ascertain, but Isaac had been his partner all along, and had just as much at stake in this place as Petur had. The issue of Isaac leaving never even arose. Elisa had not yet appeared, either. He called her this morning. She mentioned that she might be a little late.
His little army was not large enough to brag about. But dedication and loyalty could beat size almost any day. Petur hoped that on this day that tenet would hold true.
Sophia called over to him. “Petur — there’s some activity.”
Petur gazed out over the lagoon. The immense gray ship was lowering a ten-meter launch into the water. As the people in Science Hall looked on, the boat filled with men, cast off from the ship, and after picking up three passengers from the yacht, began moving toward the lagoon entrance. It was too far away to see how many people were coming. It was more than a small envoy, but less than a small army.
Petur nodded to everyone and no one. He glanced at the elevators where Poll and the engineers, who had also stood up immediately upon seeing the activity on the ship, were waiting for the lift down. The men climbed in and disappeared. The remaining people in the restaurant awaited the next lift. It took but a few seconds before they could step in.
“What do you say we all take our positions?”
The doors opened at the main floor and almost everyone exited. Petur stayed aboard and pressed the red button marked “Z” — one that he had only pressed a few times before. The elevator started a rapid downward descent to the deepest part of the building, and Evan Harrigan’s laboratory.
Juan Marcos hated boats. He always had. People surreptitiously laughed at him whenever he moved about on a boat. He was sure of it. His colossal weight challenged the stability of any small vessel. Not only that, but this one was crammed with people too. There were twenty members of the Mexican army, as well as their equipment. Three members of the Mexican press had their cameras strapped over their shoulders — one with a sizable movie camera. One man — a civilian, but uniformed like the other men — was on board specifically to protect Juan Marcos. He was tucked into an after quarter of the vessel, hardly noticeable. There was little room left to squeeze Juan and Enrico Marcos on board.
Juan Marcos eyed his son with disgust. The weak man had been seasick through the whole voyage here. He was useless on the sea. On land, however, the elder Marcos had to admit, his son had performed admirably in arranging the election-week spree that led to the purportedly democratic overthrow of the government. It was Juan Marcos’s recognition of his son’s value in that endeavor that had caused him to release his neck from a death squeeze as Enrico dropped into unconsciousness after his assault on Maria. Maria had departed in tears that day, and Juan Marcos had not seen her since. Enrico would pay many times for that outrage.
To Juan Marcos, little had changed between him and his son. His son never fully pleased him, and often distressed him. His son’s recent display of efficiency pleased him only briefly, and this was immediately overcome by disgust at the son’s stomach weakness. Although he noticed that Enrico had been uplifted by his recent successes, now was not the time to knock him back down.
“Enrico, get over here so I can talk with you.”
His son came over obediently, but replied in a less-than-respectful tone, “What do you want?”
Juan Marcos sneered, but kept his hand by his side. “You have come with me on this trip to help ensure that you will be prominent in the media reports of the events that will occur today. The popular press will now give you the recognition you need to have legitimacy when you take office as vice-governor of Northern Mexico. People are obviously concerned that you did not earn your position in the political structure, so to relieve their concern you must give them the appearance that you did.”
“I did earn my position!” Enrico replied bitterly. “Without me, none of the change could have occurred.”
“That is not entirely true, but you certainly did assist in the process. But, as I stressed and you chose to ignore, you must appear to have earned your position. The people of Northern Mexico must not become aware of your role in manipulating them. If they do, then all will soon unravel. No, you need to show that you earned your place by performing a strong nationalistic deed to uplift Mexico — one that the people will see and for which they will give you credit. It is for that reason that you are here.”
Enrico shook his head. “This is not going to be difficult. The islands have been mostly evacuated already. They are not going to put up a fight at all. They seem to have already accepted that they will be removed. Today just seems a formality.”
“Have you not wondered how they were able to evacuate this island so readily? It was only a few days ago that we even mentioned our disagreement over the lease. Yet that same day, Petur Bjarnasson was announcing to his people and the world media not only the discovery of nuclear fusion but also plans for the complete evacuation of the island.”
“So, they had plans in advance. I would too if I lived on a tropical island. Big storms do come, you know.”
“Yes, Enrico, that may be. But we were very careful to leak information only about issues regarding lease and tax payments — money issues only. There was no suggestion anywhere that we were going to take over the islands.”
“How about this ship of war we strode in on. Isn’t that a hint?”
“Yes, perhaps. But not enough for them to have become so suspicious.”
“So what is your point, father?”
“They had warning. Somehow they learned what we have planned. They know what is to come. Therefore, they may have prepared something more than just an obsequious welcoming party, don’t you think?”
Enrico adjusted his balance as a large swell moved under the boat. “Do you think they might actually try to fight us?”
“They have had three days — perhaps much more — to prepare, Enrico. Much could have been prepared on these islands.”
“Our people on Paradise 1 would have informed us, had there been an insertion of weapons and troops. We have rec
eived no information to suggest they are preparing for any military action. In fact, word has it there is essentially nobody left on the island. Just a few scattered people.”
“Well, I hope we can trust that information. We only have twenty men with us on this boat. If these island people decide to fight, guess who gets killed? These men are not really expecting to have to fight.”
Enrico eyed his father curiously. “Do you have any reason not to trust that these men can fight?”
“I have no reason to trust or distrust. Salingas chose the method of our arrival. He planned this affair.”
“Do you trust Salingas?”
Juan Marcos turned away from his son and replied, “Not at all.”
The boat was approaching the thin circle of rocky coral delineating the boundary of the lagoon of Paradise 1. The coxswain turned the craft to port and moved through the entrance into the lagoon. The swells disappeared quickly, and the heavily laden launch pushed its way through the now-smooth water, towards the long pier on the far side.
Juan Marcos looked out over the lagoon. It was as beautiful as he had heard. Paradise was an appropriate name. The water was impeccably clear, with the bottom easily visible despite being far below the surface. The beaches were pristine, and the buildings dotting the side of the slope fit in with the landscape without obtruding. The pier itself did seem out of place, as big as it was, but the tall building to the northeast, with its glass spire reaching far above the trees, seemed to fit perfectly in the environment. Yet that same building might just as easily have fit into a renovated glistening corner of New York City. But he was not here to appreciate the beauty of the place. He was here to gain possession of it.
The boat was throwing a large wake as it plodded across the lagoon. The throttle was pressed near maximum because of the large load of people. Several moored and anchored craft, left behind in a small cove, were tossed violently by waves that they had not been accustomed to seeing in their protected area. The coxswain cared not at all about the damage he was causing.