by Jay MacLarty
Atherton ducked out of sight, then reappeared with a short stalk of hollowed-out bamboo. He looked like a homeless person with a good haircut, his face stubbled with blond whiskers, his well-tailored clothes damp and torn and mud-spattered. He crouched down and carefully trickled a stream of water into Simon’s mouth. “Take it slow.”
Simon swallowed and coughed, then swallowed again, the flavor earthy and sweet. “Thanks.” He still sounded like a frog, but one that could talk.
Atherton sat back on his heels. “You’ve been running a pretty high temperature. Sweating one minute, shaking the next. How do you feel?”
Numb and foggy, like someone had stuffed his body through a meat grinder. “I’m okay.”
“Can you sit up?”
Good question, and though he couldn’t remember how he got there, he realized he was lying on a bed of palm branches. “I think so.” Using his good arm, he pushed himself into a sitting position. His torso looked as bad as it felt, his upper body ribboned with cuts and scratches, his left arm bound to his chest. “What time is it?”
Atherton glanced at his watch. “Two-thirty. You’ve been out for sixteen hours.”
“Sixteen hours? What happened? I mean…”
“You don’t remember?”
He remembered walking until dark…he remembered finding this semi-dry, semi-sheltered spot…he remembered…that was it, nothing beyond that point. “Remember what?”
“Kyra setting your arm.”
No, he didn’t remember that. Thankfully. He glanced around, unable to see much beyond the wall of vegetation. “Where is Kyra?”
“She’s been gone over six hours. Said she was going to look for help. I tried to talk her out of it.” He shook his head, a gesture of self-recrimination. “I never should have let her go.”
Right, as if Kyra Rynerson would let any man dictate her actions. “Don’t worry about her.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt. “That girl’s tough as nails and twice as sharp. She’ll be fine.”
Atherton nodded, though it was obvious he didn’t believe it.
“When did the rain stop?”
He glanced over his shoulder, apparently unaware that it had. “Oh.” He extended his hand out beyond the rocks, palm up, as if he didn’t believe his eyes. “It comes and goes. Mostly comes. So hard most of the time you can’t see a thing.”
“I’m sure that’s why it’s taking her so long.” A weak attempt, Simon realized, to convince himself. “She spent three months in the Amazon rain forest. She knows how to take care of herself.”
“I guess.”
“You find anything to eat?” Simon asked, trying to change the subject. “There should be a lot of berries and nuts in this climate.”
Atherton shook his head. “I didn’t think I should leave you alone.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” He suspected the man was simply too depressed or too afraid to venture beyond their enclosure. “If Kyra’s not back soon, we’ll take a look around, see what we can find.”
Atherton shrugged indifferently. “I’m not really hungry.” He squatted down, until they were eye to eye. “Mind if I ask you something?”
“Of course not.”
“Just between us.”
Uh-oh—that meant it had something to do with Kyra. He nodded, though he didn’t really want to play keeper-of-secrets in their relationship.
“You and Kyra are close.”
Was that a question? “What do you mean?”
“I know she respects your opinion.”
Simon smiled, hoping to keep it light. “I told you she was smart.”
“I’ve decided to ask her to marry me.”
“Oh…wow…I mean—” What did he mean? He wasn’t that surprised; suspected their relationship was heading in that direction, but why now? In this place? “You obviously don’t believe in wasting time.”
“There’s something about going down in a plane that makes a person realize what’s important in life.”
“Can’t argue with that.”
“Well…?”
Well what? What did he expect? “I think any man would be damn lucky to have her.”
“So you approve?”
Simon chuckled, as if he found the question amusing, though he found nothing about the conversation remotely humorous. “You’re asking the wrong person. It’s not my approval you need.”
“But what you think matters to her. I’d like to know that we have your blessing.”
Blessing! “Jim, really, you’re placing way too much importance on my opinion. Kyra doesn’t care what I think—not when it comes to love and marriage.”
The man’s lips disappeared into a tight seam. “So you’re against it?”
“No,” Simon answered, being careful to keep his tone matter-of-fact. “That’s not what I said, and that’s not what I mean. I’ve known you less than two weeks.” The same as the proposed bride, he might have added, but restrained himself. “I don’t know you well enough to make a judgement. I don’t know if you like kids, or if you—”
“Don’t,” Atherton broke in, “make this complicated. If you’re against the idea, just say so. Kids have nothing to do with this. If she wants kids, we’ll have kids. It’s not an issue.”
“I wasn’t referring to future children, Jim. Kyra has a child. That’s an important fact, not an issue.”
Atherton rocked back on his heels, almost as if he’d been slapped. “Oh, right. I misunderstood.”
Simon nodded, though the man’s response seemed disingenuous, his reaction beyond misunderstanding. Did he even remember that Kyra had a child? Was he blindly in love, or an opportunist looking to climb aboard the Rynerson Express?
The object of their discussion suddenly appeared through the foliage, her blouse and slacks caked with mud. “Misunderstood what?”
Atherton leaped to his feet. “Misunderstood how long you would be gone.” He gave Simon an awkward, please-don’t-say-anything smile. “We were starting to worry.”
“Sorry, I wanted to finish scouting the island before dark.” She squatted down next to the makeshift bed. “How you doing, Leonidovich?”
“Good.” If feeling like a regurgitated hair ball qualified as good. “Thanks for setting my arm.”
“Ha! That’s not what you said last night.”
“That was my female side talking. You have to ignore her.”
She smiled, just a little, the ordeal clearly having sapped her spirit. “You have sides?”
“Absolutely. Simon and Simone.”
“Sounds a little schizophrenic to me.”
“We resent the implication of that remark.”
She laughed and placed a hand on his forehead. “You’re still a bit warm. Have you eaten anything?”
“He just woke up,” Atherton answered quickly, his tone a touch defensive. “I was about to look around. See what I could find.”
“I might have something.” She reached behind her and pulled an olive-green military cargo bag through the foliage. “Compliments of our friends from the helicopter.”
Atherton stared at the thing, his eyes devoid of understanding. “They left it?”
Simon knew better. “They’re still here?”
She nodded. “Five of them. I didn’t see the helicopter, they couldn’t use it this weather, but it’s the same guys. They were unloading gear from a fishing trawler. Not far from where we came ashore. They’ve got four Zodiacs and enough supplies to last at least a couple of weeks.”
The confusion on Atherton’s face deepened. “Zodiacs?”
“Inflatable rubber boats,” Kyra explained. “One’s pretty good size…big outboard…would probably hold six, maybe eight people. The others are smaller…wouldn’t hold more than two. They’re setting up camp just inside—”
“They sound like fishermen,” Atherton interrupted, his tone hopeful.
“No, they’ve got guns and—”
“Or hunters.”
“Yes, Jim, tha
t’s exactly what they are. And, they’re hunting us.”
“I just don’t understand how you can be sure?” he persisted, clearly not wanting to accept what he was hearing. “We didn’t really get a good look at them.”
“Because—” She took a deep breath, obviously irritated by the interruptions. “Robbie is with them.”
“Oh.” He slumped back against the rock wall. “Oh, Jesus.”
Someone, Simon thought, needed to work on his communication skills before popping the big question. He cocked his head toward the cargo bag, trying to refocus the happy couple’s attention. “So, what you got there, Rynerson?”
“I didn’t stop to look.” She pulled back the zipper and within seconds they were digging through the bag like three kids at Christmas. The contents clearly belonged to one person. The bag contained an assortment of clothes—mostly T-shirts and cargo-style shorts—including an expensive pair of lightweight hiking boots, a cheap pair of flip-flop shower shoes, and a camouflage Boonie hat. There were two smaller bags within the larger: a small toiletry kit, and a nylon accessory bag. The first contained two pivot-head disposable razors, a tube of Marks & Spencer shave gel, a tube of Hedley & Wyche toothpaste, a well-used toothbrush, a first-aid kit, an aerosol can of GreenHead insect repellent, four Safex Delay condoms, a small sewing kit, a washcloth, a laundry line, two sticks of camouflage paint—one loam, the other leaf-green—and a small plastic jar containing an assortment of pills. The accessory bag contained a pair of Steiner 7x50 binoculars, a pair of PVS-7 Ultra night-vision goggles, a SureFire E1e mini-light, a fifty-foot coil of black nylon rope, a clear plastic bottle of dark rum, and an assortment of high-energy snack foods.
Kyra grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “Not bad, uh?”
“Absolutely incredible!” Atherton agreed, obviously trying hard to redeem himself. “How did you get it?”
“It wasn’t that hard. They had most of their gear stacked inside the tree line, out of sight from the water. After the trawler left and they started to set up the Zodiacs, I just slipped in, grabbed the nearest bag, and hightailed it out of there.”
Simon suspected what she described as “just slipped in” to have been one heart-stopping moment, but he feigned a look of disappointment. “You couldn’t have grabbed a gun or two while you were at it?”
“Be careful, Leonidovich, I might have to reset that arm.”
“Did I mention what a really fine job you did landing that plane?”
“Smartass.”
Atherton glanced back and forth between them, clearly irritated by their mindless sniping. “Hey, guys, we’re in trouble here. What’s going to happen when they realize the bag is missing?”
“Nothing,” Kyra answered. “They’ll think they forgot to unload it.”
He opened his mouth, ready to argue the point, then apparently realized their situation couldn’t get worse, stolen bag or not, and changed direction. “Could you tell what they had planned? Were you close enough to hear anything?”
“Not really,” she answered. “Not with all the rain.”
“I assume,” Simon said, “they were either British or Irish?”
Atherton frowned, a slightly wary look. “And why would you assume that?”
Simon hesitated, not wanting to overshadow the man in front of the woman he intended to marry. “Well, I…I just assumed if Robbie was with them, they were from the same country.” Probably from the same military unit—ex-SAS, working as mercenaries—but he kept those thoughts to himself. “And most of this stuff—” He motioned toward the toiletries. “—is British.”
“Oh, right. Of course. Mercenaries, I’ll bet.” He turned to Kyra, who was sorting through the pills. “A clear chain of command? One man in charge?”
“No question,” she answered. “A real hardass type. Shaved head, late forties, early fifties. Handsome in a rugged kind of way, but not someone I’d want to meet in a dark alley.” She selected three identical pills and handed them to Simon. “Acetaminophen. That should help kill your fever.”
“Thanks.” He popped the pills, swallowing them dry. “You see anything else?”
“Such as?”
“Fishing village? Inhabitants? Boats?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. The weather’s too bad to see anything offshore, and the island’s deserted. I made it from one end to the other, somewhere around three miles. It couldn’t have been more than a mile across at the widest.”
“Food?” The question, Simon realized, didn’t matter that much; if they didn’t find a way to escape this island trap, and fast, they would end up dead long before they starved. “Water?”
“Plenty of wild fruit,” she answered. “We should probably save the trail mix for emergencies. And with all this rain…” She shrugged, not bothering to state the obvious, and pulled a tube of Polysporin ointment from the first-aid kit. “Here. You need to take care of those scratches. The last thing you need is to get an infection in this climate. You could be dead in a matter of days.”
Atherton let out a kind of croak, somewhere between a laugh and the grunt. “Days! How could it take days. There have to be people looking for us.”
“I’m sure they’re looking,” Kyra answered. “The question is where? Whoever sabotaged the plane knew what they were doing. I’d be very surprised if they didn’t disable the emergency transponder as well.”
Simon would have bet his left testicle on that. “And this weather won’t help matters.”
“But what about radar?” Atherton asked. “They must have seen us go down.”
“Probably not,” Kyra answered. “We never declared an emergency. And since we were flying VFR, it’s doubtful they were tracking us.”
“VFR?”
“Visual flight rules. We didn’t file a flight plan.”
A look of dismay flashed across Atherton’s face. “No flight plan? Why?”
Not that it made a difference now, Simon thought, but he couldn’t blame the man for asking. “A flight from mainland China to Taiwan would have prompted too many serious questions. And with that—” He nodded toward his pockmarked security case. “I couldn’t very well explain the Crest of Ch’in to just any old customs agent.”
“You’re saying no one has any idea where we are?”
“That’s very possible,” Simon admitted, feeling more than a little responsible. “I should have done this alone.”
Atherton waved the apology away. “It’s no one’s fault. I insisted on coming.”
“Hey, it could be worse,” Kyra said, clearly trying to put a good face on a bad situation. “We’re near the Lema Channel, so there’ll be plenty of marine traffic. Fishing boats as well as freighters.” She turned to Simon. “Right?”
He nodded, visualizing the map in his mind. “I’m guessing we’re on or near Er Zhou. It’s one of the larger islands in the Dangan Liedao chain. And the highest, if I remember right. Once the weather clears it shouldn’t be that difficult to flag down a boat.”
Atherton rolled his eyes. “This is typhoon season. We might not see the sun for days.”
As if on cue, the clouds reopened and the rain began to fall; silver-black sheets instantly transformed the gray afternoon into a charcoal twilight. No one said anything, staring at the downpour in morose silence until Atherton broke the spell. “Okay, let’s review our options.” He said it as if they had a good selection to choose from.
“Our only option,” Simon answered, “is to flag down a boat, and that’s not going to happen until the weather clears. And it’s not going to happen from here. We need to find a place within sight of the water.”
Kyra nodded. “We might be able to find a spot somewhere along the western end of the island. The coastline is pretty rugged over there.”
“I agree,” Atherton said, sounding very much like he didn’t. “Our options are limited, but we’re not going to survive out here playing hide-and-seek.”
As much as Simon hated to admit it, the man was right.
“You have something in mind?”
“Maybe. To start, we need to determine what they want. That’s the first step in any negotiation.”
“Negotiation!” Kyra stared the wide stare of disbelief. “I can tell you what they want! They want us dead!”
“Yes,” he agreed, “but that’s only a starting point, and we’re interested in the end result.” He smiled and gave her a wink. “And I’m a very good negotiator.” He turned to Simon, the smile growing wider. “That’s what I do for a living.”
Simon finally realized where the man was heading. “You’re suggesting we buy our way out?”
“Why not?” He didn’t wait for a response. “They’re mercenaries. We’ll just offer them a better deal. A better end result.”
He made it sound easy, but Simon knew better. The men on the beach might be mercenaries, but the reason behind everything—the accidents at the Pearl, the attack on Big Jake, the massacre at the home of Mei-li Chiang, and the downing of the plane—wasn’t just about money. “I’m not sure there’s enough money to buy our way out of this.”
“Are you kidding?” He looked at Kyra and smiled. “I can think of two people who would pay about anything to get their little girl back.”
Though Simon knew it was true, it was obvious from Kyra’s tight-mouthed expression she didn’t like being referred to as a chip on the bargaining table. “Yes, they would,” Simon conceded, trying to sound agreeable as he disagreed. “And I’m not saying the idea isn’t without merit, but sometimes it’s not about money.”
“Of course it’s about money. It’s always about money. That’s what mercenaries do…they sell their services to the highest bidder.”
“Except that their services, as you put it, have already been contracted for. If they let us go, they’ll end up being hunted themselves.”
Atherton lifted his hands and hunched his shoulders, as if to say this was only a minor detail. “It’s a matter of risk and reward. We appeal to their greed. I’ll make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
Simon couldn’t decide if the man was being foolishly brave, or showing off for his intended. “You’re willing to meet with them?”