“But they’d be miles away,” said Robbie. “How would we set it off?”
“We wouldn’t.” Gene grinned up at him. “They would. Here’s what I’ve been thinking. Say we hide this thing in the cabin locker – Baz knows where I mean. Yeah? And say we ran a lead from the winch motor to the spark plug that’s on the bomb. And say it was a diving day, not a trading day. Now, they’ve got no reason to start the winch motor until they’re miles out to sea, and the divers are down below the water, and they need to haul something up. So then Moko pulls the rope to start the winch motor. But instead of the spark plug being in the winch motor, it’s in the bomb, see? So up she goes. Boom. Boat sinks, job done.”
A wondering silence fell on the washroom. All were lost in the same vision, the same magnificent thunderous explosion playing and replaying in their imaginations. Great waterspouts rising from the sea... the Cormorant splintering into a million pieces... Isaac and his band of thugs flying through the air... blown into the stratosphere... vanishing without trace. And they, the X-Isle boys, blasting their way to a heroic and righteous freedom. It was a brilliant plan. Utterly brilliant.
“Oh, man,” Jubo breathed at last. “You a genius, Gene. You the real Spartacus, man.” He gave a long sigh. “Eyyyy.”
“But what if—?” Dyson began to speak.
“Yeah, I know, mate.” Gene raised a hand to interrupt him. “I know. There are a helluva lot of ‘what ifs’. Like what if one of them opens the lid of the locker box and sees the bomb? What if they spot the HT lead? What if they try to start the motor and the bomb doesn’t go off? They’re gonna come sailing back here and they’re gonna kill us, that’s what if. Yeah, and I don’t mean just beat us up. Kill us.”
How quickly that brave vision of freedom then disappeared, fleeing to the corners of the room to hide among the cobwebs, a timid and insubstantial thing. And in its place came another image: the dark shadow of the Cormorant returning through the mist, solid and intact, its outraged crew vowing bloody revenge.
“Yeah, you see?” said Gene. “It’s still just an idea, that’s all. Only an idea. Whether we’d really have the guts to go through with it, I don’t know. And the other thing, the other big thing is... what about Preacher John? He’s not gonna be on the boat, is he? He never goes on the boat. But’ – he stood up and dusted off his bare knees – ‘what I say is this: let’s at least build it. We don’t have to use it, but we’ve come this far, so let’s get the job done. I’ll take this lid into the sort room and work on it, and we’ll think about it some more. Try and make it so we’re not dead if it all goes wrong.”
He looked around at the thoughtful faces. “Anybody got any objections? No? Anybody got any questions, then?”
“Yeah, me,” said Jubo. “When is old Baz gonna start sharing these girls around, hey? That’s what me wanna know, man. Me keep hearing ’bout them, but me don’t even see them yet! When he get so lucky?”
Which made everyone laugh of course, and changed the subject of discussion entirely.
Jubo soon got his wish, because within twenty-four hours the two girls, Nadine and Steffie, had been seen by all. They were spotted up on the playing fields feeding the goat, and again a little further along the coastline from the jetty, sitting beside the wooden dinghy that was beached there. It seemed that they more or less had the run of the island, although they never came near where the boys were working, or made any contact with them.
“They’ve been told that we’re very busy and that they must try not to disturb us,” Baz said. He was speaking to an open-mouthed audience on Tuesday night in the slob room. “It’s important that we continue our good work without any interruptions, Mr. Eck says. If it wasn’t for us, the poor mainlanders would starve, and so we must all do our best not to let that happen.”
“You what?”
“Yeah, I know. They think Isaac’s a friggin’ hero. And they can’t wait to meet the wonderful Preacher John.”
“Well, I hope you put ’em straight,” said Amit.
“Don’t get a chance,” said Baz. “I have to take their meals up to their room, but there isn’t time to say anything much. Nadine – that’s the older one – she came down to the kitchen and helped me do some cooking. But I haven’t really talked to her since.”
“Woo-hoo – Nadine! “She helped me do some cooking.” Get you!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Baz could feel himself blushing. It was ridiculous, but once a blush began it was impossible to stop. He tried to divert attention from himself. “So what’s been happening, Gene? You got any further?”
“Yup,” said Gene. “I already told the others before you got here. I’ve fitted the spark plug into the lid, and it’s as tight as you like. The end pokes through to the other side, and that’s given me another idea. Tell you about it later. The other thing I had to do today was make some torches – like firebrands. Long sticks with a load of oily rag tied round the ends. Preacher John’s orders, and I can guess what they’re for. The altar. I reckon he’s planning on more sacrifices.”
But sacrificing what? More rabbits? Or something... else? It was a scary thought, and everyone was quiet for a minute.
“Yeah, well,” said Gene. “Let’s try and forget about that for now. But did you find out how big it was – the pressure cooker – how many litres it holds?”
Baz nodded. “Sixty-five. Says so on the bottom. Sixty-five-litre capacity. I tipped it up to have a look, and I can tell you it weighs a ton.”
“Sixty-five?” said Gene. “Blimey, that’s a lot. I’m gonna have to check some calculations – soon as Baz can get me up into that library.”
“I can get you up there tomorrow night,” said Baz. “No problem. You’ve only got to get as far as the kitchen door, and from then on you’re pretty safe.”
“Let’s do it, then.”
“Wow. I’m telling you – it is amazing up there. Perfect hideout. You guys are gonna love it.” On Wednesday night Gene returned to the slob room, full of all that he’d seen in the library. As Baz had predicted, it had been easy enough to get him through the kitchens. Armed with his wind-up torch and some directions, Gene had spent an hour alone at the top of the building.
“Nice chairs, tables. There’s pens up there. There’s even paper. Yeah—”
“Yeah, but did you find the right books?” Baz was impatient to know whether the trip had produced any actual results.
“Yup. Working mixture’s anything between seven and fifteen per cent gas to air. Found it in a chemi book. We’ve got enough methane for a ten-per-cent mixture. So that’s it, boys – we’re there. We’ve already got enough gas.”
“You sayin’ we can stop blowing up balloons?” said Jubo. “Good.”
“What, are you all out of breath, Jube? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Ha, ha!”
But it was a sobering moment. They’d reached their target, according to Gene, and with it a turning point. They had the vessel, they had the explosive, and they had a way of detonating that explosive. They had the makings of a bomb.
On Friday morning Baz was in the little sluice room next to the kitchen, rinsing out the divers’ foul underwear – his least favorite job. He heard voices outside in the corridor and was surprised when Nadine looked in at the door.
“Hiya,” she said. “You’re always so busy! What’re you doing now?”
Baz resisted the temptation to say, What does it look like? and just grunted, “Washing some clothes.” He was resentful of the easy life these girls led.
“Yeah? We’re just seeing Aunt Etta off,” Nadine said. “She’s working over on the mainland this weekend. A couple of the men are taking her across in the boat. She’s coming back on Monday...”
“Ooh – is this the laundry room?” The younger girl, Steffie, appeared. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
Like her sister, Steffie looked unfeasibly neat and clean. She was maybe twelve or thirteen, her fair hair tied up in bunches.
Baz glanced up and sai
d, “Hey, Feel free to come and join in the fun.” But then he looked at Nadine and added, “What – you mean your aunt’s going back and you’re staying behind?” This seemed a bit odd.
“Yeah.” Nadine put her hands in her jeans pockets. “She’s got some more patients to see. Mr. Eck says Preacher John’s given us special per mission to stay on. It’s only till Monday, when Aunt Etta comes back.”
“Oh. She, er... she trusts him, does she? I mean, to look after you OK? And to bring her back again?”
“Who, Mr. Eck? Well, yeah, why wouldn’t she?”
Then someone was shouting from the corridor, “Aren’t you going to come and wave me goodbye?” A woman’s voice.
“OK!” Nadine shouted back. She turned and smiled at Baz. “Back in a bit. We’ll come and give you a hand.”
The girls disappeared. Baz heard them giggling as they ran off down the corridor. He slapped a soaking wet vest down onto the draining board and began to wring it out. Yeah, right, he thought, I’ll save something special for you. Moko’s underpants maybe.
But Nadine was as good as her word. In about fifteen minutes she was back again, along with Steffie, and both girls seemed willing to muck in.
“Where do you want us to start, then?” said Nadine. She grabbed a handful of clothing from the pile on the floor.
“Wow. You’ve got real soap powder.” Steffi picked up the box that stood beside one of the sinks. “We’ve been having to use washing-up liquid for months now – and that’s for our hair and everything. This is luxury!”
Baz had forgotten in the past few weeks just how hard life was back on the mainland, where there were no supplies other than those that could be bought on the black market. If you had nothing to bargain with, then you had nothing. And even if you had a skill, like his dad, or like the dentist, then you could only trade your skills for what was available – which still might be nothing. Life was tough here on the island, and deadly dangerous, but at least they had the basics.
These girls weren’t rich, he realized. For all that they’d managed to keep themselves looking good, they were poorer than he was. Hungrier probably, maybe even more desperate. No wonder they were so delighted to be here. No wonder they wanted to stay. Wasn’t that the very reason he’d been so keen to get here in the first place – for the promise of food every day, and a roof to sleep under every night? His attitude towards them softened, and he tried to be a bit nicer.
“Yeah,” he said. “We got soap powder. I might even be able to get hold of some proper shampoo. I’ll ask the guys in the sort room.”
“It’s OK,” said Nadine. She didn’t look at him. “Ra—Your friend Ray... he already said he’d—”
But whatever she was about to say went unfinished.
“What’re you two doing here?”
Luke was standing in the doorway. His stubbled face was unsmiling, his eyes cold and threatening.
“Sorry?” Nadine looked at him, her arms still full of dirty clothes.
“Put that stuff down and get back up to your room. You don’t talk to these other kids, and you don’t show your faces down here again, got it?”
“What? But we were just trying to help. And Mr. Eck said that we could go wherever we—”
“I don’t care what Mr. Eck said. Things have changed, girlie. Now get back upstairs and stay there. You keep to your room till you’re sent for. Preacher John’s orders.”
“But why should we?”
Don’t argue, thought Baz. You don’t know these guys... you don’t know them...
“Don’t question me, you gobby little slag! I already told you – Preacher John’s orders! Now get upstairs!” Luke had moved forward, one arm raised.
Nadine dropped the clothes back on the floor and stormed out of the room. After another moment Steffie put down the box of soap powder and ran after her.
Luke watched them go. “You keep away from those two,” he said to Baz. “Well away – understand?”
“OK.” Baz didn’t question this.
“See that you do, then, fella.” Luke paused at the door. “Ladies’ Night tonight,” he said. “There’ll be four of ’em coming back on the boat, so you’re cooking for nine altogether, right?”
“Yes,” said Baz. But then he thought about this. “Um... don’t you mean eleven? There’s the two girls as well.”
“You don’t cook for them anymore. You give ’em a can o’ beans, same as the rest of you get.”
“All right.” Again Baz put up no argument. “Am I allowed to get someone to help me in the kitchen for the night?”
“Do what you like. Just make sure you put some decent food on the table – and plenty o’ wine. Nice and generous with the wine.”
Luke turned his back on Baz and left the room.
Tuna-fish curry, with rice and chapatis. Tinned mandarins for pudding, with condensed milk.
It wasn’t the most dazzling of menus, and Baz knew it. But he had none of Cookie’s finesse, none of his inventiveness with a limited range of in gredients, so he preferred to play things safe rather than get too adventurous and risk messing up.
Baz and Ray stood side by side, their backs to the kitchen door, and watched the meal in progress.
Four women had been brought over from the mainland, and it had been a squeeze to fit them all in around the dining table, but nobody seemed to mind that. The ladies were plainly here to enjoy themselves. They ate and drank everything that was put in front of them, screeched with laughter, clinked their wine glasses and called for more. Baz looked wonderingly attheir made-up faces, their dyed hair, their shiny shoes... it was out of this world. You just didn’t see women like that anymore. He vaguely remembered Saturday nights before the flood, when girls would emerge from their houses, transformed into exotic creatures such as these, ready for an evening on the town. He would watch them from his bedroom window, groups of bare-limbed girls grasping at each other for support as they tottered down the road in their impossible shoes, the sound of high heels click-clacking on the summer pavements.
But now those tropical birds had disappeared, most of them, or shed their fancy feathers for something more practical. And for those few that remained, dressing up was no longer something they did just for fun. This was their job, Baz realized. This was their skill. Like his dad, and like Aunt Etta the dentist, these women had a trade. They were performers, actors.
And very good at it they were too. As Baz watched, he began to appreciate how cleverly the women controlled the situation. In between the loud laughter and the crude jokes, he saw the glances that passed between them, the subtle sign language that would result in a change of seating positions after a joint visit to the washroom. He saw that it was the girls who were making the choices, and how each girl then attended to the man she had chosen – keeping his wine glass full, engaging his attention, hanging upon his every slurred and leering remark. They were as good at their job as his dad was at poker, Baz thought, and probably made about as good a living.
He found his eye drawn to the woman who sat next to Isaac. She acted – if acting it was – in a more sober and demure way than the others, a way that seemed fitting for the lady of a skipper. Her dress was flamboyant and colorful enough, a flower in her dark hair so that she looked vaguely Hawaiian, or Thai, but she didn’t shriek or bang her wine glass down on the table or trade raucous insults with her companions. Instead she listened, smiling, to whatever Isaac was saying, and when he laid his heavy paw upon her slim brown arm, she put her own hand over his, squeezing it briefly. A friendly gesture rather than a provocative one. It was as though they had known each other for years – as they might have done, for all Baz could tell.
Moko was the only one who didn’t seem to be enjoying the party. He sat beside a woman in a blonde wig, an outrageous confection of swirling ringlets that tumbled halfway down her back. And though the woman kept plying Moko with wine – which he drank – and kept up a steady chatter, Moko barely glanced at her. He stared into the distance,
lumpy and uncomfortable in his shiny suit, looking more like a man who’d just been given a death sentence than one who was at a party.
“Hey, Cookie! More wine!”
Luke was calling him, and Baz took another bottle of red from the trolley beside him. He glanced at Ray and raised his eyebrows. They were in for a long night by the look of it.
But Ray’s face was cold and set, with no emotion in his eyes or apparent interest in the proceedings. He seemed to be blanking out the whole experience.
* * *
Later Hutchinson turned up. He nodded in the direction of the party – by now a rather bleary and weary bunch – and spoke to Baz.
“I’m not waiting up any longer,” he muttered, “so I’m gonna have to leave the slob-room door unlocked. But I’m warning you... any trouble...”
“What are we gonna do? Run away?” said Baz. The slob-room door was rarely locked, and he knew that Hutchinson had only shown his face out of curiosity. Come to leer at the girls probably.
“Watch your lip,” said Hutchinson. He glanced over at the revellers. “Looks like fun. It’ll be our turn on Sunday, eh?” This remark was addressed to Ray, but Ray made no reply.
Baz wanted to pick up one of the remaining wine bottles and smash it over Hutchinson’s head, but the capo had already turned to leave.
“Yeah. Definitely this Sunday...”
He wandered off.
“Pig,” said Baz. But still Ray said nothing.
When the last of the drinking party had finally staggered off to bed, Baz whispered, “OK, forget the clearing up. We’re gonna have to risk leaving it till morning. Let’s grab the pressure cooker while we can – might be our only chance.” He and Ray went back into the kitchen. But while Baz was concentrating on manoeuvring the huge cauldron out of its steel cabinet, he realized that Ray was rummaging through the food cupboard.
“Hey – what’re you doing? Come and give me a hand with this thing.”
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