I stopped the boat near Blood Island's entrance channel and dropped the anchor. It was a few minutes after midnight. A new moon was dawning, and the sky was dark. A low cloud cover obscured the stars.
I'd run the last few miles at idle speed, running lights off, hoping that the noise of my outboard couldn't be heard on the island. There was an easterly wind blowing from the atoll, so I didn't think the sounds would carry from my position to the west of the channel.
I stripped down in the dark and began to pull the wet suit on. That done, I sat on the gunwale and pulled on the rubber booties and fins. I hooked up the regulator to the twin tanks, checked to make sure it was working, and swung the tanks over my head, settling them like a backpack. I put my gun, Reeboks, and a couple of granola bars into a waterproof bag, and hung it on my weight belt. I pulled the hood over my head, and seated the mask on my face. I was ready.
I slipped into the water and swam down the anchor line the few feet to the seabed. I set the anchor deep into the sand bottom. I didn't want to return and find my boat gone. The water seeping into the suit next to my skin was chilly, but as my body heat warmed the trapped water, it became comfortable.
I surfaced and took a bearing on the entrance to the little lagoon. I submerged and started swimming, pausing regularly to check the luminous dial of my compass.
In about twenty minutes, I surfaced to find myself in the middle of the lagoon. I could see the dock with the go-fast boats tied to it. The glow of a cigarette flared in the night. A guard inhaling. Then I saw the fiery arc of the butt as it was flipped into the water.
I submerged and swam to my right, making for the small sand beach I'd spotted among the mangroves. The bottom was coming up, and I stopped again, poking my head out of the water just enough to see. I was about a hundred yards from the dock and right in front of the little beach. I stayed there, kneeling on the soft bottom, quietly reconnoitering. There was no movement anywhere.
I knew there was a guard on the dock, but if there was anybody watching the beach, he was well hidden. I had to chance it. I crawled toward the edge of the sand, where it met the mangroves. As I lifted my body slowly out of the water, I tensed for a shout or a shot. Nothing.
I eased over to the mangroves, removed the fins, mask, and tanks and stowed them among the roots. I moved into the trees that came down to the beach. I sat and took off the booties and pulled my Reeboks from the waterproof bag. I took out the nine-millimeter Glock I'd taken from Michelle. It was loaded with a seventeen-round clip. I put the sneakers on and put the booties with the rest of the gear. I hung the waterproof bag on my belt.
There was a path leading off the beach. I followed it, moving quietly, remembering the jungle craft I'd learned a long time ago in a very different part of the world. A mixed choir of insects and frogs was hidden in the brush, singing loudly. Now and then, a small animal rustled the leaves as it moved about. I was just one more animal, a little bigger, perhaps, and more deadly, but at one with the jungle.
I neared a bend in the path, and became aware of the pungent aroma of a burning cigarette drifting on the breeze. I stopped, standing stockstill, not moving a muscle. I heard the rustle of feet walking the path, coming my way. I didn't want a confrontation that would arouse the island, and I didn't want anyone to know I'd made a visit. I ducked off the path into the bushes. In my black wet suit, I would be virtually invisible.
The steps moved closer, and I made out the shape of a man holding a rifle, walking carelessly along the trail toward the beach. A regular patrol, I thought. I hung back as he passed, and then slipped back onto the path.
I came to a clearing. I could see a large house in the middle, lights on in two of the upstairs windows, otherwise dark. Three smaller buildings flanked either side of the main house, forming a crescent, with the big house situated in the middle at the bottom of the figure. Just like the schematic from the Property Appraiser's Office. The guest cabins were dark. No lights in any of them.
I made my way to the first cabin on my right and stood quietly by the door. I didn't hear any sound from inside. Then, out of the darkness, a snort. Pigs? No, someone was snoring.
I turned the doorknob. It wasn't locked, and the door swung inward. I stepped quickly into the space and found myself in a bunkhouse. There was only one main room in the building, and a door at the far end that I assumed led to the bathroom. There were a dozen army cots spaced around the perimeter of the room, each one flanked by a tall metal wall locker. Lumps were in some of the beds, and an occasional snore erupted from one or the other of the bunks. I saw men's clothing hanging from hooks next to several of the lockers, and rifles leaning against the wall. This was the guardhouse.
I counted eight beds with occupants. The other four were empty, but not made. That probably meant that there were four guards stationed around the island. Two shifts were sleeping and would replace the others at whatever interval they used. I thought it might be like the old army guard regimen of two hours on and four off.
I softly closed the door and moved to the next building. Again, I stood at the door and listened. No sound at all. I tried the door. Locked. I peered into the nearest window. The place was similar to the first; twelve beds, all occupied. I didn't see any weapons. I moved to the next building. The door was standing open, and the building was empty.
I crossed the courtyard and went to the end building on the crescent, the one farthest from the house. A guard, carrying what appeared to be an M-16 rifle, rounded the far corner of the building just as I reached the front door. He was fifty feet from me. I dropped to the ground and rolled next to the foundation of the cabin, concealing myself in the weeds that had grown up there. He came toward me, and then turned and went to the front door. He couldn't see me in my black wetsuit and hood. He opened the door and peered inside, standing quietly for a few moments, as if listening. Closing the door, he moved off the way he'd come, back around the building.
I rose and moved to the door. I stopped and listened, but heard nothing. The cabin was quiet. The door was bolted from the outside, locking the inhabitants in. I only had to slide the bolt back to open the door. What I assumed to be the bathroom door at the far end of the room was ajar, and some light escaped into the larger room. I saw the same bunkhouse arrangement I'd seen in the other cabins, except this one seemed to house women. Was Peggy here? No way to tell. I didn't want to chance waking any of them and raising an alarm.
I turned to leave, and out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I turned quickly, and found a woman in a white gown coming at me like a wraith in the dark. I saw the glint of steel in the anemic light escaping from the bathroom. She held a small kitchen knife, raised in a stabbing position. I grabbed her arm, twisted it behind her back and covered her mouth with my hand, silencing her. The knife dropped to the floor. She kicked at my shins with her bare feet, trying to wiggle out of my grasp.
I whispered into her ear. "Quiet down. I'm here to help."
She slowed her movements and then stopped completely.
"I need to talk to you. If I let you go, will you be quiet?"
She nodded her assent, and I loosened my grip on her mouth.
"Where can we talk?" I asked in a whisper.
"Bathroom," she said, her voice mumbling beneath my hand.
We went toward the bathroom, my hand still held loosely over her mouth, her arm in a hammerlock. I pushed open the door and we walked into the lighted area. I let her go, taking a chance that she'd be quiet.
She turned to face me. "Hi, Peggy," I said.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Matt Royal. Does that name mean anything to you?"
"Laura's ex?"
"Yes. She sent me to find you."
"Can you get me out of here?"
"Not now, but I'll be back tomorrow night."
"How did you find me?"
"Long story. I'll explain later. Are they drugging you?
"They tried. But I haven't eaten any of the food they've given me, so I think I'm okay. I've been feigning a drug stupor when they're around."
"What about the guards?"
"They're checking all the time. They tie me to the bed at night, but for some reason they forgot to do that tonight. I brought the knife back from Key West, and they didn't find it. The guards usually just look in the door, but sometimes they come inside. When I saw you, I thought you were a guard. I was hoping to get off the island again. I know where they keep the boats."
"I need you to stay put for one more day. Can you do that?"
"Yes. But I'm hungry. I haven't had anything to eat in two days."
I pulled the granola bars out of my waterproof bag and gave them to her. "Maybe this will help a little," I said.
"You've got to put a stop to this. Something big is about to happen, but I haven't figured it out yet."
"I know about the prostitution."
"It's much bigger than that."
"Any ideas?"
"No, but the Rev keeps bragging to me that he's about to do something bigger than anything he's ever done."
"Do you talk to him?"
"Mostly, I listen. He has me brought to the big house a couple of times a day. He wants to sleep with me, but so far I've held him off."
"How did you get to the phone in the Sharkstooth Bar?'
"One of the Rev's goons took me to Key West. They were going to put me in the whorehouse, but I got away."
"How?"
"I didn't eat anything the night before or at breakfast that morning. I had some sort of a stomach virus, I guess, and I couldn't keep anything down. The drugs wore off, but the goons didn't notice it. I scratched the guy taking me to the spa and ran. I tried to call my dad, but they found me and brought me back here."
"Did they hurt you?"
"No. They just gave me more drugs, which I didn't take because I didn't eat the food."
"We're going to get you out of this, Peggy."
"Please hurry. I'm either going to end up drugged again or starved to death."
"I have to go. The guard will be coming back soon. Stay put, and I'll be back tomorrow night to get you."
She kissed me on the cheek. "Laura always said you were one hell of a guy."
"She said the same about you," I said, turning for the door.