His English was British of the last century; but he seemed very knowledgeable and competent about flying. The picnic lunch was caviar with toast points and lemon wedges, a good champagne, fried chicken and cold lobster, potato salad, French baguettes, an assortment of sliced cheeses and pickles, and, for dessert, strong black coffee in a large thermos, Napoleon brandy and petits fours. They flew northwest across the jungle interior of St. John, coming out at Cinnamon Bay, where they crossed the Windward Passage between the islands. Afraans kept up a running commentary about the fantastic scenery passing beneath them.
There were dozens of islands between the north coasts of St. John and St. Thomas. Almost all of them were uninhabited. Lovango and Congo Cays, Mingo and Grass Cays, then Middle Passage across to Thatch Cay.
All of the islands were within sight of each other, many of them seemingly within swimming distance. Boats of all sizes and descriptions were everywhere; everything from tiny outboard motor boats to husky inter island cargo ships. “The U.S. Navy comes here, too,”
Afraans told them. “To St. Croix. Mostly nuclear submarines. Now, my Lord, that is a sight to behold.” Hans Lollick Island, less than three miles off the north coast of St. Thomas, was the largest of the smaller unihabited islands. There were only a couple of places to land along its oblong shoreline. For the most part the island quickly rose from the water in a series of cliffs and densely overgrown hills to the interior summit almost seven hundred feet above sea level. But the beach that Afraans touched down on was broad and white, and was protected by headlands northeast and southwest that formed a perfect cove about eight hundred yards across. Yemm jumped out first and helped Kathleen down. She immediately walked down to the water’s edge.
There was almost no wave action, and the water was so perfectly clear that they could see fish swimming and their shadows on the white sand bottom. They unloaded the picnic baskets and coolers and took them up to the edge of the wide beach in the shade of the trees. “I will be back at two o’clock to pick you up, if that is agreeable, sir,” Afraans told McGarvey. “Two is fine,” McGarvey said. “If there is trouble, you may simply call our dispatcher. Your cell phone will easily reach from here.” Afraan’s smile widened. “But, please, sirs. You will experience a most enjoyable time today. Guaranteed.” Yemm went to set up their picnic after the helicopter left. McGarvey went to Kathleen and took her hand. She seemed a little subdued, almost withdrawn. Her moods were volatile. “You okay?” he asked. “It’s like being stranded on a desert island,” she replied dreamily. “Almost overwhelming, if you think about it.” The helicopter was rapidly disappearing in the distance. “There’s no noise here.” “Would you like to go back?” She looked up at him and shook her head. Then she smiled, coming out of her mood. “This is fine here, so long as I’m with you.” “Go for a walk?” “Sure,” she said. They headed northeast along the beach, up to their ankles in the warm Water. Kathleen was right, he decided. There were no sounds except for the splashing of their feet in the water. No people talking or laughing, no steel drum bands, no jet aircraft for the moment, no birds. The weather, the scenery and now the silence; it was a total contrast to Washington. “You rode really well, this morning,” McGarvey told her. “Thanks,” she said softly. “Impressed the hell out of Dick. There’s no way we could have kept up with you.”
“I picked the best horse.” McGarvey had to laugh. “That’s clever.
But I think that you would have beat us if you’d ridden a donkey.” He put an arm around her narrow shoulders, and they walked for a time in silence. There was a jumble of large black boulders blocking the end of the beach. Beyond them, the sea came to the edge of a sheer cliff that rose a hundred feet or more into the jungle. They had to turn back.
She stopped. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Kirk.” He gave her a critical look. Except for her long face she seemed perfectly fine. Her old self, with a little color already from the sun this morning. “What do you mean?” he asked. “One minute I’m so happy I could burst. But then I get so sad I want to cry. Half the time I’m frightened out of my mind for you, for us, for Elizabeth and the baby.” “Stress.
Overwork. You’ve been running off in all directions lately, trying to make everybody happy all the time. That’s one of the reasons we’re here this weekend. Maybe take the edge off the pressure for both of us.” “I hope so,” she said. She didn’t sound very sure. “Combine that with worrying about the Senate hearings, my job, and some of the bad things that have happened to us in the last few years, it’s a wonder we’re not both in a loony bin somewhere.” She clutched at his arm. “It’s like somebody’s sneaking up on us again. In the night I think I can hear them.” McGarvey felt instant goose bumps on the back of his neck. “Nobody is coming after us, Katy,” he told her with more conviction than he felt. She looked back to where Yemm had finished setting up their picnic. “I want to get off this island, Kirk,” she said. “Right now. I mean it.” “Katy, there’s nothing wrong “
“Goddammit, I want to get out of here!” she shrieked. She was at the edge of hysteria; her eyes were wild, her face screwed up in fear.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll call for the helicopter. We can have our picnic back at the house by the pool. Nothing’s going to happen.”
Yemm had heard the scream and he headed up the beach at a dead run, his pistol in hand. “I don’t know,” she said. “It’s like I’m going crazy.
I’m hearing voices inside my head. Warning me. Telling me someone’s coming.” She gave her husband a plaintive look; as if she were drowning and she wanted him to hurry up and rescue her. “I don’t like it here. I’m afraid.” It was possible that someone could be watching them from up in the hills. But McGarvey doubted it. If they made a hit here, the assassins would have trouble getting away. Boats were slow, there were very few airstrips, and everyone on the islands knew everyone else. This was a very closed community, despite the tourists.
“What’s going on?” Yemm demanded when he reached them. His eyes flitted from the dense jungles above the cliffs, the rocks at the end of the beach, and the few boats in the distance. “Nothing,” McGarvey said. “But we’re getting out of here. Call the helicopter. The picnic was a bad idea.” They headed down the beach toward the picnic area. Yemm put away his gun and used his cell phone to call the Island Tours dispatcher. He kept his eyes in constant motion, scanning the beach, the ocean and the hills. “They’ll be here in under ten minutes,” Yemm informed them. By the time they reached the spot where Yemm had set up their lunch on blankets, Kathleen was shivering and starting to cry. She tried to hold it back. “I’m sorry I’m such a pain,” she apologized. “You’re not alone, Mrs. M.” it’s been a tough week for everyone,” Yemm tried to console her. “The Washington grind gets to all of us sooner or later.” He set about packing up the picnic things, and McGarvey helped him. “Even you?” Kathleen asked. She stood in the shade, hugging herself as if she were cold. “Especially me, sometimes,” Yemm told her. “My solution is to go down to the pistol range and shoot off a box of ammunition. All the noise does the trick. Usually.” She managed a tentative smile. “How about your wife?” Yemm shook his head. “She died about ten years ago. Car accident. A drunk broadsided her over in Alexandria.” “I’m sorry,”
Kathleen said, and her eyes started to fill again. “Easy,” McGarvey said softly. “It’s okay, Mrs. M.,” Yemm told her. “It really is. Taking care of your husband and you is a good job for me.”
They heard the helicopter in the distance. McGarvey looked up and waited until he could see the registration number on the fuselage. It was the same chopper that had brought them out here. He allowed himself to relax a little. But Kathleen seemed to be getting worse.
Her complexion had turned pale. They waited until the helicopter touched down and the fury of blowing sand dispersed before they carried the picnic things down the beach. Mr. Afraans, a puzzled, unhappy look on his face, reached across and popped open the passenger door.
“Has something gone terribly wrong?” he shouted. He looked at Kathleen and a genuine expression of sympathy came over him. “My heavens, Mrs.” it’s nothing to worry about. Nobody has stolen your bag. I still have it.” Kathleen shook her head. “What bag?” she asked. “Why, the one you left in my machine.” “No,” Kathleen said.
She held up a brightly colored canvas bag. “This one is mine.” “But Mrs.-” “No,” Kathleen shrieked. She shoved her husband aside.
“Something’s wrong.” “What’s going on?” McGarvey demanded. Kathleen was out of her head with terror. The pilot reached in the back for a canvas bag, the twin to the one Kathleen was holding. Yemm was the first to react. “She’s right,” he shouted. He shouldered McGarvey away from the open passenger door. Mr. Afraans was trying to lift the bag, but it was caught on something. Sudden understanding dawned on McGarvey, too. “Get out of here!” he shouted. “Go! Go! Go!” He turned away from the helicopter, grabbed Kathleen by the arm and headed down the beach. They got twenty yards before the helicopter exploded with an impressive flash and bang; the pressure wave knocked the three of them off their feet. Metal, plastic and burning pieces of something fell all around them, as a giant fireball rose two hundred feet into the sky, followed by a thick plume of black smoke. Yemm had scrambled over to them and had shielded their bodies with his. When the debris stopped falling he rolled off, and they all sat up. There was nothing left of the helicopter except for a pile of burning wreckage. The heat made
