“Signs?” Jay frowned. “What sort of signs?”
“He made them so they’d look old. They were danger warnings, warning about the island.”
“Warning of what exactly?”
“That it was out-of-bounds. That it was infected with an-thrax.”
Jay stood up again and laughed. “That’s crazy!” he said. He turned to Hestler, who was smiling without knowing what the joke was. Hestler had cropped black hair, a long black beard, and a face whose blotchiness was disguised by a year-round tan. “You know what he’s doing?” Jay asked. Hestler admitted he didn’t. “He’ll scatter those signs around half-hidden, like he’s pulled them up. When we come across one, we’re supposed to panic. And while we’re panicking, he picks us off with his toy pistol.”
“What’s anthrax?” the other Chicano asked.
“A poison,” Jay explained. “A tenth of a millionth of a gram can kill you. The army
Creech nodded. “But the island you’re thinking of is north of here.”
“And not on any map?” Creech nodded again. “Yes, maybe that was his thinking. He chooses an island the map-makers haven’t bothered with and makes it look infected. Too elaborate, Gordon. Way too elaborate.” He turned to Choa. “Take Watts and Schlecht and start bringing the stuff in.” Choa led the two men outside. Watts was tall and as thin as a reed, but deceptively strong. Jay had come up against him in an arm-wrestling contest in the gym, and had bet $300 on himself to win inside half a minute. Watts had beaten him in eleven seconds flat.
Schlecht was someone Watts knew, and that was about as much as Jay knew. He was small, but with massive biceps and a bull neck, an Ollie to Watts ’s Stan Laurel. Schlecht even had Hardy’s mustache, but his face was like an animal’s, nicked and scarred and mean.
The other three in the team had been suggested by Hestler, which was good enough for Jay. They were brothers: Hector, Benny, and Carl. For some reason, they didn’t reveal their surname. They looked like the weakest links, wide-eyed during the flight from L.A., amazed to be visiting hotels and Paris and car rental offices, like Europe was one giant theme park. One of them had even brought a camera with him, which Jay had confiscated straight off.
Hestler agreed that they acted like kids, but he’d seen them in fights. Once they got going, he said, they were real bastards. He thought they’d had their whole moral training from video games and spaghetti westerns.
It took a couple of trips to bring all the stuff in. Everyone was damp, and not liking it.
“Start unpacking,” Jay ordered.
Hestler looked at him. “Are we going now?”
“Why not?”
“It’s raining hard!”
“Hestler, we’re going to be in a fucking boat. We’d get wet even if the sky was blue as a South Carolina morning. I bet you’re the sort who runs out of the swimming pool when the rain starts.”
There was more laughter at this. Hestler didn’t appreciate being its butt, but he stopped questioning Jay’s decisions.
Jay turned to Jiminez. “See if you can find any oilskins.”
Jiminez nodded and set to work. Choa, Watts, and Schlecht were handing out armaments. Each man had a submachine gun, either the MP5 or a Cobray M11. They also received a pistol, ammo, and knife. Jiminez refused the knife, preferring his own blade. Hestler and Jay were the only two to be given grenades-Jay’s orders. The other men could be professional baseball pitchers, he still wouldn’t have trusted them with a grenade.
“We take those three bags with us,” Jay said, pointing to the ones he meant. “If you have dry clothes with you, put them in a backpack.”
Watts and Schlecht handed out the backpacks. They were day-walker spec, big enough for a change of clothes and some provisions. Belts and holsters were next. Creech could hardly believe the evidence of his own eyes. He didn’t feel so bad now about ratting out Reeve. After all, Reeve hadn’t warned him what he was getting him into.
All Creech hoped now was that he’d get out of this alive. Jiminez had found some waterproof clothing, not quite enough to go around. Jay examined the two boats, only one of which was big enough to accommodate all of them. He decided they should take both: a backup was always useful.
“Are these ready to go?” he asked Creech.
“Might need some fuel,” Creech said, trying to be helpful.
“Do it. Hector, you watch him. Benny and Carl, go move the cars, see if you can get them out of sight.”
The three brothers nodded. Jay still didn’t know which of them was which. He bit his bottom lip thoughtfully. This mission was costing Kosigin dearly; he didn’t want one single fuck-up.
“Hey, Hestler, you ever skippered a boat?”
“Some,” Hestler said. Hestler had done most things in his life, one reason why he was so useful.
“Okay,” Jay said, “you take the motorboat. You can take the three stooges with you. The rest of us will take the bigger boat.” He looked down on Creech, who was carrying a canister of fuel down the short metal ladder that led to both boats. “You’re in charge of the bigger boat, Mr. Creech.”
Creech managed to nod. “Er…” he said. But then he swallowed. He’d been about to ask about the hire fee, but looking into Jay’s eyes it suddenly didn’t matter anymore.
It was a terrible day to be in a boat. The Minch was notorious anyway, and this was the sort of day which merely added to its reputation. The two boats kept in radio contact, for though they were only thirty feet apart, there was no way a shout could be heard from one to the other, and even hand signals were difficult, since most of the men were holding on with both hands to stop from being pitched over the side.
“I think we should go back!” Jay had heard Hestler say more than once. He’d just shaken his head towards Hestler’s boat, not caring whether Hestler saw him or not. The Chicano whose name Jay had forgotten was puking over the side, his face close to green. Jiminez didn’t look too good either, but stared ahead, refusing to acknowledge he was having any problem. Watts and Schlecht had sailed before, “but never when we weren’t carrying dope.” Choa was staring at the sea like he could control it with his anger, the way he could control people. He was learning a very old lesson indeed.
“What happens if we capsize?” the Chicano squealed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What happens then?”
Jay said something the youth couldn’t make out. Jiminez repeated it for his friend.
“Fallback.”
“Fallback? What fallback?” The youth turned to spew again, and that ended the argument.
“The wind’s easing,” Creech said. He was pale in the face himself, but not from the weather. “Forecast said it would be better in the afternoon.”
“We should have waited,” growled Choa.
Jay stared at him, then looked at the sea again. It was the same shade of gray they painted navy ships, with great spumes of white where the waves clashed. Yes, he should have waited. This way, they would land on the island less than a hundred percent ready to do battle. He wondered if the Philosopher had worked that out…
Hestler wiped stinging water out of his eyes; he was thinking much the same as Jay.
Jiminez and his friend were staring at Jay, not sure what to think. “What the fuck is he doing?” Jiminez’s friend asked.
“He’s singing,” Jiminez told him. Jay was singing “Row, row, row your boat” at the top of his voice.
Nobody joined in.
“There!” Creech said eventually. “There’s the island.” He was as relieved as anybody, though he was filled with a certain dread, too. Hands tightened around guns; eyes peered at the coastline. “There’s only one real place for a landing, that wee bit of beach.”
The beach was a narrow strip of sand so dark it might have been coal dust. The land adjoining it had been worn away, so that there was little more than a steep step up from the beach onto earth and grass.
“What do I do?” Creech asked.
“Beach the boat.”
“She’s not built for that.”
“Then get us as close as you can and drop anchor. We’ll wade ashore. Boots off, everybody!”
