'He's dead?'
'Dead, senor, and in the grass. Also, we have less than thirty minutes before the light comes up in the east.'
'Then let's go… your friend is bound.'
‘To the dock? To the boats?'
'Not yet, amigo. We have something else to do before we get there.'
'I tell you it will be light soon!'
'If I do things right, there'll be a lot more light sooner than that. Get the gasoline and pick up the tree clippers. I can't manage much more than what I've got.'
Step by agonizing step, Evan climbed the narrow dirt road behind the Mexican until they reached the island's immense, fence-enclosed generator, the bass-toned hum assaulting their ears to the point of painful vibrations. Signs of ?Pellagra!…Danger! were everywhere, and the single gate to the interior was secured by two huge plate-locks that apparently took the simultaneous insertion of keys to open. Limping around into the darkest shadows of the floodlights, Kendrick gave the order while handing Emilio the wire cutters. 'Start here, and I hope you're as strong as you say you are. This is heavy-gauge fence. Slice an opening, three feet's enough.'
'And you, senor?'
'I have to look around.'
He found them! Three iron discs screwed into concrete thirty feet apart, three enormous tanks, cisterns for fuel, supplemented by banks of photovoltaic cells somewhere which no longer concerned him. Opening a disc required a T-squared hexagonal wrench, its upper bars long enough for two strong men on each bar. But there was another way and he knew it well from the desert tanks in Saudi Arabia; an emergency procedure in the event the caravans of fuel trucks forgot the implement, not uncommon in the Jabal deserts. Each supposedly impenetrable disc had fourteen ridges across the top, not much different from the manhole covers in most American cities, although much smaller. Hammered slowly counterclockwise, the circular vaults would loosen until hands and fingers could reach the sides and unscrew them.
Kendrick walked back to Emilio and the near deafening island generator. The Mexican had cut through two parallel vertical lines and was starting at the ground level base. 'Come with me!' said Evan, shouting into Emilio's ear. 'Have you got your hatchet?'
'Pues si.'
'So do I.'
Kendrick led the Mexican back to the first iron disc and instructed him how to use the towels from the electronic cabin to muffle the blows from the blunt ends of their hatchets. 'Slowly,' he yelled. 'A spark can set off the fumes, comprende?'
'No, senor.'
'It's better that you don't. Easy now! One tap at a time. Not so hard!… It's moving!'
'Now harder?'
'Christ, no! Easy, amigo. As if you were cracking a diamond,'
'It has not been my pleasure—’
'It will be if we get out of here… There! It's free! Unscrew it to the top and leave it there. Give me your towels.'
'For what, senor?'
‘I’ll explain as soon as you get me through that door you're cutting in the fence.'
'That will take time—’
'You've got about two minutes, amigo!'
'Madre de Dies!'
'Where did you put the gasoline?' Kendrick moved closer to be heard.
'There!' replied the Mexican, pointing to the left of the 'door' he was cutting.
Crouching painfully in the shadows, Evan tied the towels together, tugging at each knot to make sure it was secure until he
