Patty said, “Didn’t the priest say afterward that they hadn’t sinned?”
Silvana nodded.
“They went to Communion without confessing, didn’t they?” Patty asked. “Because in extremis, the Church allows it.”
Silvana nodded. “But I can’t.” Slowly, she shook her hooded head.
Patty said, “If I died, I’d want you to eat me. I wouldn’t want you to waste my body on the goddamn sharks.”
Silvana said, “I won’t do it. And Carey won’t let you.”
Patty whispered, “You have to do it fast. As soon as the person dies, you have to drink the blood before it congeals. So you must make up your mind beforehand.”
Suzy was mumbling to herself; she had been violently sick, so now she was dehydrated, babbling nonstop and no longer capable of understanding what was happening. They were all surprised that Suzy’s deterioration had been so rapid.
Hours passed. The women lay beneath the white, burning sun and it sucked them dry.
As Suzy groaned and gasped for breath, Carey stroked her forehead, gently and protectively. Carey glared at the other women. She was still the strongest woman in the dinghy.
Their tongues were swollen, protruding from black, cracked lips, their eyes were sunken in their gaunt and haggard faces, the backs of their hands were blistered, their feet and legs were red and swollen.
They had all developed saltwater sores on the backsides, and found it painful to sit or to move. After excessive exposure to that relentless glare from sky and sea, their eyes were red and sore. They were all constipated and found it painful to urinate. They no longer had the strength to use the bailer.
Twilight brought a slight relief, but the air remained hot and close. The women gasped for each breath as if they had been running a race.
A few words were exchanged at sundown as they wetted their lips for the last time.
Annie was not allowed to share the last of the water.
* * *
The stars hung low in the velvet-black tropical sky. Below them the women sprawled in the dinghy, sucking buttons from their uniforms to stimulate saliva.
For four months these women had struggled to survive. They had been inventive, resourceful and brave. They had learned to use their strength, and found new strengths. They had come to support and rely on each other as they faced their common dangers. Patiently, they had fought hunger, sickness and fatigue. With determination, they had battled against panic, fear and stress. They had endured their ordeals with toughness and resilience.
Now, each woman thought only of herself—and it was difficult to overcome inertia and indifference to do even that. In only a few days, their little group had disintegrated.
Annie had broken down morally. Nobody was sure whether Patty’s suggestion was sensible, wicked or mad. Suzy was mentally finished and near death.
And as the white stars blinked down from the black sky, they all realized that, at some point, one of them was going to be left alive—and alone—in this boat.
Patty waited until darkness. She couldn’t bring herself to suggest it in daylight. But then, through cracked and bleeding lips, she whispered again, hoarsely and urgently, in Silvana’s ear. “It’s better than letting the sharks eat us. This way, some of us will still have a chance. Soon, we’ll all be too weak to move. We must decide now.”
Silvana looked at Patty. “How could you?”
Patty whispered, “At least I’m not suggesting …”
“Just what are you not suggesting?” Silvana hissed.
Patty whispered, “They used to … help someone to die. If one of the sailors in a lifeboat was obviously dying … if he was going to die anyway … then they helped him to die. It stopped that person’s suffering, and meant that the others could live.”
“What if nobody was obviously dying?” Silvana asked.
“Then they all drew lots. One sacrificed himself for the rest.”
Silvana whispered, “I’m never going to kill anyone, ever again, and I don’t want anyone else to kill me.”
Patty croaked, “How can it be wrong if it’s legal? And I promise you it’s legal—if everyone agrees, and lots are fairly drawn. The guy who draws the shortest straw is the one who dies, and the longest straw is the executioner.”
Carey said, “Suzy’s in no condition to agree to anything, let alone draw straws.”
Patty jumped. She had thought Carey was asleep.
In desperation, Patty persisted. “It’s almost painless. In that English case that Charley studied, the captain did it with his penknife. He slit the cabin boy’s jugular vein, then caught the blood in a bailer. It’s the blood that saves you from dying of thirst, although it’s salty. The first mate had been going to hold the cabin boy’s feet if he struggled, but he didn’t struggle or even cry out. And he didn’t seem to suffer. He just died quietly, in five seconds. And so the rest of them lived.” She paused, then said quietly, “Suzy’s going to die soon.”
32
FRIDAY, MARCH 15, 1985
“Radio message for you, Harry,” the helicopter pilot said, and handed him the headphones.
Harry heard a tinny version of Kerry’s voice. “Harry? We’ve got visitors. Raki wants to see you. There’s a captain waiting here, to escort you to the palace. He’s got a letter for you. Won’t let me open it.”
“Can he hear what you’re saying, Kerry?”
“No, he’s in my office. I’m in the radio room,” Kerry said.
“I’m not coming back, Kerry,” Harry said firmly. “I’m not going to stop this search. Every minute is vital. I’m going to tell the pilot to take me back to Paradise Bay. You can send Johno there to pick me up. I should have thought of that in the first place.”
“What’s got into you, Harry?” Kerry sounded anxious. “You know we can’t ignore a summons from Raki at this point. He’s got the power to kick us out, remember? You can talk to him about this news of the women. But what do you suppose they’ll say back in Pittsburgh if Jerry hears that you refused to visit the President?”
“Raki already knows about the women, but doesn’t want us to know about the women, so I don’t suppose he’ll want to discuss it,” Harry said tersely. “But I’m going to find those women before I do anything else—no matter who tries to stand in my way.”
“I strongly suggest that you don’t make trouble for yourself, Harry.”
“Look, we’ve just gotten proof that the Nexus women took to sea in a dinghy two days ago from the Paradise Bay area,” Harry said firmly. “So I’m going back there.”
Kerry’s voice in Harry’s earphone said, “That’s wonderful news, Harry. But we don’t need you personally to go on with the search. You’re not a pilot. Your absence won’t hold it up.”
The pilot said laconically, “Not enough fuel to get back to Paradise Bay. We’re only seven minutes’ flying time from the Ida strip.”
“Have Johno waiting at the airstrip with maps and charts,” Harry said to Kerry, “and keep Raki’s captain away from me until the three of us have decided on the search plan. I’m not going to leave this aircraft until that’s finalized.”
He was about to sign off, when he added, “By the way, Kerry, please immediately announce a one-hundred-thousand-dollar reward for the women in the dinghy—alive. They’re at sea now, so Raki can’t stop us from offering a reward. I want it broadcast as quickly and as widely as possible, giving Johno’s calculated search area. Put it out on commercial stations and shortwave, on shipping and local frequencies, throughout the area, in English and in Pidgin.”
Kerry said, “I can’t do that! That will have to be authorized by Jerry Pearce.”
“Okay,” Harry said, “call him up. You have seven minutes to get Jerry’s answer.”
Kerry said, “You’ll have another Dunkirk out there—an army of small craft with hopeful treasure hunters, fishermen and tourists.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.”
* * *
Wh
en the Bell landed on the Mount Ida airstrip, Kerry and Johno were waiting. As soon as the rotors stopped, they ran out to the helicopter. The pilot jumped down. Kerry and Johno jumped in.
Johno said, “What’s Roger looking so sour about?”
“I’m pissed off with him for refusing to sea-search,” Harry said. “Which means we only have one aircraft available.”
“He’s within his rights,” Kerry said.
“Did you talk to Jerry Pearce?” Harry asked.
“Yes,” Kerry said. “He told me on no account to offer a reward. Those were his instructions. I’m sorry.” Kerry didn’t add that Jerry had yelled, “Can’t that jackass Scott just drop it? I told him to get back here right away! As far as we’re concerned, the search is over! What Harry Scott should be asking us for at this moment is a letter of reference!”
“Okay, Kerry,” Harry said. “I’ll pay the reward with my own money. I’ll put a call through to Al Kinsman, the manager of Barclays main branch in Sydney. It’ll only take two minutes to fix it. Meanwhile, Johno can figure out where to search.”
Johno unrolled the chart on his knees and looked at Harry. “Frankly, I don’t think there’s much hope of finding these women. You just can’t cover that much area with any success. You know a sea search is much tougher than it sounds. The sea is fluid, so the search grid area on your chart is always moving—and expanding.” Johno shook his head. “Every day you don’t find your missing people, the search grid has to be enlarged to allow for winds and currents, as well as the distance that the missing people might have traveled on that day.”
He pointed at the chart. “I reckon they couldn’t have gone further than fifteen miles west of Paradise Bay, but it’s very difficult to forecast accurately the position of a dinghy after a tropical storm, because the strength and direction of the wind alters in an unpredictable manner. So I’ve allowed a hundred percent safety margin; the search grid will extend thirty miles west and a hundred miles south of Paradise Bay. Allowing for the current, the search area is three thousand square miles. That’s a lot of sea. And all of it is constantly moving.”
“And remember, the boat itself is only twelve foot. Easy to miss,” Kerry added, “and a white dinghy can easily look like the crest of a wave.
Johno said, “You’re a sailor, Harry, right? So you know about currents.”
Harry nodded.
“I don’t,” said Kerry. “What do we need to know?”
Johno stabbed a finger at the chart, to an area south of Paradise Bay. “They’re drifting in a southeast, one-knot current, which means they’ll travel twenty-six miles every twenty-four hours. That second storm probably blew them an extra ten miles or so down the coast. If I were to guess, I’d say they were about fifty miles southeast of Paradise Bay at the moment. Unless for some reason they’ve been deliberately rowing against the current or keeping to the coastline.”
Johno placed the grid—a sheet of transparent plastic divided into squares—over his chart. “That grid follows the southeast current, and each of those little squares represents one hour’s flying time—that’s around fifty-five flying hours minimum search time.” He looked at Harry. “I’d say we have about a thirty percent chance of success. But the more people out looking, the more chance there is of finding them, no doubt about that.”
“How are you going to start?” Harry asked.
“I’ll spend this afternoon doing an overview at two thousand feet.”
“I’ll get the Cherokees back,” Harry said.
* * *
As Johno had no means of knowing that the dinghy had an outboard motor, he had not allowed for that in his calculations. The outboard had taken the dinghy eight miles due west, then the boat had been carried a further twenty-eight miles west by the four-hour storm, making her subsequent position thirty-six miles west of Paradise Bay—six miles further west of Johno’s search area.
He was about to search in the wrong place.
* * *
The sun hammered down on the back of their heads as Harry and Kerry walked toward the mine offices, where the Paui army captain stood, waiting to escort Harry to the Presidential Palace.
Kerry pulled a sheet of cheap tan paper from his pocket, and said, “By the way, Harry, I’ve got something that you ought to look at. That union leader, Mindo, broke out of jail last night. Or, more accurately, his jailers unlocked him, then disappeared with him.”
“Where did they go?”
“He’s thought to have escaped to the Central Mountains with twenty-nine armed men. Remember, Mindo’s father is a powerful chief, so no doubt he’s waiting for him, with more fighting men. It’s rumored that some of Raki’s lower ranks have defected too.”
“Good for them,” Harry said. “Mindo’s a born leader.”
Kerry held out the flimsy sheet of paper. “This is Mindo’s manifesto, printed while he was in jail. Although God knows who’s going to read it, when only fourteen percent of the population is literate.”
“It’s in English,” Harry said, surprised.
“A smart propaganda move for the U.N. and the Australians,” Kerry said. “There’s also a Pidgin version, of course.”
Harry quickly read Mindo’s proposed policy. “Most of this is reasonable, Kerry. Mindo clearly realizes that there will be no foreign investment in Paui if foreign technicians are too frightened to live here,” Harry said. “I’m glad he says why the hostage and ransom business must be stopped immediately.”
“It’s going to be more difficult to stop the inter-tribal captures,” Kerry said.
“Do you reckon that’s what happened to our lot, Kerry?”
“They aren’t the first whites to disappear in a Third World country. But if our people are hostages, they were probably kidnapped for cash. Then maybe something went wrong.”
As Kerry opened the door to the office, Harry handed back the crumpled manifesto.
The waiting army captain stepped forward, saluted and handed over a letter. With some reluctance, he prepared to leave Kerry’s air-conditioned outer office.
Harry said, “I have to make a short telephone call before we leave. Okay?”
The captain nodded and gratefully returned to his chair.
When he got through to his bank manager in Sydney, Harry explained what he wanted, then said, “Kerry’s not authorized to handle this. Mind you, Kerry’s the salt of the earth.”
“So he’s the salt of the earth?” Al Kinsman repeated.
“Yeah, salt of the earth,” Harry said, “but he can’t do this, Al, so I want you to handle it for me.”
Satisfied that their password ‘salt of the earth,’ had been spoken, challenged and repeated, Al Kinsman immediately agreed that the bank would call the press services right away and announce the reward from their Sydney office.
Seeing Kerry’s alarmed face, Harry said grimly, “It’s okay, they can’t fire me.” Mentally he added, And as long as I have Arthur and Roddy’s watches Jerry Pearce won’t dare to do a quick deal with Raki behind my back.
But from now on Jerry was clearly going to be in charge of Nexus—and Jerry would always see Harry as the man who had openly challenged his authority and then flouted it. There was no future for Harry at Nexus. But Harry had already decided that he didn’t want Nexus in his future. What he wanted right now was Annie, and the rest of his life could wait.
* * *
When Harry arrived at the palace he was taken once again to the dark, overfurnished room where he had witnessed the unpleasant accident suffered by Raki’s late wife.
Upon the Persian carpet stood an ornate, nineteenth-century gilt trimmed French sofa. Directly in front of it was an old-fashioned plate camera on a tripod. The photographer’s head was hidden beneath the black cloth and only his outdated flared slacks could be seen.
President Raki, splendid in a scarlet military uniform, sat on the sofa. Beside him wriggled a plump young girl with frizzy hair. She wore a long blue satin dress with puffed sleeves. In one h
and she held a bottle of Coca-Cola, an expensive luxury on Paui, and with the other she popped peanuts into the President’s mouth. As he caught a peanut, Raki’s pink, gleaming, wide-open mouth reminded Harry of a hippo’s.
The obsequious photographer finished changing his plate, but Raki waved him aside, saying, “You’ve shot quite enough film for one official photograph.” Raki had a surprisingly high, abrupt laugh.
The little black sex kitten continued to eat peanuts and ignore Harry, but Raki nodded to him. “They should have shown you to my office, Mr. Scott, not here.” Raki picked up a pair of dark glasses from a table. Harry noticed that one of the side pieces contained a miniature transistor radio. Raki liked his toys. Harry knew that Westerners underestimated Raki because of these exuberant, childlike, vulgar touches, but to Harry they conveyed a sense of ludicrous menace.
As he followed Raki over the stained bright purple carpet in the corridor, Harry noticed that the diamond-laced ostrichskin shoes had lifts. Once in his office, Raki sat behind his desk with his hands clasped. He did not ask Harry to sit, so Harry stood, knowing that he was supposed to feel like a small boy quivering before the principal.
Raki said, “I hear you visited Katanga this morning.”
Harry nodded. He knew that he was now being watched at all times.
“And what did you learn?”
“I learned that five white women left two days ago in a dinghy, Mr. President.”
Harry was careful not to appear sarcastic or angry. His tone of voice was neutral and respectful. He knew how quickly the President’s mood could turn from affability to irritation, to paranoid suspicion, to violent rage.
“There was proof only that outlaws had camped in a sacred place,” Raki said. “There was no proof that the outlaws were white or female. False rumors circulate constantly on this island. It’s a terrible thing.”
Harry didn’t ask what sort of outlaw wore a black lace bra.
“I’ve called you here to finalize the date for signing the Heads of Agreement,” the President said.