Forbidden Island Read online

  “I had bigger problems on my mind,” Rowan said. He didn’t put the gun away, but lowered it. “Just be glad you fell on the bed. Floor wouldn’t have been as kind.”

  Winston nodded. “Are we wrecked?” Winston asked.

  “Run aground,” Sashi said. “On the coral.”

  “Well that’s just fucking grand.” Winston hobbled to the rail. He’d put on a shirt before coming up, but hadn’t bothered buttoning it, letting his prodigious belly bulge out. He turned from one person to the next, then asked, “Where’s Chugy?”

  “Not here,” Rowan said.

  Emmei shook his head, exasperated. “She is missing.”

  “Well then, there’s your answer.”

  A shift of color drew Talia’s eyes back to the island. There were only two fires left. A sudden sense of dread flowed through Talia’s body, her ancient enemy resurfacing. “It’s a countdown.”

  “What?” Winston asked, annoyed, and then to Rowan, “What is she talking about?”

  “The fires are going out,” she explained. “One every fifteen seconds. I think it’s a countdown.”

  “A countdown?” Winston’s injury had done nothing to dull his incredulity. “Do they even have a concept of time?”

  “Every culture on Earth starting with the most primitive hominids had an understanding of time. Days. Seasons. The movements of the sun and moon. The Sentinelese might not have watches, but they probably have a better instinct for the rising and falling of the sun, and how it affects their lives, than we ever will.”

  A fire went out, shrinking down to nothing in seconds, leaving no trace behind.

  “What happens when the last fire goes out?” Mahdi asked. “I know you don’t know the answer, but since there is only one fire left, I thought it wise to discuss.”

  “In my experience,” Winston said. “Countdowns never lead to anything good.”

  “Everyone inside,” Rowan said. “Now.”

  Talia realized she and Rowan were still standing on the dive deck, water lapping at their feet. Hands on the aft rail, she vaulted herself back onto the yacht while Rowan pushed through the gate.

  “You don’t really think we’re in danger?” Sashi asked, shuffling toward the door. “Out here? In the dark?”

  “You’re the one who showed us the photos,” Rowan said. “You tell me.”

  Sashi had no response. She headed inside, followed by Emmei and Winston. When Mahdi stepped toward the door, Rowan stopped him. “The long case, in my room. Can you get it?”

  Mahdi nodded. “Thank you for trusting me.”

  “It’s not a compliment, I just trust him less.” Rowan motioned toward Winston through the window. The big man had already taken a seat at the saloon, popping the top off a beer bottle.

  Mahdi frowned, but didn’t comment. He hurried inside, headed through the dining room, lounge, and saloon before disappearing below deck.

  “And what are we going to do?” Talia asked.

  “See what happens when the countdown reaches zero,” Rowan said, looking back toward the island. After a moment he said, “I think it’s been fifteen—”

  The final bonfire flared, shrank, and then exploded with a brilliance that turned Talia’s eyes away, and made her wonder if they had severely underestimated the Sentinelese. And then she heard them, whispering, the voices rising up from the dark water surrounding them.

  18

  “Do you hear that?” Talia asked.

  Rowan was too busy watching the island to register Talia’s question. The last bonfire had flared brightly, and then broken apart into seven smaller flames, fanning out across the island. Torches, he decided. They’re running with torches, fast, heading toward the sea. When the orange lights reached the jungle’s end, they went dark.

  “Rowan,” Talia hissed. “Do you hear them?”

  His eyes snapped away from the island, registering the question, and he held his breath. He heard nothing unusual. “I don’t—”

  “Whispering,” she said. “All around.”

  He was about to argue that she was hearing things when a sound, like a breeze, fluttered against his ears. The gentle swish separated into voices, each rising and falling with its own cadence, a song of hushed destruction. He couldn’t make out any distinct words, but he also didn’t speak the language.

  Rowan raised his pistol and searched the boat. He saw nothing.

  Are they all in the water? For a moment, he felt afraid for the natives. There was a predator in the water. Then he realized it could have been the Sentinelese pulling on the other side of that line, dragging the boat back into the water, attempting to sink it. He never did see the end of the line. For all he knew, a group of warriors could have been standing on coral, pulling them back as a group. They’d be impossible to see in the dark.

  “Stay here,” he said to Talia, motioning to the door. “Be ready to get inside and lock the door.”

  “Screw that,” she said, flicking open her knife. Apparently, Talia’s version of ‘going native’ included taking a life to defend herself. It made sense that she would be willing to kill—law of the jungle and all that—but it still caught him off guard.

  He didn’t bother arguing the point. Talia put an equal amount of resolve—all of it—into everything she decided to do. His boots thumped gently against the deck with each step. The sound was delicate, muted, but in the nighttime quiet, it announced his presence and direction like a drummer boy. He flicked the gun’s safety off, wrapped a finger around the trigger, and leaned over the port rail.

  Water. That was all there was.

  The whispers fell silent.

  “They’re playing games with us,” he said.

  “Testing us,” Talia replied, peering over the edge. “Seeing how we react.” She looked back to the door through which the others had fled. “Perhaps determining which of us are warriors.”

  “Congratulations,” Rowan said, with a smirk.

  “Probably so they can target us first.”

  Rowan’s frail smile shattered and fell away. He searched the water again. If the Sentinelese had been surrounding the ship and had just left, he should have still been able to see them. The moonlight was enough to see the surface by. The silhouettes of their heads, swimming bodies and canoes should have been easy to see. But he saw nothing. And heard nothing. “I’m not sure they were ever here.”

  “We both heard them.”

  He wanted to blame it on the wind, but there wasn’t a breeze.

  Motion drew Rowan’s eyes down. A blur rose from below, surging quickly. When it broke the water, he saw a head, felt a rush of danger, and before considering the ramifications of his actions, pulled the trigger. There was a crack and a pop, hard and wet, all of it familiar.

  “Rowan!” Talia shouted, shoving him to the side, stalling his second shot.

  As he stumbled back, lowering his weapon, a dozen different scenarios flooded his mind. Instinct guided his reaction to what he perceived as an attack. But maybe it wasn’t? Maybe it was a Sentinelese surfacing for a breath, or to say hello, or simply to frighten him. Maybe it was Chugy, returning to the boat after escaping the line, or returning from her sabotage of the anchors. The more he thought about it, the less confident he felt about his actions.

  Talia looked over the edge with a frown.

  If he had taken an innocent life, again, Rowan would be undone. His fingers loosened their grip on the handgun. His legs felt week. Please don’t let it be Chugy.

  “Well,” Talia said, “You killed it.”

  It. Killed it. Rowan stepped to the rail and looked into the water. A single coconut bobbed in the water, white fluid leaking from a hole in its thick skin. Thank God.

  When a second form rose from the depths, he took aim again, but held his fire, fighting his instincts. It was a second coconut. And then a third, and a forth. They rose from below, thumping against the hull, spinning in the small waves.

  “I don’t think they liked the coconuts,” Talia said
, smiling like she’d just watched her child take her first steps.

  “You sound proud,” he said.

  She motioned to the coconuts with her knife. “They’ve sent us a very clear message.”

  “We don’t like coconuts?”

  “Probably closer to ‘you can’t buy our favor with coconuts.’”

  “Or ‘keep the coconuts, we prefer heads.’”

  Talia laughed, but it sounded equal parts amused and nervous. “The point is, it’s progress. They’re communicating, and this message is far less confusing than the genital thrusting.”

  “But less fun.” Rowan’s joke felt hollow. Despite his enemy being a coconut, he couldn’t shake the disturbing feeling those whispers had generated, and the fact that the Sentinelese could apparently swim great distances underwater, not to mention orchestrate a fairly dramatic pyrotechnic light show. They had underestimated the Sentinelese, as had everyone who had visited the island before them, which could help explain why so many people had been killed here.

  Despite the coconut communication, and the Sentinelese sparing his life after performing the haka, he could not shake the feeling that the Sea Tiger’s crew would be the next victims attributed to the Sentinelese. But we will be the last, he thought. If the expedition failed, the Sentinelese were in trouble. If the expedition was murdered… He couldn’t imagine many of the islanders surviving the government’s response.

  The door behind them slapped open. The sudden noise spun them around. Fearing the coconuts were a distraction, Rowan raised the pistol again, and when he saw a dark skinned man wielding an automatic weapon, he nearly pulled the trigger, this time out of trained habit rather than instinct. But he recognized the man, a moment before he put a bullet in his head.

  “Shit, Mahdi.” Rowan lowered the pistol. “I nearly shot you.”

  “I heard a shot,” he said. “So I hurried.”

  Rowan motioned to the FN SCAR assault rifle procured for him by the Indian government. In full auto, the weapon was perfect for close quarters combat. In semi-auto, he could squeeze off single rounds. Using a scope, it was an effective alternative for a sniper rifle when shooting at targets at a distance of three to four hundred feet. The last time Rowan saw it, the weapon had been inside its case—disassembled. Rowan could assemble the weapon in twenty seconds. Mahdi was slower, but the weapon’s assembly wasn’t intuitive. He either had experience with an FN or weapons like it.

  “You put that together?”

  Mahdi looked down at the rifle, confused by the question, or feigning confusion. If Mahdi could assemble assault rifles, then the mysteries of his past and the men looking for him, might be less innocent than Rowan would prefer. Then again, Talia could probably assemble the weapon, too. And Mahdi was holding it all wrong.

  Rowan tucked his handgun into the small of his back and reached for the FN. He was pleased when Mahdi handed it over, but his relief was wiped clean when Mahdi whispered, “Not me.”

  “Then who?” Rowan asked.

  Mahdi looked over his shoulder, more worried about who was inside the ship than outside it.

  “Winston,” Talia guessed. “He’s got something on you, doesn’t he?”

  “We need to tell the Sentinelese to not eat the coconuts,” Mahdi said.

  Talia’s expression darkened. “What’s wrong with the coconuts?”

  Mahdi looked back again. He flinched when he saw Sashi, Emmei, and Winston emerge from below decks next to the saloon. Winston moved with one arm frozen behind him. Rowan recognized the stance. The man had a gun tucked into his pants.

  When Mahdi didn’t answer, Talia tried to step around him. “Fine. I’ll ask him myself.”

  Rowan held her back. “He’s armed.”

  Talia held up the knife. “So am I.” She pointed at the rifle. “So are you.”

  “My job is still to keep this crew safe. A gun fight on a marooned yacht off the coast of North Sentinel Island is not the time and place for a violent confrontation over coconuts. There’s a chance we will need him, and his gun, to survive. Until that’s not a possibility, we play nice.” He pointed a finger at Mahdi. “But you will tell us what’s going on.”

  Mahdi glanced back again. The others were closing in, but moving cautiously. He whispered, “They sprayed the coconuts. I think with a virus. They are not here to help the Sentinelese. They are here to kill them.”

  “They?” Talia asked. “Who?”

  Another glance. “Everyone.”

  19

  Mahdi shoved his hands in his pockets and looked up at the stars.

  “If you’re trying to look casual,” Rowan told him, “you’re doing the opposite.”

  The door behind him opened and Sashi peeked out. “We heard a gunshot.”

  Mahdi removed his hands, wandered toward the dive deck and then remembered there might be Sentinelese warriors lurking in the water. He knew he looked nervous, but given the circumstances, nervous was appropriate.

  “Rowan killed a coconut,” Talia said, doing a much better job of acting casual. Even grinned convincingly.

  Winston pushed his way past Emmei and Sashi, spilling the entire crew out on to the deck.

  Rowan put the rifle’s butt against his shoulder, ready but not raised. “It’s still not safe out here. You should go back inside.”

  Mahdi wasn’t sure who Rowan was preparing to shoot, but he decided agreeing with him would help keep bullets from flying. “I think that’s a—”

  Winston shot him a look and stormed to the port rail where Talia stood. “What coconut?”

  Talia sneered at Winston’s proximity, but the man didn’t notice. He was looking down into the water, where a slew of coconuts bobbed.

  “They didn’t like your gift,” Talia said. “Maybe you should take them back? Be a shame to waste all those good coconuts.”

  Winston gave her a squinty-eyed glare, like some kind of troll whose bridge was being stomped on by an obese billy goat. “Help yourself.” He straightened up, watching the now dark island. “Did you see them? Were they carrying the coconuts?”

  “We didn’t see anyone,” Rowan said.

  “Where did the coconuts come from?” Emmei asked.

  Rowan pointed at the water. “Beneath us. I shot the first one that surfaced. The rest came up pretty quickly after that.”

  Mahdi thought Winston might persist on his line of questioning, tipping the card that Mahdi had yet to fully explain to Rowan and Talia. If he did, it would allow them to question him directly without Mahdi risking exposure and Winston fulfilling his threat.

  Winston huffed, looked at Sashi, and hitched a thumb toward Rowan. “This is the guy you hired to protect us? The great coconut killer.”

  Mahdi stood motionless, but his heartrate climbed faster as tension brewed. If there was a confrontation, he knew Sashi would have no part. He hadn’t spoken to her alone, but he got the impression her innocence, like his, was motivated by self-preservation, or the preservation of loved ones. Emmei, on the other hand, worked for Ambani, and he would likely support Winston. And if that happened, Mahdi would have a choice to make, between what was safe, and what was right.

  It was a choice he’d made once before, and he had been dogged by the results since. He wasn’t sure he could do it again.

  Luckily, Rowan was diplomatic when Talia couldn’t be. “I think the danger has passed. Since there’s nothing left to see tonight, I suggest we all head inside and try to get a little sleep. We can lock the doors, and I’ll keep watch from the dining room.”

  Winston looked ready to rekindle the argument, but Sashi spoke up. “That sounds like a great idea.”

  “We can try to repair the radio in the morning,” Emmei said. “Call for a rescue.” He frowned. “And a search team.”

  As things calmed down, Mahdi found himself becoming exhausted. The night had been full of stress and treachery. He’d taken part in things that might haunt him for the rest of his life. Drawn to the bench lining the stern rail, he sat,
head in his hands.

  He had not prayed since he was a teenager, but thoughts of Allah trickled into his mind. If he was to be judged upon his death, he would surely be sent to the burning fires of Jahannam. As a man who had been raised in the teachings of Islam, and had turned his back on them, he’d been deemed an ‘enemy of Islam.’ Rather than being judged when Allah remade the world, he would be damned to hell at the moment of his death.

  “Allah, spare my life,” he said, and winced. It was a very Western way to pray. He raised his hands to his ears, said, “Allah…Akbar,” and lowered his right hand to his navel. The motions felt wrong. Phony. Even if he got everything right, Allah would not hear him, because he didn’t believe.

  But then he heard a reply. The voice was fluid and strange. Decidedly not human.

  He sat up straight, listening. He heard the conversation between the others, calmer now, but the words didn’t make it past his ears.

  Then he heard the voice again. From behind him. From the water.

  His eyes opened slowly as he remembered where he was, where he was sitting, and what might be in the water. He turned around slowly, primed to dive away and raise the alarm. But he saw no one. Not a Sentinelese man, or Allah in human form. All he saw was water.

  And no dive deck.

  He stood up and leaned over the edge. The dive deck was submerged six inches beneath the surface, a foot when a wave rolled through on its way to shore. An almost musical gurgle rose up from below, carried by a string of bubbles.

  Mahdi stood, snapped rigid by the realization that his judgment day might arrive sooner than later. He stepped back from the rail until he bumped into Rowan, who took one look at him and then raised the assault rifle toward the rear of the ship.

  “What is it?” Rowan asked. “What did you see?”

  Mahdi turned to Rowan. His voice came out with a squeak. “We’re sinking.”

  The group moved toward the back of the ship to look for themselves, but the shift of all that weight toward the stern increased the subtle angle of the ship to the point where it could not be ignored.