The Lamplighters (15 page)

“You really think this is about Adam, don’t you?” More chuckles came with the realization. “Dammit Marla, I knew you were green but… Jesus, there’s more at stake here than some security jock!”

“Like what, for instance?”

Jessie just pointed, out to sea, at the boat. Marla looked, her teeth fixed in a grimace. 

“I used the computer network to get a message to the outside world. Y’know, invite some friends along to our little party? You have no idea what it’s been like, stranded here on this fucking island.”

Disbelief swirled like an ocean fog in Marla’s brain.

“We’re hardly stranded. How could you be so stupid? Fowler will crucify us for this! I don’t care how bored you are; you’ve sent us all home with no pay. I can’t believe you did this…”

“Can’t believe I did it, eh?” Jessie shook her head, bitterness creeping across her face. “You’ll thank me one day Marla, trust me you will. There’s only one way off this island and it ain’t on Fowler’s boat with your pockets stuffed with cash.”

Marla felt her skin prickle with gooseflesh, yet the air was still warm. 

“What do you mean?”

But Jessie didn’t answer, instead looking over Marla’s shoulder at something high up on the rocks above the cave entrance. Her mouth seemed to mouth the words,
what the hell?

Following her eyeline, Marla turned and looked upwards. High on the rocks stood a figure, muscled and erect against the blue sky. Pietro. He was standing perfectly still on the very edge of the rocks adjacent to those overhanging the cave mouth. Far below him, the sea swelled and foamed against the craggy rock face that sloped into the water like the roots of some gigantic tree. With a swift movement, Pietro raised his hands into the sky making a spearhead with his body and propelled himself off the rock face, headfirst into space.

Jessie cried out, the shocked sound echoing off the cove’s walls like a dog’s bark in the city. Marla stepped back and gasped, her hand rising to her mouth. The moment seemed frozen in time and all the while, Marla’s racing mind cycled through every possible scenario. Each one ended with the image of Pietro slamming against the rocks in a confusion of ruined muscle and battered flesh to the nightmare soundtrack of Jessie’s screams.

Pietro hit the water, just missing the rocks, breaking the spell. Both girls let out a sigh of relief, cut short by the sudden realization that Pietro had gone under the waves but had not yet resurfaced. Marla’s eyes darted this way and that, looking for Pietro’s head to break through the rush and swell of the water. Her mind’s eye conjured a memory of his sweaty head as it lay on his pillow after she’d woken up at his place. Her fear subverted the memory; showing Pietro’s head cracked open and spilling blood across foam white waves. She blinked the image from her eyes, willing it away, and continued scanning the surface of the sea for signs of life.

“There!”

It was Jessie, shouting and pointing at a sleek form powering through the water toward the pleasure boat—Pietro. He’d survived the dive after all.

Marla felt relief that he was safe, but utter confusion at all that was happening around her, all that she’d heard.
Only one way off this island
, Jessie had said. What the hell did she mean by that?

She turned to ask but saw that Jessie was engrossed in watching Pietro swimming to the boat, willing him on with half-muttered encouragements like a parent at a child’s sports day. Marla saw Pietro stop and tread water for a few moments, judging the distance, before kicking out into the last few meters that lay between him and the sleek white vessel.

Seconds ticked by as Marla watched Pietro nearing his goal. Then there was only fire and noise, black smoke and a ball of searing orange flame as the huge yacht exploded. Debris rained down into the undulating water while, unbelievably, the onboard motor still droned on.

As the thick black cloud began to clear, Marla realized she was hearing an altogether different engine. She saw the same realization on Jessie’s face too as a carrion black vessel broke through the dissipating smoke and circled around the flaming wreck where the pleasure boat used to be.

Marla saw the name painted on the hull.
Sentry Maiden
. Fowler’s men.

She and Jessie turned and ran, their hearts beating in their throats. They ran faster than either of them had ever run before.

Chapter Nineteen

Brett was below decks when he heard the commotion. Excited voices were raised above the sound of the onboard motors and the ceaseless splashing of the waves against the hull of the vessel. He’d been soul-searching down in the galley and had decided he had no choice but to try and make the best of things, stuck as he was on the yacht. Maybe Scott had been right, they were crewmembers like the next man, and they had to do their bit. No point pining for the mainland while he was out there on the waves. He liked Scott, even though he bugged the shit out of him all too often, they were still mates since college and that had to stand for something. Brett was mentally preparing a little speech intended to placate Scott and smooth things over with him, when he heard the voices and the noise above reach new levels. The engine noise had dipped and the movement of the yacht slowed suddenly. Putting aside all thoughts of his peacemaking with Scott for a moment, Brett seized the rails of the metal steps leading up to the deck above and began to climb. He peered out over the hatch, watching animated yachters darting to the port side of the vessel. One of them, a girl, cried out, “Over there! Over there!” and all eyes followed the tip of her finger out across the waves to the distant shape of a landmass. Brett was up on deck now, walking over to join the others by the observation deck. Where the hell had they ended up, back at the mainland? Maybe someone had made a navigational error. No such luck he discovered, realizing the landmass was an island out in the middle of nowhere. Ocean still surrounded them as far as the eye could see. He looked over to the control room where The Skip (still an asshole, for the record) was talking rapidly over and over into the handset of a radio. His First Mate (less of an asshole, but still high in the charts) was muttering something about the island and how could there be an island out here, GPS was showing a whole bunch of nothing. The Skip looked puzzled at this, but kept on repeating his transmission into the little radio handset, working its coiled wire around his fingers as he spoke.

“There in the water! In the water!”

The same girl was shouting again and more deckhands rushed to her side of the yacht to see what she was caterwauling about. Brett went with the flow and joined the group, peering out over the surf in the vague direction the girl was looking. Then he saw it—a small, powerful figure ploughing through the waves with swimming strokes as regular and machinelike as an automaton’s. The swimmer was heading straight for the yacht, his arms rising and cutting into the water like twin metronomes keeping a beat. Brett could almost feel the sheer physical effort of the swimmer. If he’d come from that island, he’d swum one heck of a long way already.

“Someone get him a life preserver!”

The cry echoed Brett’s thoughts. He looked up at the girl who’d shouted and found himself staring into Idoya’s eyes. He began to blush, remembering how his lower decks had betrayed him when he looked at her earlier. But her eyes were urgent and she seemed to have forgotten the incident for now. Something rose inside Brett’s chest—it was purpose. This might be his chance to do his bit, to make a difference, to be accepted as a
bona fide
member of the crew. He fixed the Ibizan beauty with a serious gaze, nodded his head as if to say
I’m on it
, then turned and dashed off to find a life preserver.

There. The life preserver’s bright circle was a beacon glowing striped orange at him from its mount next to the cabin entrance. He reached out for it, hearing Idoya calling for him to hurry up somewhere behind him. But he did not hurry. In fact, he stood frozen to the spot as a new shape entered his field of vision. He moved to the other side of the boat now, ignoring the life preserver, and looked out over the rail. A huge, sleek black boat was gunning through the ocean towards them. He could see black-clad figures on deck, holding onto the safety rails as their mighty boat powered through the waves, spewing spray in huge arcs from beneath its nose.

“Help him on board! Someone help him up!”

His crewmembers’ cries were muffled static to Brett. All he could look at was the black boat, and the men onboard who were armed to the teeth. All his brain could process was the speed of the vessel and the fact that those who piloted it were pointing something decidedly large and weapon-like right at the yacht. There was a flash, a spark of flame and a sound like the world ending. Fear clutched at every tendon in Brett’s legs as he launched himself arms, hands, head first over the safety rail and into the ocean. Submerged, his whole world went silent for a few seconds as he swam down beneath the waves, powered on by the force of his dive. Then there was a sound like a house collapsing in on itself and Brett felt the aftershock of the explosion above him as it ripped the boat, and all of his crewmembers, to pieces. He opened his mouth in shock as he neared the surface, gagging on salt water as something heavy plummeted from the sky and struck him between his shoulders. He blacked out.

“What just happened?”

Marla struggled to keep herself from vomiting, retching at the acid tang of stomach bile hitting the back of her throat. She leaned against the cool damp surface of the cave wall and shivered, her body all at once aroused by the adrenaline rush of the frantic run and shaken to its core by fear. Jessie stood nearby, panting heavily from her exertion and rummaging through a small tie-dyed cotton shoulder bag.

Blind panic had driven them both into the cave, all the way round to the dark passageway where Marla had given up on her search for the young boy earlier. She was no longer afraid of its coal blackness, now more wary of Fowler’s men in their boat outside. Her heartbeat quickened as she pictured them dropping the
Sentry Maiden
’s anchor and storming the beach like a SWAT team in a movie
.

“We should be safe in here, although I have no idea where this tunnel leads I’m afraid,” Jessie said as she pulled an object from her bag. “Though last time I was in here I didn’t have this.”

Triumphantly, she twisted the head of a small metallic Maglite flashlight and pointed its beam down the passageway—it stretched on way past the extent of the beam, myriad tiny droplets of cave water cutting through the light like summer rain.

“I said what just happened?” Marla repeated, trying to make out Jessie’s face beyond the flashlight’s glare.

“Plenty of time to talk about that while we find out where this goes,” Jessie replied. “If it goes anywhere, that is.”

From somewhere behind them in the main body of the cave, they heard a sharp
chink-chink
sound. Marla’s nerves, such as they were, drove her back further into the dark passageway. Jessie nodded grimly and started walking too, keeping the flashlight beam low in front of her.

They walked for several minutes in strained silence. Every
drip-drip
of water, every
chink-chink
of stone, set their teeth on edge and renewed the fear they’d both felt when running from the aftermath of the explosion. Only when they’d followed a series of sharp turns in the tunnel did Marla dare speak again, in a hushed whisper, as the atmosphere transformed into quiet stillness far away from the entrance to the echoing cave chamber.

“I wish you’d tell me what the bloody hell is going on…”

“Okay, toots, don’t freak out. I just wanted to put some distance between Fowler’s cronies and us first. I hope to god they didn’t see us run in here. Chances are they didn’t, what with the smoke and all. But we can’t be too sure…”

“Who was on that boat? Friends of yours, you said?”

“Just a figure of speech, girlfriend. I honestly don’t know who was on that boat—and I guess we’ll never find out now will we?”

“But you said you’d
invited
them to the island. How is that even possible? I mean there’s no way of communicating with the outside world is there?”

“That’s what I thought, at first. Look, I’m pretty good with computers, so it didn’t take me long to figure out a way of hacking into the island’s comms network. After that it was just a case of pushing the right buttons, if you get my meaning. I used the uplink to put out a digitally cloaked beacon. Only problem is I had to include a subroutine to keep randomizing the target range of the beacon to help disguise it for longer. So I had no idea if anyone would actually pick it up, it might just seem like background noise, radar interference. I think those poor bastards on that boat must’ve stumbled across it for sure and come for a look-see. But Fowler’s gooks got to them before I could.”

“But how did you…” Marla voiced her confusion. “You were doing all this while I was…”

“Creating a diversion, yeah.”

“Thanks a bunch. Why did you lie to me?”

“I’m sorry I lied, really I am. But I had to make sure,
damn sure
, you weren’t a plant.”

“A plant? What the hell do you mean by that?”

Jessie stopped walking and moved closer to Marla, hushing her voice until it was barely audible even in the womblike silence of the tunnel.

“Listen, this island is fucked up, Marla. Something very bad is going down here and I’m scared. I’ve been scared for a very long time now.”

The urgency in Jessie’s eyes told Marla she was being honest.

“Go on.”

“Before you came here, there was another Lamplighter. German girl, name of Vera. She was going stir crazy, seeing things at night and not sleeping, all that jazz. Anyhow, she straightened herself out gradually with the help of some yoga and a little smoke, but she was desperate to have some contact with the outside world.”

Jessie paused, guilt flooding her eyes.

“I’d gotten friendly with Adam and he managed to smuggle a decommissioned laptop out to me. My first experiment was to get the uplink working and I needed to test it out, so I arranged a three-minute window for poor Vera to make a quick phone call. Took a few attempts to get it right but it worked. She made a couple more calls, but I never even got the chance to find out who she’d called because after the last one she was gone.”