‘WE WON’T STOP here long,’ said Sister Conchita reassuringly, noticing the VSO’s growing unease. ‘I’d just like to see the island properly. I’ve heard so much about it.’
Andy nodded but did not turn round. He was hunched in the prow of the canoe, staring across the water of the lagoon at Kasolo island. Not a happy bunny, decided Conchita.
Perhaps she should not have asked the boy to come with her, thought the nun contritely. Obviously he had bad memories of his enforced sojourn on the island, forgotten by the authorities. However, he would know the place thoroughly, and should be able to guide her across it. It would do him no harm to spend another hour on Kasolo.
‘I’d just like you to show me the island,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing like having a personal guide.’
‘All right, but this place gives me the creeps,’ said Andy. ‘What’s so special about it?’
‘This was where John F. Kennedy took refuge during the war.’
‘Who’s John F. Kennedy?’
‘Some people think he’s going to be the next president of the USA.’
‘Sounds like he’s got better job prospects than I have,’ said Andy gloomily. I don’t think the DC is going to give me much of a reference when my time’s up here.’
‘Believe me,’ said Sister Conchita confidently, ‘Mr Maclehose will give you an absolutely glowing testimonial. I guarantee it. What are you going to do when you get back home?’
‘I’ve got a place at Cambridge,’ said Andy.
‘So you couldn’t manage Harvard? No, really, I’m impressed. What made you want to come to the Solomons for a year?’
‘It sounded exotic.’
‘The islands are that all right, if you don’t die of sunstroke or snakebite or fever first.’
Andy laughed. Sister Conchita cut out the engine. The VSO picked up a paddle and steered the canoe through the sharp rocks of the lagoon. He stepped out into the shallow water and dragged the canoe up on to the beach, then stood looking about him without enchantment as Sister Conchita got out of the canoe.
‘I never thought I’d come back here,’ he said with a shudder.
‘I’m sorry; it must have real bad memories for you. I promise you we won’t stay a minute longer than we have to. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.’
‘I didn’t make a fuss,’ said Andy indignantly.
‘Of course you didn’t. I was referring to Kennedy and the other ten men from the PT-109.’
‘What’s the PT-109?’
‘Stop it; you’re making me feel old! I’ll explain it to you later. Do you want to give me the full tour of the island?’
‘Sure, it should take all of twenty minutes,’ said Andy.
In the event, it took just over half an hour. Conchita retraced her steps over the route she had taken when she had first gone ashore to Andy’s aid. Even after such a brief time, most of the signs that either of them had been there had vanished, a sign of how fragile human incursions into the island were. The trampled grass had sprung back into place. The fire upon which the VSO had cooked his fish was now only a heap of cold ash. Only his tent remained in the clearing.
Andy led the way through the trees and took the nun from one side of the island to the other. Conchita could see no indication that Kennedy and his crew had ever landed on Kasolo. If most signs of the VSO’s habitation had disappeared in a few days, what chance would there be of finding any references to the crew of the PT-109 seventeen years earlier? After all this time, it would have been foolish to expect to discover anything. The whole visit was turning into an anticlimax. She had been looking forward to visiting Kasolo, but it was just one island among hundreds like it.
Conchita was about to apologize to the VSO and suggest that she take him back to Gizo when she heard the sound of an approaching engine out in the lagoon. With Andy at her shoulder, she made her way through the trees until she could see the water. The tourist launch was a few hundred yards away, getting closer. It was being steered by Joe Dontate, with Imison and the two other American tourists behind him, staring ahead at the atoll.
‘What are they doing here?’ asked Andy.
‘Hush!’ said Sister Conchita. ‘Let’s wait and see.’
The launch could not get as close as Conchita had been able to with her canoe. Dontate was forced to approach from another direction and stop the vessel some way out. He lowered a small anchor and jumped over the side. The calm water came up to his chest. Imison and the other Americans joined him and started wading ashore, taking care to avoid the jagged edges of the coral reef. One of them was carrying a small box wrapped in greaseproof paper. He held the container high over his head to avoid contact with the water.
Sister Conchita watched intently as the four men reached the beach. The three Americans stopped on the shore, but Dontate continued to walk inland until he reached the trees and was then lost to sight. Imison issued orders to the other two men, and they opened the box. There seemed to be a number of small objects inside. Imison pushed the others to one side and selected one of the objects, putting it in his pocket. Then he spoke curtly to his companions, and the three men started walking towards the trees. One of them picked up the box carefully and took it with him.
‘Sister Conchita,’ said a voice from the trees. ‘The praying mary spying on others? For shame! What will the Bishop say?’
Conchita and Andy turned to see Joe Dontate surveying them with caustic enjoyment. ‘I saw your canoe from the trees,’ he said. ‘You were so busy, you didn’t hear me coming up behind you.’
Dontate called out. After a few minutes, Imison and the other two men blundered into sight through the undergrowth. None of the Americans looked pleased to see the nun and the VSO.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ asked Imison.
‘I wanted to see what all the fuss was about,’ said Conchita, trying to sound casual. ‘I’ve heard so much about Kasolo that I asked Mr Russell to show it to me.’
‘They must have seen us,’ said one of the Americans, a slim man who looked as if he had to shave twice a day.
‘There was nothing to see,’ said Dontate quickly. ‘You came ashore in a properly constituted touring party, with a well-known local guide. What can anybody make out of that?’
‘Too many things are going wrong,’ said Imison. ‘We’re not tidying up as well as we’re supposed to. Maybe we should make a start.’
‘That would be overkill,’ said Dontate. ‘This is a small place. Things get noticed. Don’t do anything hasty.’
‘I don’t like it,’ said the dark-chinned American. His companion grunted assent.
‘Lot of things I don’t like,’ said Imison. ‘Being stuck with you two, for a start. Nothing I can do about it.’
‘Well, we’ve had our little excursion,’ said Sister Conchita as nonchalantly as she could. ‘I think we should be on our way now, Mr Russell. A lot of people are expecting us.’
‘Are they?’ asked Andy.
‘Oh, yes; I have to take a consignment of medicine back to the mission hospital, and the District Commissioner is waiting for you to get back from Honiara today. We’d both be missed. Very quickly, too.’
‘Oh, I see what you mean,’ said the VSO eagerly. ‘Yes, that’s right. A lot of people at the airstrip must have seen me get off the plane this morning.’
Imison gnawed at his lip, trying to come to a decision. Finally he nodded to Dontate.
‘Best be getting back to your fan clubs, then,’ said Dontate to Conchita and Andy. ‘We wouldn’t want any broken hearts on account of you being missing.’
The islander stood to one side to allow the nun and the VSO to walk away down to the beach. Imison and the other two Americans looked unhappy about the situation, but made no effort to prevent them from leaving.
Conchita said no more until she and Andy had pushed their canoe back into the water and she had started the outboard engine and was steering them back towards Gizo.
‘What was that all about?’ asked Andy.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Conchita.
‘It was almost like they were going to stop us leaving.’
‘Surely not,’ said the nun. It would not do to alarm the boy, but for a few moments back on the island it had looked to her as if Imison and his men had been contemplating killing the pair of them in case they had seen anything untoward. It was only Joe Dontate’s intervention that had saved them. Sister Conchita knew that inexorably she was getting out of her depth. It was time she brought in the bigger guns. She opened the briefcase at her feet and took out the letter she had written at Munda. She handed the envelope to the VSO.
‘When you get back to Gizo, I’d like you to look for Sergeant Kella, the policeman. You’ll find him at the District Commissioner’s office tomorrow. Please give him this.’