14

TERUMBU ISLAND, LATE JULY

Although the carcass had long since been dead, it still pulsated from the maggots and insects that tunneled through the remains of the corpse. After the flies sortied, Havok poked around for a couple more minutes before stepping out of the ferns.

“I saw the flies.” Stone smirked. “So there’s somethin’ dead in there.”

“I just found the owner of the head we found back on Ituba Island.”

“Any idea who he was?” Havok asked.

“Just guessing really, but he was thin and didn’t get out much. I’m guessin’ an office or lab worker by the looks of his clothing: a white collared shirt, pleated dress slacks, and dress shoes, all with Russian manufacturer labels. In addition to missing his head, he’s missing his feet and hands. Somebody didn’t want him identified.”

“But they left him in clothing marking him as a possible Russian?” Stone pondered aloud.

“Like you said earlier, they may not be too bright,” Havok answered. “But we can’t cache our gear here. They may come back.”

After inspecting the body and the surrounding bushes for more information, the two men left the gravesite and found a bamboo grove a hundred yards away. Once Havok buried the emergency pack inside the thicket of green stalks, the pair of explorers continued their trek southward. Through the dark, humid tropical forest, they walked and sweated until they reached the interior end of the large bay. By now, their olive-drab clothing was black and heavy with sweat. Damp leaves clung to their attire, and Havok’s skin itched ferociously from the razor-sharp bamboo fibers. Here, they sat at the edge of the forest, next to the small stream that escaped the foliage and meandered its way across the beach to the bay. Havok looked out at the clean white sand in front of him and the clear, bright sky. His eyes smarted from the light reflecting off the sand.

Stone kept his eyes on the direction they had just come from, while Havok pulled binoculars from the case on his belt and peered through them at the beach from which the US Navy had rescued Wheatley’s father. The white crescent of the sand shined against a dark green forest behind it. The beach was devoid of footprints, trash, or any other sign of human activity. He panned the glasses over the bay.

“See anything?” Stone asked.

“Just some birds,” Havok answered, pausing to inspect the uncharted island in the middle of the bay and the tropical growth that grew all the way to the water’s edge. He noticed there were no trees on the island; instead, short brush and grass covered the entire island. He noticed something else as well.

“And it looks like the island’s changed shape a bit.”

“How so?” Stone asked, still looking behind them.

“I don’t know,” Havok said. “A bit wider, longer, or taller. Maybe it looks different because I’m looking at it from a different angle.”

The two men fell silent. Stone kept looking at the jungle behind them; Havok, at the island in the middle of the bay. That’s when Havok saw it: a wisp of black smoke rising from the peaked center of the island. Now he knew why the island looked different.

Satisfied, he continued on and used the binoculars to focus on the northern shore. He saw a narrow strip of rocky beach and remnants of an old concrete pier. Other than the three small beaches, a confused wall of forest bordered the bay.

“Doesn’t look like anybody is following us,” Stone said.

“All quiet on the Eastern Front as well,” Havok said dryly.

“Do you think anybody else is on this rock?”

“Somebody took the time to kill and decapitate that body back there. I’ll bet his killers are the same assholes who put the holes in my airplane.”

“Our airplane.”

“Our airplane,” Havok corrected himself. “And they’re hiding under that island in the middle of the bay.”

Stone turned to face the same direction as Havok. “I still don’t know why anybody would go through so much trouble for some World War II silver that may not even be here. Plus, is that island in the same spot where Wheatley’s father said the Americans dumped the silver?”

“There’s obviously something going on here,” Havok replied. “But first, I want to see if there’s a way to get onto that beach over there so we can at least try to get what we came for.”

The hike continued in silence as they followed the edge of the forest that surrounded the bay, and walked under the cover of the tropical canopy. Finally, they came to a spot where they could survey the beach, and the possible location of the silver pesos. There, they heard a noise. Looking past the island in the middle of the bay, at the rocky beach on the other side of the bay a half mile away, they saw a black rubber boat carrying two men depart the rocky beach. The outboard engine whined in the distance as the boat headed for the island.

“Well, we don’t have anything to do until sunset, do we?” Stone said.

The two men turned back in the direction they had come from, walking cautiously until they reached the small stream they had sat next to less than an hour ago. They turned and followed the edge of the forest and beach toward the rocky beach. It was not long before they could hear voices and smell the smoke of campfires.

Havok and Stone squatted behind the roots of a banyan tree and peered through a group of ferns to observe their new discovery. Two rows of old single-story cinder-block buildings ran from east to west. The windows were paneless and the doorways were doorless. Worn rain ponchos and thin blankets now hung in their place. At one end of the two rows of buildings was a large two-story building with a wide porch and concrete steps, and at the other end, another large single-story building. Havok also spotted the corner of another building poking out of the jungle to the north of the camp. There was a middle-aged white man wearing a laboratory coat over civilian clothing, with glasses perched on his forehead, standing at the corner, reading something on a clipboard.

They watched as men, wearing the pants of military battle-dress uniforms and blue-and-white-striped jerseys, carried out duties in pairs or in trios: tending a fire, carrying pails of water to and fro, cleaning weapons, or conversing while smoking cigarettes. They all had closely cropped hair or shaven heads and were well muscled. The three men closest to Havok and Stone, about fifty feet away, were passing the time by having a push-up contest.

“We drew the shitty end of the stick this time,” whispered Havok.

“What makes you say that?”

“Those jerseys they’re wearing are typically worn by Russian special-forces units.”

“Well, even without the uniforms, those buggers look mean enough to scare the ugly straight off Maxine Waters with one shot,” quipped Stone.

Havok looked back at the two-story building at the west end of the camp. Two men, one looking to be in his fifties and the other in his late twenties, exited the building. They were fully dressed in pressed BDUs and walked with erect postures as they stopped and talked to the soldiers they passed.

They must be officers, Havok thought.

Finally, the two men stopped to talk to the three soldiers recovering from their push-up contest. Sweating heavily, the three men held themselves straight and nodded cheerfully as the older of the two officers seemed to joke with them. The respect was evident.

While not fluent in Russian, Havok knew enough to take caution. He grimaced as he thought back to what Stone had asked just a short time ago: What would Russian Special Forces soldiers be doing on this island?

Havok also thought they were perhaps a bit too close to the camp. He nudged Stone in his side, and they both stood slightly and backed away from the tree.

The sun had long ago passed its zenith and was well on its way toward the western horizon when the hikers arrived back at their boat. After removing their day packs and web gear, Havok and Stone stripped down to their pants under the boat’s netting and washed the best they could using a five-gallon bucket of fresh water Manny had filled for them. Now, sitting on chairs on the fantail and wearing dry clothing, they ran combs through their still-wet hair, drank iced-down beer, and discussed their dilemma along with possible options.

“Well, there’s quite a bit going on here, but I suggest we check and see if the silver is still there,” posed Havok. “If it’s not, that’s fine, as the search will give us time to let the Russians go to sleep. Once it’s late, we can revisit the camp for a better recon; then I’m thinking about a swim out to that island.”

“Don’t forget,” answered Stone. “You mentioned something about a missing university research vessel.”

“You’re right,” Havok said. “I’m sure the ship is playing a factor in all of this.”

Manny finished his beer. “What about calling Kilgore?”

“It wouldn’t work,” Havok replied. “With all that has happened, I’m sure somebody’s monitoring Kilgore’s comms, which can be traced back to us, and it would tell them we’re on this island. Also, if Kilgore was able to sneak that GPS locator device aboard that Chinese frigate and it’s still working or not found out yet, they just might be tracking the wrong target electronically, which should still give us time to figure out our next few steps.”

They spent the rest of the late afternoon assembling and testing their gear for the night dive and going over the dive plan. They worked until it was dark. Once Havok and Stone made sure their equipment was packed and ready, they sat to eat the simple meal Manny had prepared for them, and they finished the bucket of beers. This would be the last of the cold beer, as they could not afford to run the boat’s generator. For dessert, they had stubby bananas that Manny had picked up earlier that day.

By seven p.m. Havok and Stone had pulled their dive packs across the monkey line to the embankment. Each dive pack contained a scuba tank, a regulator, a buoyancy compensator, lead weights, fins, a mask, and a wrist compass. Havok’s pack contained a simple wand-type metal detector, and Stone carried a one-hundred-meter-reeled measuring tape. Along with their dive gear, they both wore web gear and carried their weapons. After helping each other with the dive packs, they began their night march, leaving Manny to hide in his observation post.

Havok and Stone plodded southward. Their bodies bent forward to ease their backbreaking loads. They shifted their weapons to the cloth-covered crooks of their elbows and wiped their palms on their sleeves. Havok pulled a saturated handkerchief from one of his pockets to wipe his eyes. It proved useless under the torrent of sweat.

Following familiar ground, they passed the two bays; the smaller one first. As they approached the interior end of the larger, or southernmost, bay, they gave themselves a wider berth to avoid any chance encounter with any Russians from the camp.

After an hour, they approached the edge of the jungle lining the beach from where Wheatley’s father had been rescued years ago.

Gratefully, the men dropped their loads and sat down for a brief rest, greedily drinking from their canteens. After five minutes of recovery, Havok stood without saying a word and started getting ready by stashing his weapon and web gear under a nearby bush. After that, he took off his hiking boots and socks and laid them on top of the same bush. Stone followed his lead.

Still wearing their sweat-soaked fatigues, their practiced hands assembled the scuba gear and they helped each other shoulder the equipment. Holding the head strap of his mask and the heel straps of his fins in one hand and the metal detector in the other, Havok, with Stone behind him, followed the curve of the tree line until it met the water.

Havok looked at the night sky. “No moon, but plenty of stars.”

“Even still,” replied Stone, “it’ll still be black as hell at the bottom of this bay.”

Havok was not thinking about the black inner space of the bay that would soon consume them; instead, he remembered Wheatley’s words. Wheatley had said his father saw the submarine dumping silver two hundred yards straight out from this beach. He took a reading with his wrist compass and noted the heading.

As Havok and Stone entered the still surf, the cold water shocked their warm, sweaty skin. Now in water up to their shoulders, they slipped their fins onto their feet and pulled their masks down over their faces. As the water closed over his head, Havok was surrounded by a black nothingness. He looked down at his wrist and saw the luminous dial of his compass. Once he verified his compass heading again, he used his thumb to turn on the metal detector he held in his other hand. Immediately, he heard a series of clicks. After the self-test was complete, the clicks settled into a slow, monotonous rhythm. Once satisfied, Havok touched Stone’s shoulder, and the two men kicked out to begin their search. As Havok kicked forward, hovering just above the sandy bottom of the bay, he let a little air into his buoyancy compensator. Once satisfied with his equipment, Havok crooked his left arm in front of him and followed the orb of his compass dial deeper into the bay. Thankfully, the water was clear and the starlight from the night sky increased visibility. As he kicked, the marred landscape of the bay’s bottom glided past him as if he were in a lunar spacecraft skimming along the surface of the dark side of the moon. Miniature craters and scars exploded into view.

Havok counted his ninety-fifth kick and came to a halt by placing the blunt end of the metal detector into the soft mud in front of him. He estimated they had traveled about two hundred yards. He turned to his right. Stone’s outline was two feet away, and he saw Stone reach out to him, handing him the brass snap clip on the end of the reeled measuring tape. Stone settled on the bottom, while Havok swam away until the tape became taut. As discussed, he was at the two-meter mark. While Stone sat anchor, Havok swam in an ever-expanding circle at two-meter increments. He kicked methodically while holding on to the end of the tape and listening to the slow clicks of the metal detector. As the minutes ticked by, so did their chances of finding the silver.

Suddenly, at twenty meters out from Stone, the dull series of clicks from the metal detector exploded in his ears, but just as suddenly as it had begun, the din went away. Still, Havok had no doubt he’d passed over something.

Havok stuck the end of the metal detector into the mud to stop his forward movement and to push himself back a few feet. He waved the end of the instrument in front of him until the monotone clicks once again joined in a nerve-racking blast. He laid the detector next to the hot spot and withdrew his knife from the sheath strapped to his inner calf. Still holding the brass clip, he methodically prodded the thick blade into the soft muck until he felt the metal scrape against something. He stuck the knife’s blade into the muddy bottom a few inches from the spot and looped the end of the measuring tape around the handle of the knife. Scooping the mud away from the spot where his knife had scraped against something, he dug down, about six inches, until he felt a flat object about the size of a half-dollar. Havok extracted the piece and brought it up against his mask. Though encrusted with a black coating, he knew it was a coin.

He put his find in one pocket of his BC before reaching into the other pocket. He pulled out a piece of Styrofoam the size of a deck of cards, which was tied to a yellow plastic tent peg with ten inches of kite string. He replaced the knife stuck in the mud with the tent stake and tugged on the tape four times, signaling Stone to swim to him. Stone obeyed and reeled in the measuring tape as he swam to Havok. The two men searched the area.

After a few minutes, Havok reached out to a rectangular hole in the mud, and his waterlogged fingers felt wood. The hole turned out to be a crate, which looked like it was about to fall apart. He could see the remnants of nails that were now only lines of round stains in the corners of the box. The nails that held the crate together had long since rusted away. He reached into the box and felt the water passing through his fingers as he searched. He found nothing. Just as Stone was doing a few feet away, Havok searched the area around the crate with his metal detector, but it maintained its monotonous tempo. All Havok saw were other rectangular holes in the mud along with loose scraps of wood. Someone had already been here, and that someone had removed the crates.

The exhaust bubbles escaping the regulator in his mouth revealed disappointment. He thought about the Russians, but dismissed them as the salvagers of the silver. Instead, another suspect came to mind, one that had to do with the missing research vessel and its crew and students. He looked back at the empty box, and his lips formed into a pleasing smile around the mouthpiece of his regulator. Havok kicked himself away from the scarred mud, locating Stone, who was about three feet away searching a rectangular hole himself. Havok tapped Stone on the shoulder. Stone turned his head toward Havok, and Havok saw exhaust bubbles escape Stone’s mouthpiece. He also saw Stone hold something up in his hand. It was a dive knife.

Havok had his suspicions about what was going on. He guessed that the crew and students from the research vessel had stumbled on the silver by accident. He also guessed that the Russians were on this island for something very different, but what could it be? Whatever it was, the arrival of the research vessel probably interfered with what the Russians were doing.

Even though the silver had been salvaged and Havok shivered from the immersion in a dark sea, he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt. It was not money, but an adventure with just one more twist. Instead of reaching a climax by finding the money, then taking an avalanche slide down to a disappointed end, the loss of the money became an extension of foreplay that would balance him on the verge of a mind-numbing climax. Havok knew their next step would be dangerous, but what an extension of the foreplay it would be. Havok also knew that Stone wouldn’t be so aroused.

The two signaled each other. The swim back to the beach was not that difficult for Havok, as he had his mind on something else. When able to stand, the men removed their fins and plodded from the water, beginning their journey around the edge of the beach and the jungle.

“Find anything?” Stone asked once they were back under the cover of the foliage.

“One coin, an empty box, and a big-time need to find out what’s going on around here,” Havok said. “Let’s look at that knife.”

Stone reached down and pulled it from the cargo pocket on his pants, blade first, and handed it to Havok.

Havok accepted the dive knife and hefted it in his hand before bringing the knife closer to his eyes. Under the growing light of a rising quarter moon, he could see etching on the blade.