Amaury led the way to his tent where he grabbed the rifle case.
“Hurry,” he said. “We don’t want him leaving.”
He thought it unlikely, but not beyond the realm of possibility. He had heard the doctor woman arguing with the pilot. He seemed a mercenary sort.
When they reached the ladder against the inner wall, he motioned for the faster Bakari to go first. He slung the Marlin’s case over his shoulder and followed. The ladder allowed them to ascend the first twenty or so feet quickly before engaging the craggy lava of the wall itself where the going was slower.
What else can possibly go wrong? he wondered as he picked his way upward.
The traps were useless, Jeukens had turned into a crazy murderer—in fact, Jeukens had turned out to be someone other than Jeukens, someone with a brother who had somehow managed to track him down to this island,
Amaury’s island.
That was how he’d come to think of it: my island.
But even worse, the brother and his lady friend had hired a helicopter to come here. Which meant the pilot knew the location of Amaury’s island. And what would he do with that information? Exploit it, of course. He would soon be flying charters to a “secret mystery island” known only to him.
Which meant Amaury’s island would remain secret no longer. Madagascar would waste little time claiming it. And once the world learned about the dapis, a virtual fence would rise around it,
Amaury would not be allowed to set foot on his own island.
But he’d seen a way to prevent that … or delay it, at least. A way that would have been unthinkable under different circumstances.
He had to stop this pilot from returning to Morondava.
He and Bakari were rising through the subcanopy now. Bakari maintained the lead. Amaury was less used to exertion; the extra weight of the Marlin and its case, though less than ten pounds, was taking its toll. He was breathing hard by the time they neared the top.
“Stop,” he puffed before Bakari broke through the canopy to reach the rim. “Wait here for a second. Don’t let him see you yet.”
He unzipped the rifle case and pulled out the Marlin 336. He’d reaffixed the Nikon scope. Not a sniper scope by any stretch. Designed for shooting a deer or a bear within 150 yards. Five flat-nosed, 170-grain .30-30 Winchester rounds were lined up in the tubular magazine, waiting for their moment. Five shots at his disposal.
He tried to work the lever but his sweaty fingers slipped on the metal. He wiped his shaky hand on his pant leg and tried again.
Snikt-snikt.
The rifle was ready. He took a deep breath and shook his head.
I’m not cut out for this sort of thing.
But this island was the find of a lifetime and he could feel it slipping away. He had to save it, by whatever means necessary.
He listened for the helicopter. The noise was less thundering up here, and he could localize it. He remembered how he could double or triple the volume on his iPod simply by placing it in a bowl. The island acted as a bowl with the same effect on the helicopter.
The noise seemed to be originating on the far side but growing louder. It sounded like the pilot was patrolling the rim in search of his passengers.
Amaury tapped Bakari’s arm. “He’s coming this way. Get ready!”
Amaury and Bakari had discussed strategy while setting up the net for the dapis. The brothers knew they stood to make a pretty penny assisting Amaury with the dapi trade, so they were up for anything that would protect it. The plan was to coax the copter as close as possible to the rim. And while the caldera was reverberating with its throbbing roar, Amaury would shoot the pilot.
No one below would hear the sound of his rifle. He didn’t want Jeukens and the other two to know what was happening up here. That was why he had made a show of giving his revolver to Razi. Only Jeukens knew about the Marlin, but he wouldn’t know that Amaury had brought it ashore. Otherwise they would assume they were next to die, and that would make them difficult to manage—especially that Garrick fellow.
And they might be right. He might end up killing them too if he did not think they could keep the island a secret. But he wanted to avoid that if at all possible. He was not a killer.
Really? Then why am I up here with a rifle readying to shoot a man?
Because I must.
As the thrum of the copter grew louder, he gave Bakari a shove, sending him up to the rim. There, as planned, he began frantically jumping up and down and waving his arms over his head. Amaury eased into a spray of weeds on the inner edge of the rim and got as comfortable as he could. He settled the Marlin against his shoulder and found a smooth spot in the lava rock to steady his elbow. He sighted through the scope, adjusted the magnification, and waited.
Not a long wait, as it turned out. The helicopter raced by, made a wide, looping turn over the water, then eased back to hover just off the rim. While Bakari made a show of shouting something and pointing down at the thin strip of beach below, Amaury found the pilot through his scope and centered the crosshair reticle on the his face.
Now … squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull, just squeeeeeeeze …
Sweat dripped into his eyes. He quickly wiped it away and found the pilot’s puzzled face again. No way could the man hear what Bakari was trying to say, but if this agitated fellow was suggesting that he land his copter, he was having none of it. As he shook his head and gave a dismissive wave, Amaury again tightened his finger on the trigger and—
He couldn’t do it. The pilot was just another working man, trying to make his way in a primitive part of the world. A bit of a hustler, maybe, but he might have a wife and a child or two that he was feeding and clothing. Amaury had thought he could do anything to protect his island, but not this. Not cold-blooded murder.
Bakari was still waving and shouting. He glanced impatiently over his shoulder at Amaury, his expression saying, Shoot! He’s right where you want him! Shoot now!
Amaury could only shake his head.
Bakari ran to him and snatched the Marlin from his slick hands. As he turned and aimed at the helicopter, the pilot spotted the rifle and immediately pulled his copter out of its hover and into a roaring turn.
Bakari fired, quickly worked the lever and fired again, and again, and again, the spinning brass cartridges gleaming in the sun as they spat from the side of the receiver. After five shots he ran dry and still the chopper kept racing away.
Amaury pressed a hand over his eyes as a sob built in his throat. He’d failed. Failed himself, failed the island, failed Bakari and Razi. Swallowing it back, he looked up to see Bakari stalking toward him, his expression furious. Amaury was suddenly glad the rifle was empty. Bakari still might use it as a club, though.
As Amaury cringed, he noticed the helicopter was sinking. Two or three hundred yards offshore it was racing toward the water, tilting as it banked to the left, its angle increasing until it was flying sideways.
“Look!” he cried, pointing.
Bakari turned in time to see it hit the water at terrific speed. The main rotor tore off and ripped through the fuselage. It must have hit the fuel tank because the copter was torn apart by a huge blast, scattering flaming debris over the surface.
In no time the heavier pieces sank, leaving only bits of lighter debris floating south in the current toward the trackless Indian Ocean.
Bakari’s bullets had either hit the pilot or damaged one of the control mechanisms. Either way, the island’s secret was safe. For now.
He should have felt happy, relieved, but he felt only wrenching guilt. He said a silent prayer for the fallen man. The only bright spot he could see was that the pilot’s life was on Bakari’s soul, not his.
With a contemptuous look, Bakari shoved the rifle at Amaury and stalked back toward the caldera. Amaury realized he’d lost face with the Shangaan. He might still be his captain on this voyage, but he no longer had his respect.
Amaury wondered if he’d ever earn it back.