Shaw dropped anchor fifty yards off the shore of Briar Bay Island. The blunt western tip of its crescent formed a misshapen half circle topped by thick forest. Completely black in the night, with only the stars and the almost tangible presence of the landmass to distinguish it from the sky. To Shaw the island looked like the shaggy head of some vengeful giant, a colossus emerging step by league-spanning step from the deep sea.
From the cabin of the speedboat, Shaw removed an inflatable Zodiac dinghy he’d borrowed from Hollis’s dock locker. Its rubbery skin was empty of air, its PVC hull wrapped neatly around the only rigid piece of the craft, a two-foot aluminum transom to allow for mounting a small outboard engine. Shaw spread the Zodiac out on the speedboat’s bow. He plugged a battery-powered pump into the inflatable’s socket and switched it on. Compared to the soft lapping of the waves on the speedboat’s hull, the pump’s motor sounded as loud as a referee’s whistle, though Shaw knew that the high-pitched whine would scarcely carry as far as the shore.
The pump worked fast. By the time Shaw had gotten his wet suit over his legs, the boat was fully inflated. He switched off the pump and finished wrestling his upper body into the neoprene suit.
Once filled, the inflatable was eight feet long with rounded sides and a blunt wedge of a bow. He fastened the little three-horse Evinrude onto its transom before pushing the boat’s bow over the side, holding on to the engine to lower the craft into the chill water.
Shaw set a small rucksack of gear in the dinghy, along with a life vest, two oars, and a pair of swim fins. He made a last check of the anchor—it would be a long night if the speedboat drifted out to sea while he was gone—before untying the inflatable’s line and stepping down to its yielding floor.
The outboard engine was for later. The oars would bring him silently to shore tonight. It had been years since Shaw had rowed, but the motion came back to him easily. A twist of the wrists to dip the oars below the surface, a smooth pull and twist again to skim their blades over the water. The flesh over his ribs finally felt whole after three days without reinjury.
In the shadow of the island’s bulk, the waves were gentle. Still, the current carried him south between every stroke of the oars as he closed the distance. When the inflatable’s bow touched shore, he was fifty yards downstream of the speedboat. He reminded himself, not for the first time, to account for the current when swimming back. Even with the fins boosting his speed, missing the boat on the first try would be bad news. His next stop might be Vancouver Island, fifteen nautical miles away. Or Japan, if he were swept out of the straits entirely.
Shaw stepped out to pull the inflatable farther up the beach. High tide had reduced the shore at the tip of the island to a strip of weathered stone. The smells of algae and eons of dried seawater filled his nose. Barely thirty feet separated the water from the vertical bluff that marked the inland boundary. He looked up at the wall of rock. Grasses and two or three small trees grew from its crags, high enough and hardy enough to survive the winds and salt spray. It was difficult to discern the height of the bluff in the dark. It seemed to go straight up for a few yards before its slope gradually leveled out nearer the top. Shaw could see the upper reaches of the forest atop the cliff nearest him.
He walked in each direction, gauging where the cliff’s irregular face might be scaled or where someone might be able to jump partway down and land without snapping an ankle on the pitted beach. He expected to be climbing down the cliff at night. He wanted every element in his favor.
On his walk to the east, he found a cleft in the sheer face of the bluff. Only a yard from edge to edge and no more than twice that much deep. But on the barren shore, the closest thing to a hiding place.
Shaw returned to the boat and set the rucksack and the oars and fins aside to carry the inflatable to the narrow cleft. It was awkward work, hefting fifty pounds of balloonlike boat with another fifty of gas-filled outboard weighing down one end. He took his time, not wanting to risk rupturing the boat’s PVC skin on a jagged bit of shore.
With the inflatable tilted on one side, most of its length fit into the cleft. The stern and engine stuck out three feet. It couldn’t be seen from above, not over the long incline of the bluff. But anyone passing within a quarter mile offshore during the day might easily spot the dark gray boat.
Shaw looked up the cliff once again. A stunted tree, thick with the leaves of early summer, grew from a split twenty feet up and to his right. He began to climb. The cliff’s protrusions made easy handholds. His wet suit’s boots provided protection and traction.
Within two minutes he had reached the tree. Its trunk was no thicker than his wrist and curved upward toward the sky. He placed a hand on the spiny bark and pulled. It bent easily, its roots tearing within the split in the rock. Another yank snapped more of the plentiful but slim fibers and the tree came loose. He dropped it to the beach and carefully made his way back down.
The trunk and its green branches were long enough to cover the stern of the inflatable. Shaw draped it over the outboard. Moderate camouflage at best. Once the leaves dried and curled, the tree would barely disguise the boat at all. But it needed to serve for only a day or two. After that, Shaw would either have sailed away, be in jail, or be in the morgue.
He placed the ruck and the other gear inside the upturned boat. The ruck contained all the essentials for a brief voyage. Clothes and rain gear and food and water bottles and his SIG pistol with a spare clip. So long as the weather held, the Zodiac could carry him to any of the nearby islands or the mainland.
The breeze had shifted. The anchored speedboat’s bow pointed northwest now. Shaw walked a hundred yards upwind and sat to pull on the swim fins. He hadn’t bothered to bring a mask. This would be a quick sprint on the surface. A mask and snorkel would only slow him down.
He waded in. The water hadn’t gotten any warmer since he’d come ashore. Rather than dwell on the cold seeping between the wet suit and his skin, Shaw dove into the sea and began to swim.