Beneath me the man with the yellow headband had found a firing position on a big, flat-topped boulder close to the concrete dam. He was some twenty yards to my right and well positioned to fire down on any unwelcome visitors.
I looked back to the beach to see that the San Rafael’s launch had reached the shingle. Two green-dressed men were trying to push the boat away, but Jackie’s companion literally jumped at them, forcing the two men backward. Jackie’s companion appeared to be a very heavy woman and a good deal older than Jackie; indeed, I realized with a pang, the larger woman was probably someone of my own age.
Jackie jumped ashore. The launch’s coxswain hurled two kitbags onto the shingle, then, with a farewell wave, he reversed his boat off the beach. For a few seconds the bluff hid the confrontation between the visitors and the bearded men from my sight, then the older woman appeared at the top of the wooden stairs that led from the beach. The two men were either trying to drag her back to the sea or, at least, steer her away from the house, but the woman would have none of their interference. She pushed one man aside with a forearm tackle that would not have disgraced a second-row forward playing rugby at Cardiff Arms Park, and shoved the second one back with a thump from her weighted kitbag. Jackie, coming behind, snapped a photograph of the two discomfited men, then ran to catch up with her companion who was now striding purposefully past the gazebo and the concrete tanks toward the front door of the house. I caught a clear glimpse of Jackie’s face in my half binocular. Her expression, which blended anxiety and eagerness, was achingly familiar, then she, her companion, and the two men, were all hidden from me by the house itself.
I rested my head on my arms. God damn it! I had thought myself recovered, but one clear glimpse of Jackie’s face had sent a shudder of longing through me, and I was suddenly overwhelmed by images from our all too short time together. I remembered her apprehensive excitement as she climbed into the camel’s seat on Lanzarote, her shyness when she had shown me her bikini, and her horror on Antigua at the mention of guns. I recalled the guilty glance I had stolen of her as she had exercised naked on Stormchild’s foredeck. Oh God damn it, I thought, I was still in love, even though, under the blowtorch of David’s scorn, I had tried to forget her.
David. That thought made me switch the radio to channel 37. “This is Tim calling Stormchild,” I hissed the words scarce above a whisper, “Tim calling Stormchild, over.” I was watching the man with the yellow headband who was lying behind a makeshift breastwork of loose stones that he had piled as a firing rest on the edge of his flat-topped boulder. The wind must have swallowed my voice, for the man did not look round. “This is Tim calling Stormchild.” I hissed into the microphone, but there was still no answer. “Come on, you old fart,” I said cheerfully, “talk to me!” But insulting the airwaves made no difference, for there was no reply and, alarmingly, the small red battery light had begun to blink, so to conserve what little power was left I switched the set off.
Jackie and her companion, both dressed in their distinctive yellow slickers, now appeared at the corner of the settlement’s southern wing. They were clearly behaving as I had behaved when I had first come to the settlement; they had found the front door locked, so now they were working their way round the edges of the buildings. The two men followed forlornly, just as they had followed me.
The older woman marched resolutely across the courtyard toward the back door. I watched through my monocular, expecting to see her try the door and find it locked, but instead, and as much to my surprise as to hers, the back door of the house was suddenly snatched open and an apparent flood of Genesis people ran into view. The red-haired Lisl led their charge.
The Genesis people, who were all wearing green, spread into a line. The older woman hesitated, while Jackie, a pace or two behind her companion, seemed to have a greater appreciation of the sudden danger. She twisted round just as the two men who had followed her from the beach attempted to snatch her. None of the Genesis people was using a gun, presumably for fear that the sailors on the San Rafael would hear any shots. The San Rafael was still in the bay. She had recovered her launch and the water at her stern had just begun to foam white as she got under way.
The long low house hid the small drama from anyone aboard the San Rafael, but I could follow every move. Jackie, trapped by the two men, freed herself by hurling her heavy kitbag at her closest attacker. It hit the man in the chest, jarred him backward, and Jackie began running. Her companion was also trying to run, but the older woman was so heavy that her flight was more of a lumbering waddle, while Jackie, lithe and fit, easily dodged her pursuers. After a few sprinted yards Jackie slowed and turned to shout encouragement at her companion, but she was too late, for the older woman had already been swamped by a welter of green-dressed bodies. Jackie hesitated, and I silently screamed at her to keep on running, then she must have realized that she could achieve nothing by continued hesitation, so she turned and ran like a frightened hare toward the hills. Three of the men chased after her.
I thought it would prove a desperately close chase, but Jackie was far fitter and faster than her pursuers. She twisted among the vegetable patches, leaped an irrigation ditch, sprinted beside a stand of pea plants, then was on the lower slopes of the escarpment and climbing fast. Her three pursuers had begun their chase just ten paces behind her, but by the time she reached the slope beneath the dam they were already thirty yards back and still losing ground. One of the men stopped altogether and bent over to catch his breath.
Jackie’s companion was being dragged to the southern wing of the house, evidently to be locked into one of its stablelike rooms, while Lisl, whom I supposed von Rellsteb had left in charge of the settlement, was watching the pursuit of Jackie. The San Rafael, oblivious to the furor its arrival had initiated, was gaining speed as she steamed out of the bay.
Jackie glanced behind to see her pursuit was fading, and so slowed down herself. She veered to her right, jumped the small conduit that spilled from the dam to carry water to the house, and then began climbing the steepest part of the escarpment toward the radio mast. She did not know it, but she was heading almost directly toward the man in the yellow headband, who, to prevent her spotting him, had shrunk back behind his breastwork.
The two men who had kept up the pursuit of Jackie now stopped. They, like their companion, were winded, but they also must have realized that the man in the yellow headband was perfectly situated to ambush the fugitive.
I slid my rifle forward. I was reluctant to fire, for the shot would betray my presence, but I nevertheless slid the safety catch off and was ready to pull the trigger if the man aimed his rifle at Jackie. She, thinking herself safe, had reached the crest of the ridge where she turned to look back for some news of her companion, but the older woman had long been thrust inside the stablelike buildings. Jackie, who must have been wondering into just what hell she had precipitated herself, turned away and began walking along the rough, stony track which led beside the reservoir and directly beneath the big, flat rock on which the gunman was perched.
And from where the gunman sprang his ambush.
He did not use his assault rifle. The San Rafael had only just disappeared beyond the wooded promontory and any gunshot might still have brought the Chilean vessel back to investigate, so the bearded man abandoned his rifle on the high rock and, instead, leaped down in an attempt to flatten Jackie with his body weight.