The Beach

I stuck my head into the hospital tent on the way back to the longhouse, thinking Jed would appreciate another look in. But as soon as I saw inside, I wished I'd stayed away.

Jed was fast asleep, lying next to Christo. Christo, however, was semi-awake. He even recognized me.

'Richard,' he whispered, then muttered something in Swedish and made a gurgling noise.

I hesitated a moment, unsure of whether I should be talking to him.

'Richard.'

'Yes,' I whispered back. 'How are you feeling?'

'I feel very bad, Richard. I feel very bad.'

'I know, but you'll be better soon.'

'Stars…'

'You see them?'

'Phos… phos…'

'…phorescence,' I finished. 'You can see it?'

'I feel very bad.'

'You need some sleep.'

'Sten…'

'You'll see him in the morning.'

'My chest…'

'Close your eyes.'

'Hurts…'

'I know. Close your eyes.'

'Very bad…'

'Shh now.'

Beside him, Jed stirred, and Christo fractionally turned his head. 'Karl?'

'Right there next to you. Don't move or you'll wake him.'

He nodded and at last his eyes shut.

'Have good dreams,' I said, maybe too quietly for him to hear.

I pegged the tent-flap open behind me as I left. I wanted to keep Jed from breathing too much of that dying air.

FNG, KIA

Fuckin' A

Bugs and Keaty left just after five thirty. Sal gave me my instructions at a quarter to six.

I liked being up while everyone else was asleep. I almost always was, since I'd started working up on the island, but usually there were a few signs of stirring: a spot of movement in one of the tents or someone padding their way across the clearing to the Khyber Pass. That morning the camp was as still and quiet and cool as it could ever be. It made everything more exciting. While I talked with Sal and Jed outside the hospital tent, I was so keyed up for the day ahead that I had to keep hopping from one foot to the other. I could tell it was pissing Sal off but I couldn't stop myself. If I hadn't channelled my energy somewhere I'd have started shouting or running around in little circles.

Sal and Jed were arguing. They both agreed that I should head into the DMZ and track Zeph and Sammy's progress across the island. The disagreement was over the interception point. Sal said not until they reached the top of the waterfall, putting some faith in the obstacle course. Jed said earlier, as early as possible, although he seemed reluctant to explain why. Personally, I was siding with Sal, although I kept my mouth shut.

Interception point aside, they both agreed on what to do next. I was to tell the rafters that they weren't welcome and that they should leave at once. That failing, I was to keep them from descending the waterfall. Any way I saw fit to delay them was acceptable, in Sal's words. If necessary I would stay up there with them, missing Tet. It could be explained to the rest of the beach later. Nothing was more important than making sure they didn't arrive at camp until Christo was dead. After that, we would work out whether to let them down or keep them out.

By the way Sal was talking, I was sure she had a fall-back plan that she wasn't telling us. I knew the way her head worked and she wasn't the type to say, 'We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.' Especially with something so important. The thing I particularly didn't understand was the idea of turning Zeph and Sammy's group back. If we got to the point where I was forced to intercept them, turning them back seemed as problematic as letting them stay. You could as good as guarantee they would talk about what they'd found back on Ko Pha-Ngan or Ko Samui, and we'd have lost our secret status.

If it had been anyone else but Sal, I'd have pointed this out, but with her I didn't feel it was worth bothering. I felt sure that if I'd been able to think of it, she would have too. I don't think I remember her asking my opinion about anything, unless it was to lead me into something by making it seem like my idea. Come to think of it, I don't remember her asking anyone's opinion. Not even Bugs'.

If it needs saying, the argument about the interception point was eventually won by Sal. A big surprise. I honestly don't know why Jed even tried.

Mister Duck was waiting for me at the pass. He was dressed in full combat fatigues with an M16 over his shoulder and his face all painted up with green and black camouflage stripes.

'What's with the gun?' I said when I saw him.

'Just making sure I fit the bill,' he replied flatly.

'Does it work?'

'Works for me.'

'Guess that's a yes…' I walked past him so I could see down the pass to the DMZ. 'So how you feeling? Nervous?'

'I feel good. I feel ready.'

'Ready for the recon?'

'Well…' He smiled. 'Just ready, that's all.'

'Just ready,' I muttered. I always felt suspicious of his lopsided grin. 'Daffy, there'd better not be something going on here that I don't know about.'

'Mmm.'

'Mmm what?'

'Mmm let's get going.'

'I'm serious. Don't start any of your shit. Not today.'

'Time is ticking, Rich. We've got an RV to keep.'

I hesitated, then nodded. 'OK… If you're all set.'

'All set.'

'Then let's do it.'

'Fuckin' A.'

Their Big Mistake

By setting off so early, I was hoping that Zeph and Sammy would still be with their raft. Finding them would be a lot harder if they'd already entered the jungle. I was also trusting that they'd have landed on the same stretch of beach where Etienne, Francoise and I had first come ashore. I was fairly confident that they would have, but you never knew. They might have tried to circle the island, not realizing they'd passed the only open stretch of sand. Either way, the more time I gave myself to play with the better.

At least dodging the guards wasn't a problem. They were dozy enough at the best of times, but at seven a.m. they'd definitely still be sleeping off their dope hangovers. In a way, my biggest problem was Mister Duck. He was badly out of shape, wheezing like an old coalminer, frequently pausing to lean against trees and catch his breath. I tried to tell myself that his ghostly status made it unlikely that anyone else could hear him, but all the same, each time he barked a swear-word my heart would miss a beat. I'd turn and glare at him, and he'd raise his hands apologetically. 'Sorry,' he muttered after a stream of abuse at a razor-leaf thicket. 'I'm not as good at jungle warfare as I'd imagined.' A few minutes later he tripped and fell on his gun, letting off a round into the bushes. He didn't have his safety-catch on, the idiot, and he'd been walking with his finger on the trigger. After that we decided the gun was more trouble than it was worth – seeing as it couldn't kill anything real – and we left it hidden in the undergrowth.

About thirty metres before the tree-line along the beach, I made him wait behind. Even though I was sure that no one else could see or hear him, he distracted me. If I wanted to get close to the rafting

group, I couldn't afford to be compromised.

Unexpectedly – though clearly hurt – he took it in good grace.

'I understand, Richie,' he said gamely. 'You hate me.'

'I don't hate you,' I sighed. 'But like I said, this is serious.'

'I know, I know. You go ahead. Anyway…' His eyes became

slits and flicked to the side. 'In my experience these types of jobs are

one-man affairs.'

'Exactly.'

I left him under a coconut tree, using a serrated bowie knife to

pick the dirt from under his nails.