Amy made a wry smile, her hazel eyes which matched her olive skin, held his gaze with piercing scrutiny. “So was the Mahogany Ship based more on truth or lies?”
She spoke with a crisp Londoner accent, fulfilling Sam’s impression that they were both British expats.
Sam said, “To be honest, it was based on a whole bunch of both.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah. The ship existed. The legend was true and its old owners controlled unimaginable powers. Like anything capable of supplying great power, lies and deceit followed like hungry jackals, leading to the death of all who trailed in its wake.”
She laughed at that. “How did you get out alive?”
“That’s easy.”
Colin’s eyes narrowed. “This I’ve got to hear.”
Sam said, “I didn’t try to covet its power. Instead I sought only the truth.”
Everyone remained silent for a few seconds.
And then they all started laughing.
Colin placed his hand on Sam’s shoulder and gripped it gently. “You’re really something, Sam Reilly!”
“You look tired,” Amy said, meeting Sam’s eye. “Do you want Tom to show you the bunking arrangements?”
“Yes please,” Sam replied. “I haven’t slept since I left Italy, more than twenty-four hours ago.”
“Well, enjoy your sleep. It’s nearly twenty-four hours before we reach the island.”
“Thank you,” Sam said. “Both of you. We really appreciate your help.”
Colin shook his head. “Don’t thank us too much. Tom’s paid us the price we requested in US dollars. It’s enough to pay for our meager expenses over the next year — and like I told the woman on the phone — I think she said her name was Elise? — we’re not going anywhere near the island. We’re just going to be dropping you nearby. For the last bit, you’re on your own. Tom, you said you’ve got that covered, didn’t you?”
Tom nodded. “Yeah, I’ve brought two sea scooters — fully charged with a range of ten miles.”
Sam glanced at Amy and Colin. “All the same, I appreciate your help.”
“You’re welcome,” they both replied.
Tom led Sam down into the main hold, past a large private cabin to the forward storage locker which had been converted into a makeshift berth, where two hammocks hung from beams above like a 17th century Spanish Galleon.
Sam ran his eyes across the sleeping arrangements and back to Tom. “Nice accommodation you organized for us.”
“I thought you would approve.”
Sam clambered onto the hammock, nearly falling out the first time he tried. On the second attempt he managed the task with more than a little bit of athleticism.
Tom said, “What do you think?”
“It’s comfortable. Good night.”
“No,” Tom said. “I meant about the plan.”
“It’s good,” Sam said. “We’ll find out if the island’s concealing the passengers and crew of Phoenix Flight 318 tomorrow. After that, we can deal with it one way or the other.”
“All right. Good night.” Tom went to leave and stopped. “Was there anything else? You look worried?”
“No, I’m all right. Just sleep deprived.” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed. “There is one thing that keeps bugging me.”
“What?”
Sam grinned. “In Sherlock Holmes, was Moriarty the villain or the hero?”
Chapter Thirty-One
The Alessandra motored on through the day and into the night.
Sam opened his eyes. It was dark and he couldn’t see much. The temperature had dropped to a more bearable 80 degrees Fahrenheit. His tongue felt dry. The air was humid and stale. He fumbled out of the hammock and climbed the stairs into the pilothouse.
On the deck Colin was barbequing a locally caught fish below a sky blazing with stars. Though Sam had no idea what type of fish it was, its smell wafted pleasingly and he breathed deeply. A timid breeze blew from the south, bringing with it cooler air.
Colin asked, “How did you sleep?”
“Good.” His eyes ran across the calm waters through to the horizon. They were in the open waters of the Caribbean Sea, but at a glance they might as well have been in the Pacific or Atlantic Ocean. There wasn’t even the sight of another vessel in the distance. “Where are we?”
“About a hundred miles out from Grenada.” Colin glanced at the digital map beside the helm and squinted. “About a hundred and forty from the island.”
“Right,” Sam said, taking that in. “Has it ever had a name?”
Amy stepped up from the galley carrying a bottle of red wine. “Anyone want a drink?”
Colin said, “Yes please, beautiful.”
“No thanks,” Sam said.
Colin took a drink from his glass. “Sorry, what were you asking, Sam?”
“Did the island ever have a name?”
“What?” Colin spread his hands, holding the barbeque tongs out like a question mark. “The island?”
“Yeah.”
“No. It was originally part of the Grenada owned islands, known as the Spice Isles. But somewhere in the last fifty years, the Grenadian government abdicated ownership.”
Sam raised his eyebrows. “Why?”
“No one knows.”
“You mean they simply abandoned it?”
“No. They definitely abdicated ownership.” Colin expelled a deep breath. “They even made a big show of saying that they no longer owned the island.”
“So someone bought it?”
“Who knows? Maybe. All I know is that the locals call it the ghost island because no one goes in and no one ever comes out.”
Sam arched his eyebrow with incredulity. “A ghost island?”
“Look… I know what you’re thinking, but the locals and everyone who’s spent any time sailing in these waters, will tell you that strange things happen on that island. No one has been there in the past ten years since we’ve been cruising in these parts — but that doesn’t stop the strange comings and goings.”
“Strange comings and goings?”
“Weird noises,” Colin said, keeping his palms turned skyward, like he already knew how crazy that must sound. “Shrieks that reach out across the bay.”
Amy put in, “Kind of like a howling sound.”
Sam said, “No boats ever go there?”
“No. Never.”
“What about aircraft?”
“No never,” Colin was emphatic.
Amy tilted her head, turning her eyes away from his gaze. “Except…”
Sam’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?”
Colin’s tone was defiant. “It’s nothing.”
Sam nodded. “That might be the case, but it might still be useful to our investigation.”
“I don’t intend to get dragged into court over this.”
“You won’t. No one will ever hear about your involvement on the island. I promise.”
Amy said, “It’s all right, Colin. We’re already involved just by offering them passage. No reason we might not tell them the truth.”
Sam met her eye. “What’s the truth?”
“People have seen some other strange things radiating from the island.”
“Like what?”
“There’s a powerful light, it’s purple and shoots up toward the sky — nearly a thousand feet at least — lighting up the entire island.”
Sam grinned. “You’re kidding me?”
“No. I’m serious. We’ve even seen it a couple times ourselves.”
Sam mulled that over for a moment, trying to find a reasonable explanation. Unable to find one, he asked, “What’s stopping people from visiting the island?”
“What do you mean?” Colin asked. “I told you, no one goes in and no one goes out.”
“Sure. But why?”
Colin’s response was curt. “Because they don’t!”
“Sure, but someone must have tried once or twice. I mean, what about someone who’s not local. A vagabond like yourselves, who’s just crossed the Atlantic, and feels like heaving to under the lee of the island? Maybe someone like that has gone in and explored the island.”