of the glamorous redhaired Martina on the nose, the small, single-engine Cessna looked like a standard issue aircraft with a fixed undercarriage. Inside the cramped interior, John gave Lily the copilot seat and settled in behind them. As soon as they were airborne, he eased forward and took a position between the two cockpit seats.
The view was breathtaking. At the edge of sunset, the skies to the west had taken on a soft pink glow. From horizon to horizon, there was nothing but sparkling water as far as the eye could see. John soaked it all in. The beauty of Mother Earth never failed to amaze him.
He spoke loudly over the whir of the propeller. “Tell us about yourself, Edgar. How do you know Evangeline?”
Edgar’s shoulders straightened. With quick, precise movements, he removed his earphones, then he unfastened a few clips and took off his hair.
Lily laughed out loud. “Great disguise.”
“Thank you very much.” Without the dreadlocks and the easygoing Rasta manner, he had the air of a gentleman. “I met Robert Prescott while we were both employed at MI6.”
The British Secret Intelligence Service. Edgar had dropped the Bob Marley accent. He sounded British through and through.
“You’re not with MI6 anymore?” John asked.
“Quite happily retired.” His gaze fixed on the instrument panel. “I do, however, stay in touch with my former colleagues. When Robert requested my help, I was delighted to be of service.”
“You’ve spoken to Robert,” John said. “Is he well?”
“Very well, indeed. I’m not precisely certain about his plans, but I should inform you that this visit to Cuerva will be much more than a simple extrication.”
John had feared as much. No one at PPS, not even Evangeline, knew what Robert had been investigating for the past two years, but it had to be huge. “You said the weapons were taken care of.”
“In the rear empennage,” Edgar said. “Remove the panel behind the fire extinguisher.”
Hidden behind the panel was a beat-up Army-green backpack. Inside, John found two handguns and holsters. He immediately fastened on the ankle holster.
Returning to the cockpit, he handed the other weapon to Lily, who checked the clip and the balance before she tucked the gun and two extra clips into the carry-on bag at her feet. Her expertise in handling the Glock automatic reassured him. She might look like a pixie, but this lady knew how to behave in dangerous situations. He had heard that she was expert in several forms of martial arts.
“When do we meet with Robert?” she asked.
“Tonight at midnight,” Edgar said. “In a place called Pirate Cove. You are instructed to wait for only one hour. If Robert does not appear, it means he’s been detained and will contact you on the following evening at the same location.”
Edgar leaned forward and tapped a dial on the control panel.
“Problem?” John asked.
“A malfunction with the fuel gauge. I filled up in Kingston, but the gauge shows we’re almost empty.” He pointed through the cockpit window at a speck in the midst of the vast turquoise sea. “Cuerva is dead ahead.”
Dead ahead? That sounded ominous. John’s gaze focused on the fuel gauge. The indicator edged closer to Empty.
“Rather a fascinating island,” Edgar said. “A British protectorate, like the Caymans and Jamaica. The population is small, approximately eight thousand, and the residents claim to be descended from the infamous Caribbean pirates and escaped slaves from the sugar plantations in Jamaica. Cuerva was slow to develop its tourist trade.”
“There are hotels now,” John said. He and Lily were registered at the Grand Cuerva.
“The island’s governor, Ramon St. George, has done much to encourage visitors. You’ll probably meet him. He’s a very visible presence on the island. Quite charming.”
The engine coughed. John was beginning to think that the malfunction might be more serious than a gauge that needed adjusting.
“However,” Edgar continued, “you should be advised that Governor St. George is a powerful and very dangerous man. His real interest lies in the establishment of offshore banking and financial institutions. He might be involved in money laundering or smuggling.”
“Your plane isn’t equipped to make a water landing,” John said. He’d seen the wheels on the fixed undercarriage when they boarded.
“Ocean landings are notoriously choppy.”
“I suggest you cut the speed to conserve fuel.”
“I’ve already done so.”
They were flying low. The island was close enough that John could see the outline of tall trees and a cliff above a white beach.
“Can you bring her down?” John said.
“I fully intend to try.”
The engine sputtered and died. The propeller stopped. The reassuring whir was replaced with silence as the plane dipped lower. Out of fuel. They were going down.
THE CESSNA SHUDDERED SO violently that Lily couldn’t tell if she was trembling or not. She was scared. That was for sure. They were going into a dive.
Beside her, Edgar pulled back on the yoke. His feet danced on the rudder pedals.
John yanked her out of the cockpit seat. “Back here,” he said. “You’ll be safer.”
“We’re going to crash.”
“Yes.” His dark eyes peered into hers as he fastened a seat belt across her lap. “Cover your head and hold on tight.”
They plummeted lower. Her stomach lurched. There was nothing she could do but bend down and kiss her life goodbye.
The only mercy was that she didn’t have much time to think about what was happening. Within seconds, they hit the water. Her world turned upside down. A tremendous impact. A fierce jolt that rattled her bones.
She was aware of the wind and the water as the plane broke apart. Her shoulder crashed against something, and she recoiled. She felt a sharp pain in her head. Thrown free from the seat belt, she was falling.
The sea surged over her. Barely conscious, she tried to swim, but her arms and legs wouldn’t respond properly. Had she been injured? Was she paralyzed? A wave splashed in her face, and she gulped salt water.
Her mind froze at the edge of consciousness, unable to process the most simple commands. She’d forgotten how to move, how to react, how to breathe. Helplessly, she felt herself sinking into the sea, and she knew this was the end of her life. She was going to die before she’d even had a chance to live. Only twenty-six years old. Still a virgin. Too damned young to die.
She felt herself being lifted, dragged back to the surface. John was holding her. “Lily, wake up.”
Through a churning haze she saw
