“You know, I think I like roughing it,” Remi said, flaking off a piece of fish and putting it in her mouth. “To a degree, that is.”
“I understand.” He did. Remi was a trouper; she’d never withered before a challenge and had stood side by side with him in mud and snow
, under gunfire and pursuit, and she rarely failed to find a bright side. For all that, however, she also loved her comforts. As did he. “Once we get things settled with our mystery bell, we’ll head over to Dar es Salaam, get a suite in the Royal, drink gin and tonics on our balcony, and bet on the cricket matches.”
Remi’s eyes lit up. The Moevenpick Royal Palm was Dar es Salaam’s only five-star hotel. She said, “You’re singing my song, Sam Fargo.”
“But first,” he replied, looking at the sun and checking his watch, “we need to get ready for our guests.”
WITH THE ARRIVAL of nightfall, the lagoon came alive with the trilling of crickets. In the trees along the shorelines and in the shrubbery atop the floating islands fireflies winked at them. Sam had steered the Andreyale between two of the bigger floating islands and dropped anchor with the bow facing west. The sky was clear, a black backdrop sprinkled with pinpricks of light and a half-moon surrounded by a hazy, prismatic ring.
“Could rain tomorrow,” Sam observed.
“Does that wives’ tale apply to the Southern Hemisphere?”
“Guess we’ll find out.”
They sat on the afterdeck sipping coffee in the dark and watching the insect light show. From their position they could see both the mouth of the lagoon and the beach, where they’d erected a makeshift A-frame tent from a canvas tarp they’d found in a storage locker. Behind the canvas came the faint yellow glow of a lantern, and, a few feet outside the tent, was a small bonfire. Sam had enough coconut palm logs to keep embers glowing all night.
Remi yawned. “Long day.”
“Go below and get some sleep,” Sam said. “I’ll take the first watch.”
“You’re a doll. Wake me in two hours.”
A peck on his cheek, and she was gone.
THE FIRST TWO WATCHES were uneventful. Nearing the end of the sixth hour, shortly before three A.M., Sam thought he heard the faint rumble of engines in the distance, but the sound faded. Five minutes later it returned, this time louder and closer. Somewhere to the north. Sam scanned the mouth of the lagoon through binoculars but could see nothing save ripples on the water’s surface where the current surged through the inlet. The engines faded again. No, not faded, Sam corrected himself. Died. As if they’d been shut down. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes again.
A minute passed. Two minutes. And then, at the four-minute mark, a shadow appeared in the inlet. Like a bulbous shark’s snout, the object seemed to float a few feet above the surface. Moving at less than a walking pace, the Zodiac raft glided noiselessly from the inlet and into the mouth of the lagoon. Thirty seconds later another Zodiac appeared, followed by a third. In single file they drifted for fifty feet before turning in formation to starboard and entering the lagoon proper.
On flat feet, Sam ducked down the ladder, stepped to the bunk, and touched Remi’s foot. Her head popped up from the pillow. Sam whispered, “Company.” She nodded once, and within seconds they were back on the afterdeck and sliding over the gunwale into the water. On impulse, Sam reached back over the side and grabbed their only possible weapon, the gaff pole, from its bracket.
Having already rehearsed their plan, it was a short ten-second breaststroke to the nearest floating island. With Remi in the lead, they wriggled their way between the exposed mangrove roots and picked through the maze until they reached a hollow in the center. Their earlier inspection of the cavity showed it to be three feet in diameter and almost eight feet tall, rising to the underside of the earthen mushroom cap. Around them, rattail roots and vines drooped and curled. The air was heavy with the tang of mold and loam.
Through the tangle of roots they could see the Andreyale ten feet to their right. So close they were almost hugging, Sam and Remi rotated themselves until they could see the mouth of the lagoon. At first, there was nothing. Dark, moonlit water and silence.
Then a faint, almost imperceptible hum.
Sam put his lips to Remi’s ear. “Zodiac rafts with electric trolling motors. Moving very slowly.”
“Zodiacs probably mean a mother ship,” Remi whispered back.
Her point was well made. While Zodiacs could manage Zanzibar’s coastal waters, most trolling motors had limited range and a top speed of four to five knots. Whoever their visitors were, they’d launched from somewhere nearby. Remi’s guess of a larger boat seemed the most likely scenario.
Sam said, “You left the goodies out for Santa?”
She nodded. “They’ll have to look around a bit, but everything’s there.”
Two minutes passed before the first Zodiac appeared, two hundred yards away and to their right. The second appeared, at the same distance but to the left. A few moments later, the third slid into view, coming down the center of the lagoon. None showed a speck of light, but in the gray moonlight Sam and Remi could see a single silhouetted figure sitting in the stern of each raft.
Three Zodiac rafts, traveling in a line abreast with neither a spoken word nor a flashlight among them . . . These were not tourists on a nocturnal water safari.
“You see any weapons?” Sam whispered.
Remi shook her head.
For the next few minutes they watched as the trio of Zodiacs weaved their way between and around the floating islands until they were fifty yards from the Andreyale. The figure in the middle Zodiac raised his hand, made a strange gesture, and the other two Zodiacs responded by coming about and converging on the Andreyale.