Under Snake Island, page 11
If she didn’t find them first.
Elisabeth found herself thankful for the gun.
By the time they were inside the tent, the storm had finally reached them. No more flirting, it dumped rain on them so hard that it bowed the roof. If not for the slight elevation of their campsite, they probably would’ve washed away.
They sat in a circle with a dim halogen light between them. Malcolm insisted upon army rations and Elisabeth was as grateful for these as much as the gun. It seemed as if she’d had horrible food for the last two weeks. She never imagined her best meal would be from packets and tins. She felt guilty because her bad meals were more than a lot of people were eating these days.
Malcolm held up a square of dehydrated peaches, the soft light falling off its orange surface. “It’s right sad that this cost more than most of our gear.”
“Seriously?” Elisabeth said. She never looked at itemized lists when she paid.
He nodded. “Yes, lass. Food is already at a premium and this stuff, the army rations and what have you, are a favorite among the doomsdayers.”
“No shortage of those right now,” said Duncan.
Elisabeth nodded. “And for good reason.”
They listened to the storm rage around their little pocket of sanctuary. Even though they were inside, no one stripped off the hot, heavy leg and arm guards. Elisabeth imagined a snake breaking through the tent floor and biting her in a vulnerable spot.
“So what’s our plan, gents?” said Elisabeth. “We’re here. She hasn’t come for us yet.”
“We go looking for her,” said Duncan. “I say wait till morning. Or at least until the storm passes. We made it here safely, and now we can stay as long as we need.”
“Might want to get some sleep,” Malcolm said, and yawned into his fist. “Tomorrow could be taxing.”
Both Elisabeth and Duncan chortled, but it was she who said, “And you really think we can fall asleep here?”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “I suppose that might be a wee bit hard.”
Duncan grinned and dug around in his pack until he found a deck of cards. “Scotch Whist, shall we?”
“Is that . . . a card game?” Elisabeth asked with a curious gleam in her eye.
“Only the best there is, Lizzy,” said Malcolm. “How’s it you’ve been around the world and never heard of Scotch Whist?”
“Sorry, I guess I partied with the wrong people. But please, show me this brilliant ga—”
Duncan lunged for her, wrapping a hand over her mouth. It was so fast and unexpected that they both toppled over. The light vanished—Malcolm had switched it off.
“What?” she whispered as soon as the hand moved from her mouth. They were in the pitch black. No light, no movement, only the smell of their discarded meal packets and the sound of thundering rain overhead.
“There,” whispered Malcolm, but she didn’t know where he was pointing, so he gently took her by the head and turned her toward the sea.
Elisabeth expected to find her skulking nearby—the resident monster of this island—silhouetted on the other side of the tent. But it wasn’t that at all. It was a light—a pinprick out on the ocean, but strong enough to penetrate their tent.
“Okay, it’s far,” said Duncan. “Maybe it’s just passing by. Sorry, Lizzy. Didn’t mean to tackle you so.”
“It’s fine.”
They watched it for a few minutes until Malcolm said, “They aren’t turning. The light is constant.”
“Meaning?”
Duncan said, “. . . that they are headed right for us.”
Elisabeth felt a chill run down her body. She nodded, but again, no one could see it.
“I’m gonna have a look. Stay here,” said Malcolm, unzipping the flap and stepping out. He put on his night vision and stared at the turbulent waves by the coast.
Elisabeth said, “I want to have a look, too,” and stepped out next to him. Despite the helmet on her head, she could see perfectly fine without it.
About fifty meters out in the water shined the light—a brilliant circle of white that fell upon the island. The light was so powerful, cutting through the storm with ease. It aimed briefly at the lighthouse before sweeping over the island. Both Malcolm and Elisabeth ducked behind the tent.
“It’s a boat, yeah?” said Duncan from the other side.
“Yeah. But we don’t know just how much trouble it is yet,” said Malcolm, looking around the edge of the tent. The light fell to the dock and the anchored boat. Elisabeth didn’t think anyone would care about it. Odd maybe, but nothing worth investigating.
Malcolm said, “It’s turning sideways. Hang on. Maybe it’s going to head south.”
“It’s white,” said Duncan, who had sneaked up on them without Elisabeth even hearing him.
“What’s that matter?” she asked.
“Same color as the navy boats.”
“Oh, shite,” said Malcolm.
They watched the boat until it was even with the dock. The light returned to the WaveSkipper and stayed there. If this really were the Navy, there was no doubt the boat would come their way.
And as Elisabeth thought this, the engines roared to life and the boat turned in their direction.
“What do we do, boys?”
“Not much we can do, Lizzy. If it’s the Brazilian Navy, we’re done. We’re trespassing and we’re armed.”
Elisabeth said, “Do you think we can get to the boat and get out of here before they reach us?”
Duncan said, “Doubtful. And you don’t want to be in front of that thing, anyway. It’s got mounted guns. Big ones.”
So, they waited helplessly as the boat grew larger and larger, coming within five meters of their WaveSkipper before shutting off the engines. From afar, the white boat didn’t seem impressive, but it was easily four times as large as the WaveSkipper. Elisabeth tried to see who was onboard but the boat was now in range to find the tent with the light. She closed her eyes and faced the ground.
Voices carried on the wind, faint ones mixed with the rain, but still heard. Portuguese men, all talking very fast, almost excitedly. The light turned off, revealing shadows along the upper deck. She counted six of them, all watching and wondering who’d set up shop on this forbidden island.
A moment of chatter, then one of the figures stepped off the boat and onto their covered WaveSkipper. It was a man, although she couldn’t make out his features so far away. He lifted the tarp from the front, peered under, and dropped it again.
Elisabeth heard a click next to her and realized Duncan had pulled out his gun.
“Are you mad?” she said.
“Something about this isn’t right, Lizzy.”
“None of it’s right,” said Malcolm. “But shootin’ at the navy will not make it any better.”
“You don’t know it’s the navy,” said Duncan.
“Quiet!” Elisabeth snapped. The man took a torch from his belt and shined it onto the tent. The three cowering behind it watched the beam cut through the rain above them.
The man spoke to someone and this time a female answered back. It was so unexpected that Elisabeth peeked around the tent and looked. A lithe figure had joined the man atop the boat. He stepped onto the island, then held out his hands to ease her across, but she shoved him and snapped something in Portuguese, showing she didn’t need his help.
The others hopped down on the WaveSkipper and then jumped across. Five men and one woman had joined Elisabeth’s group on the island. They were of varying sizes, from a couple of scrawny chaps to one burly man who towered above them all.
One pointed to the ground and the others laughed. A loud thump made Elisabeth almost yelp in surprise. She put her hands over her mouth and held them there. Another thump, and then another. She looked at Malcolm and mouthed, what the hell is that?
He whispered, “They’re kicking up the repellents.”
She rolled her eyes. One crisis at a time.
“What do we do?” Elisabeth asked again. “They’ve got us. We have weapons and we need to make them understand we’re not a threat.” She looked at Duncan when she said this.
One man shouted something she didn’t understand. The way his voice projected meant he was addressing the owner of the tent.
A moment of silence before Malcolm shouted, “We don’t speak Portuguese.”
A startled ripple raced through the group and Elisabeth could hear the jostle of metal and leather—they were armed.
“English?” the voice called.
“Yes, bloody English,” said Malcolm.
“You need to come out from behind the tent. Let’s have a . . . how you say . . . discussion?” His English was not bad, but certainly not his first language.
“Stay calm, the both of you,” said Malcolm.
He held up his arms and squinted as half a dozen flashlights found his face. Elisabeth watched as he trudged out to the group. Amidst the glare, she only saw their shins, clad in identical protective gear as she and her friends.
“What’s your name?” asked the man in front.
“Tell me yours first,” said Malcolm.
“I guess we can try to be civil here,” he said. “I’m Saulo.”
“Malcolm.”
“Well, Malcolm, I’m going to take this so no one gets hurt.” He reached up and pulled the gun from Malcolm’s holster. “Henrique is going to search you now. Please do not give him reason to get angry.”
Henrique, a towering man with stringy black hair, stepped forward and roughly patted down Malcolm. Once Henrique was satisfied, he stepped back in line with the others.
“What are you doing out here, Malcolm? This place is . . . off-limits.”
“I know,” he said. “We’re with the University of Edinburg, studying the snakes on the island.”
“Oh,” said a wiry man to Henrique’s left. “Explains why you’re leaving refuse all over the place.” He lunged toward the nearest repellent and kicked it right out of the ground. It sailed through the air, where the darkness and sheets of falling rain swallowed it.
He turned to the strange cone of sticks and wood. As his light fell across it, Elisabeth noted it wasn’t white silk at all, but long snakeskins. He kicked the whole thing over. It collapsed and rolled apart, white skin, animal skulls, and purple silk flying away. She wasn’t sure why, but seeing it torn down filled her with a sense of dread.
“Edinburg, you say? Interesting,” Saulo said. “So you’re not alone?”
He patted Henrique on the shoulder and the big man circled the right side of the tent. The wiry man took the left. Elisabeth and Duncan raised their hands and waited to be guided to Malcolm.
All united, she could see the entire group, and now she wondered if they might actually be the Brazilian Navy. Each wore a white shirt with khaki pants, although they were all layered with protection relevant to the island—thick gloves, shin guards, and supplies that didn’t seem standard for Navy Officers.
The men all had backpacks, complete with climbing gear, flares, and automatic rifles they held strung over their shoulders.
“Vincente, please,” said Saulo, motioning for a bespectacled man to pat down Duncan. “Marcela?” He nodded to the woman and she approached Elisabeth.
She was fiercely beautiful, with dark olive skin and hair that shined by the flashlights. Earlier, she’d been wearing mascara, as it was all running in lines down her cheeks. As she grabbed her, it was clear she was fit—corded muscles flexed in her arms as she ran her hands down Elisabeth’s legs and around her bottom.
“Not hiding anything, are you esnobe?” said Marcela, smiling wide enough to reveal a gold tooth in the corner of her mouth. A tattoo started at her neck and disappeared down her shirt.
Elisabeth said nothing, only let her take the gun from the holster.
Now that all three of them were unarmed, Saulo said, “Now, let us discuss why you are really here.”
No one spoke at first. Elisabeth could tell Saulo’s crew was growing either bored or irritated. They didn’t want to be here—but who would?
“You’re wasting time with this, Saulo,” spat the woman. “Shoot one of them and the other two will speak.”
It was at that moment Elisabeth realized they weren’t dealing with the Brazilian Navy.
“We will come around to that idea, Marcela. Now patience.” Saulo took a step toward Elisabeth. The lightning struck, revealing all the shadows of the man’s face. It was menacing if ever she saw one. “You are Elisabeth Wingate, yes?”
“I . . . uh.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets and tried to feign confusion but he knew better.
He laughed, revealing a mouth full of rotten teeth. “I know that you are. I saw you on the television, yes? You found all those riches under the ground. And you gave them to a museum. Why?”
“They didn’t belong to me,” she said.
Her fingers wrapped around her phone. Could she get a call out? She’d rather deal with anyone else but these people, including Brazil’s real navy.
Saulo laughed, but his crew didn’t find the humor in it. In fact, Marcela seemed eager to strangle Elisabeth right there in the rain.
Saulo said, “Did you know a ship crashed right down there on those rocks in the late 1700s? Was laden with all sorts of pretty things. No one found this treasure, of course. But that’s because it’s all buried here.”
Quick as a viper, Marcela was standing in front of her. “And you’re going to tell us where it’s hidden.”
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Duncan. Marcela whirled around and pointed her gun at him.
“Whoa, easy now,” said Malcolm. “No need for this. We can talk.”
“Then stop lying,” Marcela said. She pointed to the mound of supplies. “You didn’t come here with all that for a hunch. Tell us where it is.”
Elisabeth felt her blood going cold as she made the realization that this was too much to be a coincidence. They didn’t wander upon this island. They knew her name, her connection with Bethel. These people knew she’d be here.
“We haven’t found it yet,” said Duncan, feeling it was easier to go along with their story. “It’s buried somewhere. Probably out there.” He nodded off toward the forest.
Elisabeth fumbled with the phone. She’d learned enough about Brazil to know that emergency services responded to several combinations of numbers—190, 192, 193. She just needed to read the screen in her mind’s eye.
“So let’s go find it,” said Saulo.
“Now?” Malcolm said. “In the dark?”
“You’ve got those fancy helmets,” said Marcela, waving the gun she’d taken from Elisabeth. “So use them.” Elisabeth had forgotten they were still wearing them, visor up.
“We’re not doing any of that,” said Malcolm. “Not until you show us some kind of ID.”
“ID?” said Saulo. He tapped the rifle hanging from his shoulder. “This is the only ID I need, irmão.”
Elisabeth gave up the idea of calling for help, simply because she couldn’t see what she was pressing on the screen. The important thing was Marcela didn’t take her phone. When the time came, she’d pull it out and make the call.
But before slipping her hand out of her pocket, her thumb graced the screen, and made a call anyway . . .
A jingle broke the uncomfortable silence. Saulo and his group took a step back as everyone tried to locate the source of the ringing. Elisabeth assumed she’d dialed either Malcolm or Duncan, which would land them in even more trouble than they were already in.
But no, Saulo slipped a phone out of his front coat pocket and stared at the screen. When he saw the number, he looked at Elisabeth and grinned.
She’d accidentally dialed the last number to text her, which was the unknown person giving her instructions for the gun pickup. Only it wasn’t unknown any longer—it had been Saulo.
He shrugged, as if this new information did not matter. “Nadia wanted to come, but she’s crazy, right? She’d have gotten herself killed.”
“Which would’ve been fine,” said Marcela, a fair amount of venom in her voice.
Saulo flashed her an angry look, then seemed to calm. “It was only supposed to be you here tonight, Senhora Wingate.” He stared at Malcolm and Duncan. “This complicates things.”
“It does not have to be complicated,” Marcela said. She still held her gun toward Malcolm. He looked braver than Elisabeth would with a barrel in her face.
“Who are you? Nadia’s boyfriend?” Elisabeth asked.
Marcela snorted and rolled her eyes. Saulo was also laughing.
The angry voice in Nadia’s ear at the club—it had been him. But the longer she stared at Saulo, the more she recognized him. Those eyes and that square chin—so similar to Nadia’s.
“You’re her brother.”
Saulo grinned, the rain beading off his cheeks in an eerie way. “Very good, senhora.”
“I remember you,” Elisabeth said. “From when we were younger and on the show. You came everywhere with her and your parents.”
“Quite surprising that you remember. You have only ever cared about Elisabeth Wingate. Just like Nadia Flores only cares about Nadia Flores. But enough about her. Tonight, we are here for you.”
The way he said it filled her with unease. The same fear she encountered when she partied without her entourage and some creep was waiting for her outside the loo. This put Elisabeth in a very desperate mindset.
Marcela stepped in front of her and turned toward Saulo to say something, and that’s when Elisabeth made a bold move.
She kicked the girl in the knee, eliciting a wail of pain. Before she fell, Elisabeth snatched the gun from her hand and aimed it at Saulo’s head. He didn’t seem afraid—probably because he knew Elisabeth didn’t have it in her to kill anyone on purpose.
The others raised their guns—Henrique, Vincente, and two others who’d remained nameless thus far. Marcela growled in pain, but staggered out of Elisabeth’s way.
“Drop the guns,” she said, “or I’ll do it! I’ll put a hole in his head!” Elisabeth felt silly saying it.
