He scooted back down the corridor and past the door to the Transit area he had just exited. He continued on to the end, where he spotted a fire extinguisher on the wall. He hoisted it down and hurried back to Transit. He opened the door and propped it open with the fire extinguisher. The
beep, beep, beep
alarm started up again. Toby hurried back to the International Departures door and carried on past it. He crouched down and hid behind a dusty fire hose reel.
The alarm continued. After maybe thirty seconds, the big security woman opened the Departures door and peered out. She saw the door to Transit propped open. Toby heard her grunt in annoyance. He peeped out more, and saw her waddle down the corridor to investigate. He seized his moment and scuttled out from his hiding place, through the door that she had just left unattended, and into International Departures.
The mother of the wayward toddler was still on her hands and knees collecting the dropped sweets. The seat next to Beaky was vacant. Toby crossed over and sat down.
“Hello, Beaky, you bastard,” Toby said.
If the goon was surprised to see Toby, he didn’t show it. He turned his head slightly, recognised Toby and turned to face forward again. “You made the flight after all.”
“How did you know I was on this flight?” demanded Toby. He wasn’t about to give away his true intentions.
“Why have you constantly got your little snub nose in affairs that don’t concern you?” Beaky drawled out of the corner of his mouth.
Toby, also looking straight ahead, said, “Who are you working for? And where is Julia right now?”
“Go and play with the other children.” The man nodded towards the toddler, who still screamed. The mother had collected all the sweets and put them back in the packet. Not very hygienic. She gave the packet back to the boy. He took it and turned it upside down. The sweets all fell out and rolled across the floor again. The woman looked exasperated, but said only, “Gerald, I understand you’re angry, darling. We need to talk about this.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Toby said. “Answer my question. Who are you, and why shouldn’t I call my controller now and get your nasty arse hauled off to jail?”
“Go ahead and try.”
“I have you on tape, threatening me in the warehouse.”
“You got the device on you?”
Toby hesitated. “It’s in a safe place.”
Beaky now twisted slightly in his seat to face Toby. Toby felt the man’s hot breath on his face as he growled, “You have absolutely no idea, have you?”
“I have absolutely every idea.”
“Go get someone to change your diaper.”
“Sticks and stones!” whispered Toby. “Where’s the
Amelia
?”
He didn’t expect any useful information. So he was shocked when Beaky said, “Here. Just arrived. Like me to take you back aboard?”
Take him back aboard!
Madness. Yet, then he might be able to help Julia.
No! It’s a trap!
A burst of noise and a squeal from the PA system were followed by a very loud and distorted announcement: “Virgin Atlantic announces the departure of flight VS zero-eight-two for London Gatwick. We will board passengers in groups. Please remain seated at this time until you are called forward ...”
Despite the instruction, most of the London-bound passengers got up and began to gather their bags, children and belongings.
“Enjoy your flight,” Toby said. He had made a decision. As the announcement continued, he got up from his seat and made his way against the tide back towards the security area. He had nothing more to say to Beaky, and nothing to fear from him as he, Toby, wasn’t going to London. Not yet, anyway.
The yacht was here, in Antilla! He was in the right place, at the right time. He would call Smithers for backup as soon as he could, but for now, he wanted to take advantage of the confused, thronging crowds that choked the old, ramshackle terminal to make good his escape.
He would head for the
Amelia
and be near the scene at least, ready to help.
He advanced quite rapidly through the mass of humanity. He had long ago mastered the art of using his backpack as a blunt instrument in crowded places. People hated it when you biffed them with your rucksack. You only had to approach them, turn forty-five degrees in either direction, and a path would open up before you like Moses crossing the Red Sea.
Soon he was out of the crowd. He approached the security arches and scanners. The monstrous security guard waved her X-ray wand around a latecomer, a thin, white woman who stood with her arms outstretched, looking anxious.
Would Big Mama recognise Toby as being the guy from the Transit area? His feeling was that she wouldn’t—she had proved herself to be pretty dozy already.
He took off his backpack, then his wristwatch, and stuffed the watch quickly into a small compartment. He examined his boarding passes and kept out just the portion to St Lucia. With this in his hand, he approached the security gates.
When the guard had finished with the thin, anxious, white lady and he was certain there were no further passengers to process, Toby walked up to her, trying to look as confident as possible. He flashed his brightest trademark smile. “Excuse me, madam, I’ve just realised I’ve left my watch in my hotel. In the bedside cabinet. I’ve got an hour until my flight. Please can I nip back to the hotel and get it? It’s a Rolex Oyster, my late father’s, and of tremendous sentimental value.”
The woman screwed up her mouth and looked at him in a sideways sort of way. “You can’t go back out. You gone through Immigration and you airside now. You’ll have to phone the hotel and have them forward the watch.”
“If it’s lost or stolen, I’ll be distraught. It’s worth a lot.”
The woman looked at her own wristwatch. “Always they leave som’ting, their iPod, their camera, their earrings,” she murmured to herself. Then, to Toby, “Which hotel you stay in, honey?”
“I – er, I mean ...” Toby hadn’t thought this far ahead. He scanned the wall behind the security scanners in a desperate search for inspiration. There were a few faded posters there, thank heavens. “The Blue Dolphin Resort!”
“And how long you think it take you to get there and back?”
“Oh, not long ... I guess thirty minutes.” Toby had no idea where the Blue Dolphin Resort was. It could be an hour’s drive away on dirt tracks, for all he knew.
Come on
, he thought.
Lucky, lucky
...
“You got luggage for the hold? Because if you not back in time, the plane will be delayed while they unload it. LIAT don’t like that. They very punct-u-ilious airline.”
“No, look at my boarding pass. I got nothing, no checked luggage, just the backpack.” That much was true, at any rate. “
Please
let me out. I’ll take the risk of missing the connection rather than leave my father’s Rolex Oyster. Look, let me give you something for the inconvenience ...” He reached for his wallet.
The woman looked around in panic. “No way, honey! You tryin’ to get me fired? Look, I can’t let you out. Not enough time to get to Blue Dolphin, get back and go through Security again. Sorry. Now please move away from this area.”
What a bummer.
And Toby felt he had almost won her over.
He felt his head droop.
Game over.
A loud clicking noise was followed by another howl of feedback from the PA System. “ ... Virgin Atlantic regrets to announce a delay in the boarding of flight VS zero-eight-two. This flight is delayed for one hour. Please resume your seats.”
From where he was, Toby could hear the universal groan that issued from the assembled holidaymakers.
Some of them must already be on the plane,
Toby thought.
A moment later, another voice came on the PA. “LIAT Airlines regrets to announce delays to its flights to St Lucia, St Martin, St Croix, Dominica, and Martinique. Please await further announcements.”
At the same time, the walkie-talkie on Big Mama the Guard’s belt chimed and issued a burst of static. “Code 4, Code 4!” issued from its speaker. The woman thumbed the Transmit button. “Roger that, Code 4.”
She turned to Toby. “You’re in luck, sort of. We have to evacuate the terminal.”
“What’s up?”
“Don’ know. Some sorta alert. So, be on your way. And take better care of your father’s inheritance next time. Boys! They’ll be the death of me.” She caught the eye of the other security guard manning the scanner and pointed at Toby. “He going. Take ’im out. We got a Code 4 anyway.”
Toby walked past the arches. The male security officer took him back to the Immigration area, unlocked an unmarked door in the side wall and said, “Scram and beat the rush, man!”
And suddenly he was outside Arrivals.
He blinked in the late afternoon sun.
On a concrete bench built for four people sat five taxi drivers in a row, like patients in an overcrowded doctor’s waiting room, only more cheerful. Their laminated ID labels hung around their necks and glinted. The one on the left-hand end called out, “Taxi?”
“Yes, please!” Toby said.
The driver extricated himself from the bench and lumbered towards him. “Where to, sir?”
“The
Amelia
. It’s a large Russian motor yacht.”
“That don’ help me much. Got a half dozen of dem.” He called back to his colleagues, who had spread out on the bench to fill the available bum space. “Where
Amelia
dock?”
“Nelson Harbour! Dat de huge Russian man ship! She just come in!” came the answer.
Passengers started to emerge from the terminal. They looked hot and cross at their enforced evacuation, just as they were about to fly home. Toby set off with his driver and soon they were in the car, with Toby in the front passenger seat. They were out of the little airport in a minute. They passed the sumptuous Playford Cricket Ground and a bank signed “Playford International Banking Group.” The grounds looked overgrown and ill tended. “Playford fair bought up this island,” said the driver. The car slowed. “Then the Feds lift him. No money left. He clean us out. Now, on your right ...”
“Please, I’m late for my duties,” Toby said. “I don’t want a tour. Hurry, will you?”
“Do my best, man,” the driver said, and accelerated, but only a little. He was now travelling at maybe twenty miles per hour. Toby noticed that the roads in Antilla were in a dreadful condition, compared to St Helen’s. There was no way this would be a quick journey. He bit his lip as he worried about Julia. “Can I use your phone?” he asked. “I need to speak to someone in St Helen’s. I’ll pay for the call.” It was time to involve Smithers.
“Jus’ a moment.” The driver leant forward and pressed buttons on his radio to change the station. “Let’s see what the scare is at the airport.”
Bob Marley was on the air again. When
Buffalo Soldier
finished, adding a few more dollars to the royalty earnings of the singer’s warring heirs, the announcer said, “Now over to the newsroom for a flash.”
A breathless girl came on. “I’ve just spoken to the tower at Solomon Alphonsus Whint International Airport, and they confirm that all flights out of Antilla are currently delayed. Incoming flights have been re-routed to St Lucia and other islands. At this time, we have no indication of the nature of the emergency. The terminal is being evacuated as we speak. However ... hold on ... news coming in ... thank you ... wow, I’ve just been told that all telecommunication links in and out of the island are also down. No telephone or Internet communications available on any network. I repeat, all international telecommunication links are down, and all air traffic in and out of the island is suspended. We have no indication if these events are connected. We’ll try to contact Cable & Wireless for a comment. And Mr Minister of Transport, if you are listening, please will you call in with information for our listeners?”
“Sounds serious,” Toby said. No chance of making that call now.
The driver had his mobile phone in his hand. He thumbed the keys. “Like they say, no international calls. You’ll have to wait while they fix it.”
The breathless girl could offer no more, and the music resumed. They bumped on. The driver swung his wheel this way and that to avoid potholes. Toby lurched from side to side.
A second later, the driver’s phone warbled the Nokia theme tune. He glanced at its screen and accepted the call. “Tell me.” He listened. “You joking me, man?” He listened some more.
“What?” Toby asked. The driver waved his hand to silence him.
After a moment more, the driver said “Later,” and dropped the phone into his lap.
“What?” Toby repeated.
“My brother say there some sort of eruption off the north coast. Fishermen say the water still boiling, and shrimps and fish and that coming up ready cooked.”
“Eruption? You mean volcano? Underwater?”
“Mus’ be, though no one said we had any underwater volcano up here. Down Grenada, they got Kick ’Em Jenny just a short ways off towards Carriacou. Hope Jesse is OK.” He scrolled through his contacts and called. “Out of service,” he said after a minute. “Some big ting sure going on!”
Without any warning to Toby and without indicating, the driver swung the wheel hard left, and turned off down a side road between two rum shops.
“This my street,” the driver said. “Let’s just check the TV.”
“Don’t be long, I do need to get to the
Amelia
as soon as possible,” Toby said. As he spoke these words, he realised that he had no idea what he was going to do when he arrived. Access to the yacht, as he well knew, was strictly monitored and controlled. If Julia was on the ship and in some sort of trouble, how was Toby to get aboard and do anything useful—particularly if he couldn’t contact Smithers?