Overfall (32 page)

If these men had anything in common, it was an unflappable disposition that allowed them to be rational and calculating when other more ordinary men would be distracted or shaken by serious fear. Each of these men had climbed Denali with Sam, and thus had contemplated their own death seriously on at least one occasion.

Sam had asked them not to talk about the details of the assault in front of Anna. Until she learned or demanded otherwise, the plan was for her to wait out of harm’s way while they snatched Jason Wade.

It took half an hour for Sam, Anna, and Yodo to get to the Fiji Air departure gate in Nadi that would take them to Taveuni. T.J. and the others would take later flights. Anna wore a hat, sunglasses, and a blond wig, at Sam’s suggestion.

The Fiji Air ticket counter attendant greeted them. “Bula.”

“Bula,” Sam replied. It was the universal greeting; everybody said bula to everybody all the time.

The agent took their tickets and produced boarding passes. “The departure gate is just down there.”

At the gate a man was saying their names loudly. “Sam Brown and Anna Brown, please.” He couldn’t pronounce Yodo’s last name, so Yodo nodded and the man nodded back.

It was an agent standing on the far side of the screening machines, motioning them through. Sam carried their luggage straight through the metal detector, while Anna paused. No one seemed to be performing any screening.

“Come, come, come,” the man called to Anna. She walked through the metal detector with her handbag, looking like a horse eying a suspicious bridge.

“Even after New York?” Anna said.

“About like it was last time I was here,” Sam said. “It’s only this way in the interisland flights. Going back to the States or practically anywhere outside Fiji, it’s the full pop.”

“I wonder what Fiji Air will be like,” she said.

“Like a horsedrawn airplane,” Sam said. “Manufactured near my birth and painted like a sixties flower-power Volkswagen bus.”

Sam’s description, based on prior experience, proved remarkably accurate. They climbed in and watched the pilot stow their luggage on the backseat. The plane accommodated about fifteen passengers. There were four including Yodo.

“Tourism has never recovered here. Aussies come. New Zealanders come. But since the war on terrorism any country that’s had a coup in the last five years gets little tourism from the U.S.”

As they sat, the pilot climbed into the plane. “Bula,” he said. “Fasten your seat belts and read the information card.”

“That was succinct,” Anna said.

“Are you ready for this, Mrs. Brown?”

“Remember, I’m one of those wives who didn’t take her husband’s last name.”

“Yeah, I got that. You were born Brown. It was just a coincidence that you married a Brown.”

“So I’m Anna Brown-Brown.”

“Well, if you wanna be. If you’re just Anna Brown I could have taken your last name, I guess.”

“So where are we meeting ‘Aussie’?”

“Upon arrival. You’ll like him. He’s good, too. He knows the chiefs.”

Anna’s look said she didn’t understand.

“Fiji is controlled by a group of chiefs. Each island has its own, and together they form what we would call a committee. Although the country has a president, he’d best not cross the chiefs or he’ll find himself deposed. Aussie has made it a point to know most of the chiefs, especially the more powerful ones.”

“I hope this works.”

“I won’t lie to you. It could be tough. We’ve rushed this a bit.”

“I know you’ve done the best you can.”

“These things take a lot of planning.” Neither said anything for a moment.

“You’ll be at the airport when this goes down.” Sam saw a new strain in her face as soon as he said it.

To his surprise, though, she didn’t argue, but watched the terrain as they flew away from Nadi. To their right was the high plateau country, to the south the Nandrau, and more northerly the Rairaimatuku. Falling away from the mountainous plateaus grew jungle; scattered villages and dirt roads led to the sea and the lush river valleys.

They passed over the Vatu-i-ra Channel barrier reefs and myriad coral heads showing almost white in the azure sea. When they arrived, the landing was steep and fast. Anna squeezed Sam’s arm until they stopped on the tiny runway. Beside it stood a terminal that looked like a 1950s-vintage American gas station. Behind the terminal a two4ane road ran parallel to the runway, and to the far side a loosely strung wire cable the diameter of a silver dollar ran through the palm trees.

“You see the line there in the trees?” Sam asked.

That’s the power line?” Anna asked.

“No. There is no power line. Everybody with electricity has a generator. That’s the phone line.”

“Just hanging from the palm trees?”

“Pretty quaint, isn’t it?”

“There’s a man,” Anna said.

“Crapola,” Sam said.

“What do you mean?”

“There are several men. You picked the right one out of the crowd. You noticed his good looks. His confidence.”

“That’s Aussie?”

“None other.”

Aussie smiled at them with teeth like a white-board fence. Yodo nodded and Aussie nodded back.

Sam shrugged at Aussie, feeling Anna’s shoulder against his, the warmth of it, the way she was familiar to him, like a woman on a date.

And he liked it.

From the airport on Taveuni Island the road continued a mile or so in both directions before it turned to dirt. It was the one well-traveled road on the island, and European and American luxury homes as well as several small resorts lined the paved section.

Anna, T.J., and Sam were staying at the Coconut Palms, Sam and Anna posing as husband and wife. The grounds featured short-clipped grass flower beds, and burres spread amongst palms, breadfruit, kava, imported banyon, and tropical ornamentals. It was three o’clock in the afternoon. A pleasant scent hung in the warm humid air. The people seemed to nap on their feet, and even the bugs appeared tranquilized.

“There’s only one bed,” Anna said when they walked into the air-conditioned room. “Are we both going to sleep in it?”

“There’s a roll-away,” Sam said.

“Even if there weren’t and I were a vestal virgin, I would sleep like a baby.” She was checking out the closet.

“Because?”

“You haven’t figured any way to touch me with anything but your brain.”

Sam took her arm and turned her around. She came close to him, letting him smell her hair.

“Sam the frustrated man,” she said. “You needn’t worry. You have both your clearly delineated principles and your roll-away bed.”

She gave him a little mocking smile, but stopped short of closing the last two inches between them.

Flower scent came through the louvered windows and became part of the seduction.

“God, I want you,” he said.

“Tell me, which version of me is it that you want to sleep with?” She turned as if distracted by her suitcase and the shirts she was pulling from it.

Sam pulled out the roll-away and lay on it with an audible sigh, the moment lost, for now. Before he realized he had fallen asleep, he woke to Anna Wade in a blue sulu, the native wraparound skirt. Atop she wore a smart white blouse of raw silk. She was handing him another blue sulu.

“Put this on. Men wear these around here.”

Sam considered it, but found still too much of his dad left in him to seriously consider a garment that was in fact a skirt.

“You go topless and I’ll wear that.”

“Okay.” She began unbuttoning the blouse. “You’ve been wanting a look for days.”

“Wait. You don’t have to prove—”

“You wanna see my chest? Let’s just get it over with.”

“I was kidding, okay? I won’t mention it anymore.”

“Promise? Now put this on. I bought it for you when you were sleeping.”

“Crapola.”

“Don’t crapola me. Put it on.”

Aussie met them for dinner. He apparently felt it incumbent to give them the pan-Australian grin and wolf whistle. Anna smiled at Sam in his skirt.

“What?”

“You’re pouting. You’re actually pouting.”

“I don’t usually cross-dress.”

They ate dinner on an outdoor veranda, and the food was exquisite. Anna and Sam asked Aussie about his life, learned that he lived on Vanua Levu, just down from Suva Suva, in a house on a little acreage overlooking the ocean and Bakabaka Island. He was planning to use the money he made from this job to build a large, covered porch.

Finally Aussie pushed away his plate. “Look, I know you both need to talk some business, so how about I retire to the burre?”

Sam nodded, slightly relieved. In view of the impending drama, a threesome wouldn’t allow him to relate to Anna and her prejob jitters.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment.” Aussie smiled at Anna and pulled Sam aside.

“You know we could really use her in this. As one element of a distraction she’d be terrific. She’s an actor, mate. Dress her up in some skimpy doodad? Get my meaning?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said.

“You’re sweet on her, I know.”

The woman sizzles. I’m not the only man to notice.”

“Well, why don’t we ask her if she wants to help? It is her brother.”

Sam paused. Without good reason he did not let anyone, any time, change a plan just prior to execution. On the other hand it would keep Anna with them, save some resources, and reduce the amount of chance in the equation.

“All right. Part of the diversion before the show starts?”

“Exactly, mate.”

“I can guess what you have in mind,” Sam said.

They returned to the table.

“I know you’re gonna hate this but we have a job for you,” Sam said.

“You do?” She appeared almost girlish in her enthusiasm. “What?” Now slightly more cautious.

“You could help with the scam if you want to. Aussie here has it worked out.”

Aussie nodded, at a rare loss for words.

“You know I’ll do it,” Anna said.

“Right,” Aussie said. “Now the locals have told me all about the resort. The island chief is big time on our payroll. He doesn’t know what we are going to do. He doesn’t want to know. But of course I had to swear that we wouldn’t hurt anybody.” Aussie looked at Anna. “Everything in Fiji is ultimately up to the chiefs.”

She nodded her understanding.

“Fortunately the chiefs like American dollars, so we white folk are pretty well received. The locals think a famous writer with a huge satellite dish just moved into this resort with a staff and armed guards. The rumor is that he wrote about certain terrorists and had to go into hiding. Locals do the cooking and maintain the grounds; word is they like the bloke but think he’s crazy.”

“That would be Jason,” Anna said.

“We’ll have to execute this flawlessly. There are two Dobermans on the grounds and at least five guards.”

“What do you mean at least?” Sam interjected.

“Recently there’s been more activity. The chief wasn’t sure, just seemed like more people, he said. But the guards aren’t visibly armed. I’m assuming they’ve got guns aplenty but they’re keeping them hidden so as not to disturb the locals. That’s a big advantage for us. Locals think they’re French.”

“So maybe Chellis for some reason had one contingent of his organization snatch Jason from another. Doesn’t quite make sense.” Sam pulled a map from a slim leather briefcase and went over the plan in detail. They had a scale drawing of the resort. After he was finished he had Anna repeat the plan.

“Now when I’m here at the gate, supposedly fallen drunk on my ass, you are holding me up and wanting to use a phone to call our resort,” Aussie said. “Sam lets you in.”

“Do I make noise before you let me in?” Anna asked.

“No,” Sam said.

“Okay, then I come just a few feet inside and carry on with Aussie here,” Anna said.

“That’s right, and when you hear the first pop, or see people running, or any kind of commotion starts, you and Aussie put on night vision, run down the road, and around to the beach just like we discussed. You better not be in that yard longer than two minutes, max.”

“And you’re sure they won’t just shoot us.”

“You in a bikini top? Not a chance.”

“We could start making out. You could maybe flash them a little,” Aussie chimed in.

She eyed Sam. “Did you put him up to this?”

Sam chuckled. “Two people gonna screw on the lawn. It would be distracting. And after all, this is a distraction.”

“You’re smoking something besides tobacco.”

Sam took her arm. “I think we’re ready to go. No flashing.”

Aussie smiled at Anna. “Peace?” he said with a cheeky grin.

She winked at him and left with Sam for their room. Sam knew something about the suggestion had bothered her. Or perhaps something about the way he handled it. And he thought that odd, because she was certainly not a prude.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t immediately come to your rescue.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself?”

Sam smiled and shook his head.

“Well, being chivalrous with one’s friends isn’t all that out of vogue.”

“Aussie was joking.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“I got it. You want me to be possessive.”

That’s not so strange, is it?”

“You’re interested in me because you can’t have me.”

Silence.

“You don’t know what you feel or what to call it,” he said.

They brushed their teeth side by side.

“I haaaa newer hearrr”—she spat—“anything so ridiculous. I want what stirs my soul. And you, Sam or Robert or whatever, stir my soul.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say something.”

“Look, you’re right. I know what you meant about possessive.”

“Now you’re patronizing me.”

“I’m trying to agree with you so we can get a little sleep.”

He adjourned to the bedroom to go over his notes. She put on light linen pajamas and emerged from the bathroom. Sam turned out the lights and they retired to their respective beds.

Sam lay in the dark, thinking, wondering if she had gone immediately to sleep.

“You could get in bed with me if you didn’t make a big deal about it.”

“Is that realistic?”

“That’s up to you.”

Sam thought for a while. “It’s always scary before a job. Especially if you’ve never done it before.” He rose and went over to her bed. He climbed in behind her and hugged her back.

She put her hand over his.

“Thanks,” she said.

Minutes later Sam heard the deep breaths begin. He crept back to the roll-away and managed to fall asleep.

They came down the beach at 1:30 A.M., running the fiberglass-bottomed inflatable at eight knots. It was nineteen feet, eleven inches long, and was powered by a pair of 250-horsepower Mercury outboards. In order to accommodate the horsepower, the transom had been beefed up and ballast added to the center of the boat. It had been a rich man’s plaything and at full throttle moved along at fifty-five to sixty miles an hour. Sam, T.J., and all eight men were on board.

They cruised slowly just outside a shallow coral reef, using a depth sounder and GPS to remain at least three hundred feet from the beach. Without night-vision goggles the massive broad-leafed trees lining the shore were shadowy billows in the dark. They were called vutu. like supplicants to the sun, they grew out over the water, then bowed up as they reached for the sky.

They were in Somosomo Strait, the place of the sharks. According to Aussie, each chief of Taveuni had to swim out into the strait in full ceremonial regalia, and if the sharks spared him it was a signal from the gods that he should be installed as chief. Apparently there were plenty of sharks in the strait, but as Aussie told it, he had speared fish there without incident, making him think the chiefs’ odds were pretty good.

The air hung heavy with moisture and was deathly still. Tropical heat lay across their shoulders like wool; the only sound was their boat churning a sudsy wake. As they drew near the landing site, Sam had them slow to a few knots until the sea stopped tracing their passage.

At four hundred yards from the compound they turned in to make a landing. As they approached the shore, all of the men shifted to the back of the boat, raising the bow high. The beach was a mix of rock, dead coral pieces, and silt, but they managed to put the V of the boat’s prow on a spot of the sand. Jumping ashore, they broke into two groups; the first group, with T.J. in the lead, moved off quickly down the beach and spread out.

The group led by Sam secured the boat. The boat’s pilot, the only one remaining aboard, backed the boat into deeper water with a pole and dropped an anchor off the stern.

The men wore camouflage from head to toe and camo paint on their skin, plus a helmet with night-vision goggles. Each carried an M4 carbine with attached grenade launcher and a Beretta M9 pistol. The M4s were fitted with massive sound suppressors; the grenades were only stun grenades, and all the rounds were rubber. Everyone had microphones and earpieces wired into their helmets, adjusted so that they worked well with whispers.

Sam’s group moved onto a trail just above the beach that followed the contours of the steep hillside. The compound sat on a high bluff perhaps 150 feet above the water on a natural bench. There were eight burres plus a two-story house and the main lodge facility. A well-maintained asphalted path ran up from the beach on the right side of the compound, snaked up the hill in switchbacks, and exited beside a large pool.

Directly to the front of the compound was a sheer, soil-covered, near-vertical embankment that could not safely be climbed in the night without ropes. To the left side of the compound, where a wealthy American had a large home, ran a less-maintained dirt trail partially overgrown with palms, breadfruit, taro plants, and creeping vines with huge leaves that lay like a carpet.

T.J.’s group came up on the left, Sam’s on the right. Halfway up the hill Sam whispered to T.J.

“In place at station one. Sanford’s up.”

“Roger that,” T.J. said.

T.J.’s group would now be pausing halfway up the hill, waiting for Sam’s forward man to locate and dispatch two Dobermans with two dart guns. The dogs were vicious, not big barkers, well trained, and would attack unknown intruders in the night. Or at least Aussie had assumed they would. Certainly they charged the fence well enough.