COULD YOU SURVIVE?

Mike’s head collided with the Land Rover’s window as Thomson sped over the rutted surface of Middle Island Road from Trunk Bay to Plymouth. His left hand handcuffed to the grab rail, made it difficult to balance. The Land Rover, his Land Rover, was taking a battering. Thompson occasionally looked in the rear-view mirror and grinned at his obvious discomfort. ‘Tell me how you got hold of my vehicle?’ he shouted for the third time, ‘you son of a bitch,’ he cursed more quietly, bracing himself to ease the pressure on his groin, cringing as the suspension crashed through a series of deep ruts. ‘Did Leah try to see me? What have you done with her?’ Thompson adjusted the rear-view mirror that wouldn’t stay in place with the vehicle’s vibration. ‘Vehicle’s only fah people who’re useful to island security,’ Thompson’s eyes were hidden behind reflector shades. Something red rolled across the footwell catching Mike’s attention. A toy dinosaur, one of Ben’s. His vision blurred. He tried to trap it with his foot, but it rolled out of sight. They rattled through a village, two old men sitting on a bench under trees outside a small, weather worn church, used their hats to wave as they sped by. Mike strained to look behind but they had already been lost in a cloud of dust. They slowed slightly to pass an old tractor pulling a trailer of hay, the corrugated surface, threatening to shake the Land Rover’s windows from their frames. They crossed over the summit and raced down through a series of hair pins before bumping up onto the made-up section of road as it entered the back end of Plymouth. Thompson overtook a woman on a bike, frightening her into the curb; Mike could hear her scream through his open window. They skidded to a halt at Brac Prison roundabout, allowing two cautious men on scooters to pass in front. In the centre of the roundabout was a well-maintained garden, red and gold tropical flowers in stark contrast to the austere concrete building beyond. There were guards at the gates and army jeeps parked in bays. Thompson was looking at him, enjoying his fear. There was a sudden banging on the roof of the Land Rover. ‘Wah yih doin’ yih damn fool, ya could’ve killed me,’ the woman on the bike shouted about to get off, when she recognised Thompson. Her angry, sweat glistening face miraculously changing into a beatific smile. ‘Ohh, I’m pure stoopid for nah seein’ you General, pure stoopid fah sure, but I did not recognise this car.’ Thompson wound down his window and beckoned her closer. The woman’s smile wavered. She was of dual heritage, with Latino skin and attractive dark, oval eyes. She awkwardly manoeuvred her bike closer. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her young confidence vanishing. ‘Wah’s yah name?’ Thompson said. ‘Coral.’ ‘Goin’ see yah boyfriend Coral?’ Thompson said, pointing at the prison. Coral shook her head. Thompson slowly took off his glasses. ‘Two choices gyal, this government vehicle which uwah messed with, means you can cool out there for a few days,’ he gestured towards the prison again, ‘or come with me, and discuss da options.’ Coral looked fearfully from the intimidating building back to Thompson. ‘General, I gah a boyfriend.’ Thompson drummed his fingers on the rim of the steering wheel. ‘Wah’s his name?’ Coral looked uncomfortably to the ground. ‘Thomas… Tom… works… used to work at tyre shop on Easy Street.’ Mike used his free hand to push himself off the seat, easing his discomfort and slackening the strain on his other hand. He noticed the paler band on his wrist from his father’s watch. He frowned wondering when he had last seen it. Had they taken it off him at the old prison? Or had he left it on the plane? Was he wearing it when he left the house last? The only connection to his family and anger bloomed that he may have lost it. ‘I thought we had some place to go,’ he said. Thompson stopped looking at Coral and turned in his seat. ‘Wah’s at? ‘You taken me somewhere or we just out for a drive?’ Mike said. ‘Maybe we’re here,’ Thompson grinned. ‘Well get the fuck on with it,’ Mike said. Thompson looked as though he was about to hit him but thought better of it. He dropped back in his seat, crunched the Land Rover into gear. ‘Get outta my way gyal,’ he commanded, and accelerated forward, passing the exit to the prison. They sped through the back streets. People bolting from their path, so used to moving about without vehicles. Mike wanted to shout from the window about the existence of a vaccine. No more fear of the future, the dread of dying in agony. He could be their salvation, maybe a hero rather than handcuffed off to God knows where. Mike’s anger quickly faded. The fate of his family increasing the weight on his fragile, despairing mind. Would they act responsibly? Or, perhaps like him, they liked the way island life had become? The slower pace, no pressure to earn a living. But, sooner or later the disease would find them, the agonising deaths, a handful of naturally immune survivors, scraping a living from this rock in the Caribbean. The truly hopeless thing he realised, even with the trauma from such unimaginable loss of life, those that survived, would be drawn back to the world before. The need to get back to normal. Someone would emerge as a want-to-be leader, like Purple Bob, then the fighting, killing, struggling for power, greed, corruption… all the crap would come flooding back and the sorry history of mankind would stumble on, this tragedy fading from memory and becoming folk law, like… like the Black Death and Spanish Flu. Mike swayed and thudded against the battered frame, his mood suicidal, not daring to think about Leah and Ben. Mercifully, they skidded to a halt in front of the Kissimmee Resort. Thompson unlocked Mike’s handcuff and hauled him out. ‘What are we doing here?’ ‘Speak when spoken to,’ Thompson said, pushing Mike forward. Mike stumbled, his flipflops slapping against the smooth surface, only able to take pigeon steps because of his injuries. Impatiently shoved from behind, Mike became aware of the luxurious surroundings, the stark contrast to the Old Prison, stunning. The air conditioning, the clean surfaces, a man in uniform using a machine to polish the marble floor, another watering the tropical floor to ceiling plants; the only thing missing was groups of well-dressed tourists. He was acutely aware of his smell and the state of his clothes. Shoved onwards, they passed closed boutiques, a bar, a coffee shop, meeting areas with excessive tropical coloured sofas and chairs, all neatly arranged with puffed up cushions, ready for guests that had been banished over two years ago. Beyond, through walls of glass, was a vast infinity pool. They entered a walkway that led across the surface to an atrium and a guard standing in front of a door with a crudely painted sign, ‘Purple Suite’. The guard made a lethargic motion to come to attention when he recognised Thompson, who gave an impatient wave of his hand indicating for him to open the door. The guard looked undecided. Thompson scowled. ‘Wah’s problem?’ ‘No clothes allowed,’ the guard said, uncomfortably. Thompson stepped closer and grinned wickedly. ‘You whan my phone number?’ The guard shook his head. ‘Cause any time my clothes come off, a gyal whan’s my phone number, yah know what I’m saying?’ The guard reached for the handle. ‘What ‘bout him.’ ‘Truss me, yah don’t wanna see this white boy naked.’ Down a corridor Mike witnessed staff cleaning a bathroom and then from a balcony he looked down on a ransacked living area that a gang of cleaners was desperately trying to repair. A naked woman lay on one sofa, oblivious to the activity and a man was stretched out on the floor, his buttocks pale against a black and purple swirled rug. Thompson took a twist of his shirt and dragged him to a door, knocking impatiently. There was a gruff reply and Thompson went first. ‘I’ve got the pilot, boss.’ He allowed Mike to walk into the room without a shove. Purple Bob had his back to them, sitting at a writing desk, his ample backside flowing over the edges of the chair. He was naked. He looked over his shoulder and studied Mike though hooded eyes. Mike wrenched his gaze from the overflowing flesh to the bed, its purple sheets hanging off one side. Cushions were scattered everywhere; empty bottles and glasses covered most surfaces. Cyril walked in from the bathroom, patting his face with a towel. He was dressed in jeans and open necked polo shirt. He looked at Mike with disgust. ‘Ya should’ve hosed him?’ Thompson shrugged apologetically. ‘Damn, I can smell him from here,’ Cyril said. ‘You understand, we had to make sure,’ Purple Bob said, turning back to whatever was occupying him on the desktop. ‘Your fucking people tortured me, so no, I don’t understand’ Mike said, shifting uncomfortably as the memories flooded back. Thompson made a move, but Cyril held up his hand, stopping him. ‘Desperate times require desperate measures,’ Purple Bob rumbled, before leaning forward and snorting loudly. His body slumped in the chair, his shaved head back, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. ‘Man, you sure found the best damn coke I’ve ever known,’ he said, holding his hands out as if praising God. ‘You’ve got a shit way of showing appreciation,’ Mike said, ‘why am I here? I want to go home and see my family.’ Purple Bob stood and faced him, hands on hips, his bulging stomach and hanging genitalia making him look like some grotesque cave drawing or child’s horror picture. Mike looked away. ‘All in good time,’ Purple Bob smiled but it looked more like a leer as he hooked a purple silk dressing gown off the back of the chair and wrapped it around him. ‘Cause I require your services again.’ Mike looked back at the big man and resolutely focused on his face. ‘If you mean flying, I don’t think the King Air will be taking to the skies again…sadly.’ Purple Bob nodded. ‘You really fucked her up, didn’t you? Some might say you owe this island… a recompense.’ Mike clenched his fists but said nothing. ‘Maybe, like you finding another plane to fly.' Purple Bob walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, his legs splayed, the dressing gown hanging open exposing himself again. Mike was beyond tired. His hatred of the men standing with him in the room was not enough to give him the energy he needed to think clearly. He swayed and without asking, staggered to a nearby chair and sat carefully. ‘Y’want something to eat? Drink?’ Purple Bob said. Cyril threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Get on wit da plan, father.’ Purple Bob studied Mike. ‘You understand I think, uwah position on this island?’ ‘I just want to get back to my family. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. It wasn’t my fault what happened.’ ‘Dat’s the only reason uwah still here,’ Cyril growled. ‘An why uwah woman still breathin.’ Purple Bob held up his hand. ‘Son, we agreed. I was doin’ the talking.’ Cyril threw his towel onto the floor. ‘I’m goin’ to get sumthing to eat,’ he strode towards the door, ‘come wit me,’ he looked at Thompson and then he hesitated, ‘he’s nah got the balls to do anything stoopid,’ he laughed harshly, ‘and the door’s locked, so nothing gonna happen like it did wit his woman,’ he laughed again, slamming the door behind them. Mike tried to concentrate. ‘Was Leah here?’ Purple Bob almost looked apologetic. ‘Ahuh, she paid me a visit. Wanted to know you were okay.’ ‘Here! In this room!’ Mike said aghast. ‘She’s fine,’ Purple Bob said. ‘I want to go home,’ Mike said, getting unsteadily to his feet. Purple Bob motioned for him to sit back down while getting up and pouring a glass of water from a carafe on the bedside table. He handed it to Mike. ‘Uwah position Mike, here on the island,’ he stood looking down at him, ‘it’s fragile, and that of your family…Cyril’s angry with uwah woman…he’s…he’s getting difficult to control.’ Mike finished the glass. ‘Is my family in danger?’ Purple Bob went back to his chair at the desk. No, no, no ,no, Mike…’ he smiled, ‘provided you are,’ he searched for the right word, ‘compliant,’ his smile broadened, ‘then I can personally guarantee their safety,’ Purple Bob finished in his best Sandhurst accent. Mike could feel the water filtering through his body, returning some lucidity. ‘So, unless I do what you say, they are in danger?’ ‘Precisely. That’s why I’m sending you on Island Defender to find another aircraft. We need to keep our security intact. It’s vital business Mike.’ Mike put his head in his hands. ‘I’m not leaving this island again,’ he looked up feeling tearful. ‘I’m not having you bastards interrogate me again.’ Purple Bob’s face clouded over but then regained its smile. ‘I guarantee dat will never happen again.’ ‘It didn’t have to happen then! I’m not leaving this island.’ Purple Bob’s face suddenly became serious. ‘You fucked up my plane Mike, uwah duty is to find me another.’ Desperation returned with full force. ‘What about Mr. Pete? Why can’t he go?’ Mike said. ‘He does not have the same skills as you and anyway, I decide what’s happening on this island and who does what,’ Purple Bob said. There was no humour in his expression now. ‘I need…I need to go home and tell my family I’m OK,’ Mike pleaded. Purple Bob turned back to the table and poured cocaine from a bag. ‘No time Mike, Island Defender’s waiting for you right now. We need a plane for our defence, this is urgent business.’ ‘No. I need to see my family.’ Purple Bob swivelled round in his chair. ‘Now!’ he suddenly boomed, ‘Or you’ll be buried out there,’ he pointed out of the window, ‘along with your family!’ Mike crossed his arms, willing himself to remain calm. ‘You need a pilot, I’m the only one good enough. All I’m asking, is to see my family before I go, it’ll take a few hours.’ Purple Bob jabbed a finger at him. ‘My first choice is you, but Mr Pete will do,’ he said darkly. ‘Please, I just need to let them know I’m OK.’ ‘Don’t push me,’ Purple Bob snorted loudly. ‘I’ll get a message to your family you’re on a vital mission for the security of the island.’ Mike felt hopeless. ‘I have to see them,’ he said. Purple Bob waved him towards the door. ‘You will. When you fly back. Now go.’ Mike slid off the chair and kneeled on the floor. ‘Please, just let me see them. What if I can’t find a plane?’ ‘Then you won’t be coming back,’ and Mike shuddered from the sudden malevolence on Purple Bob’s face. Mike listened to him snort up two fat lines. ‘Will you guarantee Leah and Ben’s safety until I return,’ he said, using the chair to pull himself to standing. Purple Bob turned to face him, a trace of white powder on his upper lip. ‘When you return with a plane, you will be allowed to leave this island with your family.’ His charm had returned along with his smile. Mike had a sudden thought. Samuel was captain of Island Defender. He would know how Leah and Ben were. He was an ally and more importantly a friend. A glimmer of hope. At the door he turned, emboldened he said, ‘when I return, if anything has happened to them I will bury you in that stuff,’ he left before Purple Bob could reply. Thompson was waiting outside the door. A naked woman climbed the stairs towards them, her breasts bouncing as she used the handrail to pull herself upwards. She looked half asleep. When she reached their level she stood uncertainly. She glanced at Purple Bob’s door and her shoulders sagged as she let out a deep sigh. Thompson chuckled beside him. She was a slim girl and didn’t look capable of handling what he had seen swinging between Purple Bob’s legs. A look of defiance hardened her dazed expression and she took a step forward, forcing herself to the door. She pushed it open with her shoulder, the muscles in her buttocks tensing from the effort, and disappeared inside. If he hadn’t flown to the Crooked Island, hadn’t found the stash of cocaine then none of this would be happening. Was it all his fault? Mike asked himself. Mike was relieved that Thompson no longer prodded or shoved him along, he was not sure he could have taken it. Without asking, he climbed into the passenger seat of the Land Rover, feeling the heat from the sun burn through the thin cotton of his shorts. The air was still and heavy, a few puffs of white cloud but otherwise a beautiful day in paradise. Two armed guards lounged on plastic chairs under palm trees, red hibiscus and tropical flowers festooned a well-kept border, full of buzzing insects and the occasional hummingbird. Across the cut grass, a cat was stalking. Mike felt the suspension give as Thompson got in beside him but he didn’t look away from the cat. The engine started with a clatter and Thompson gunned the engine, racing away from the front of the hotel, the tyres squealing over the polished paving slabs, the old Land Rover roared up and over the headland that separated Kissimmee from the main town of Plymouth. Braking sharply, something rolled from under his seat and nudged his foot. Mike bent forward and retrieved the red dinosaur. He held it to his nose and breathed deeply, ignoring the looks from Thompson. Mike’s eyes misted over, and he clenched the soft toy fiercely in his fist. The exchange shop and designated restaurant were closed. A gang of workers toiled under the sun, weeding the gardens that separated the road and the promenade. Beyond, a man was rowing out into the bay. A man and woman on a bench, a plume of smoke escaped from the man’s mouth as he looked with alarm at the speeding Land Rover. The harbour wall came into view supporting figures with fishing rods. They raced under an open barrier and skidded to a halt alongside Island Defender. Crewmen were already standing by to cast off. Mike got out without looking at Thompson. As he approached his heart sank as Cyril Roberts stepped from the bridge. ‘Where’s Samuel?’ he said, shading his eyes from the glare. Cyril Roberts had the same smile as his father, slow and menacing. ‘Not on this trip.’ Mike didn’t make a move to go on board. ‘But he’s the captain.’ Cyril shrugged. ‘Not on this trip.’ Mike spotted a familiar ginger haired face coming from the rear deck. ‘What’s happened to Samuel, Moses?’ They had drunk beer together with Samuel and the rest of the crew. Mike wasn’t sure he trusted him. ‘Told me they hadn’t gah time to fetch him, so I’m captain fah this trip.’ Mike walked awkwardly up the gangway, glad that it seemed Thompson was staying behind, and onto Island Defender’s deck, still clutching the dinosaur. ‘That’s not right is it?’ Mike said, fist bumping Moses’ and ignoring his puzzled look at the dinosaur and the state of his clothes. Moses avoided eye contact. ‘They say he charge up, but I never seen Sam drink too much, ain’t right anymore Mike, best say nuttin an keep heads down and do as we’re told. Be cool and juss stay away from him. I ‘fraid if Sam was here things would’ve been bad, you know his feelings for him.’ ‘Get going Moses,’ Cyril shouted. ‘Yes boss,’ Moses said. Mike looked up at the bridge and Cyril pointed at him. ‘Up here.’ Mike rested a hand on Moses’ arm. ‘Is Samuel with my family?’ 'I guess Mike. He usually hangs out on da Belle.’ ‘You haven’t heard from him?’ ‘No way to.’ ‘Moses!’ Cyril snapped. Mike followed him along the deck and up to the bridge, stuffing the toy in the back of his shorts. Cyril was standing arms folded, pistol holstered around his waist and had changed to blue, camouflaged combat shorts, black t-shirt and cap with a faded insignia of indeterminant origin. ‘Get this boat going Moses,’ he said, while glaring at Mike. Mike felt the deck vibrate through the thin plastic of his flip flops and a cloud of black smoke drifted across the harbour. ‘Where’re we going?’ ‘Find you another plane,’ Cyril said. ‘None of the local islands will have anything big enough,’ Mike said. ‘Go get cleaned up, you smell like piss, stay outta the way till I call fah you.’ Cyril turned away to stand behind Moses now in the captain’s chair. Island Defender moved from the quay side and Mike felt as if something was being torn inside, a terrible foreboding, a sudden desperate urge to run and jump for the harbour wall. A cruel hand was tearing his life in two, as Island Defender gathered speed, the tear became wider, with jagged edges, him on one side, Leah, Ben on the other, their sanctuary, their home and two years of happiness ripped down the middle. He wished the old coastal defence boat would break down and he could go back to how it was, their isolation, but the vessel continued to gather speed, the harbour wall slipped by. Moses looked over his shoulder. ‘Spare uniforms down in da crew’s quarters. A shower too.’ Mike did not acknowledge him, feeling numb he left through a door at the back of the bridge and down two flights of stairs to the crew’s quarters. His life had come full circle. A quest to save people he loved by means that was out of his control.

Mike’s head collided with the Land Rover’s window as Thomson sped over the rutted surface of Middle Island Road from Trunk Bay to Plymouth. His left hand handcuffed to the grab rail, made it difficult to balance. The Land Rover, his Land Rover, was taking a battering. Thompson occasionally looked in the rear-view mirror and grinned at his obvious discomfort. ‘Tell me how you got hold of my vehicle?’ he shouted for the third time, ‘you son of a bitch,’ he cursed more quietly, bracing himself to ease the pressure on his groin, cringing as the suspension crashed through a series of deep ruts. ‘Did Leah try to see me? What have you done with her?’ Thompson adjusted the rear-view mirror that wouldn’t stay in place with the vehicle’s vibration. ‘Vehicle’s only fah people who’re useful to island security,’ Thompson’s eyes were hidden behind reflector shades. Something red rolled across the footwell catching Mike’s attention. A toy dinosaur, one of Ben’s. His vision blurred. He tried to trap it with his foot, but it rolled out of sight. They rattled through a village, two old men sitting on a bench under trees outside a small, weather worn church, used their hats to wave as they sped by. Mike strained to look behind but they had already been lost in a cloud of dust. They slowed slightly to pass an old tractor pulling a trailer of hay, the corrugated surface, threatening to shake the Land Rover’s windows from their frames. They crossed over the summit and raced down through a series of hair pins before bumping up onto the made-up section of road as it entered the back end of Plymouth. Thompson overtook a woman on a bike, frightening her into the curb; Mike could hear her scream through his open window. They skidded to a halt at Brac Prison roundabout, allowing two cautious men on scooters to pass in front. In the centre of the roundabout was a well-maintained garden, red and gold tropical flowers in stark contrast to the austere concrete building beyond. There were guards at the gates and army jeeps parked in bays. Thompson was looking at him, enjoying his fear. There was a sudden banging on the roof of the Land Rover. ‘Wah yih doin’ yih damn fool, ya could’ve killed me,’ the woman on the bike shouted about to get off, when she recognised Thompson. Her angry, sweat glistening face miraculously changing into a beatific smile. ‘Ohh, I’m pure stoopid for nah seein’ you General, pure stoopid fah sure, but I did not recognise this car.’ Thompson wound down his window and beckoned her closer. The woman’s smile wavered. She was of dual heritage, with Latino skin and attractive dark, oval eyes. She awkwardly manoeuvred her bike closer. ‘Sorry,’ she said, her young confidence vanishing. ‘Wah’s yah name?’ Thompson said. ‘Coral.’ ‘Goin’ see yah boyfriend Coral?’ Thompson said, pointing at the prison. Coral shook her head. Thompson slowly took off his glasses. ‘Two choices gyal, this government vehicle which uwah messed with, means you can cool out there for a few days,’ he gestured towards the prison again, ‘or come with me, and discuss da options.’ Coral looked fearfully from the intimidating building back to Thompson. ‘General, I gah a boyfriend.’ Thompson drummed his fingers on the rim of the steering wheel. ‘Wah’s his name?’ Coral looked uncomfortably to the ground. ‘Thomas… Tom… works… used to work at tyre shop on Easy Street.’ Mike used his free hand to push himself off the seat, easing his discomfort and slackening the strain on his other hand. He noticed the paler band on his wrist from his father’s watch. He frowned wondering when he had last seen it. Had they taken it off him at the old prison? Or had he left it on the plane? Was he wearing it when he left the house last? The only connection to his family and anger bloomed that he may have lost it. ‘I thought we had some place to go,’ he said. Thompson stopped looking at Coral and turned in his seat. ‘Wah’s at? ‘You taken me somewhere or we just out for a drive?’ Mike said. ‘Maybe we’re here,’ Thompson grinned. ‘Well get the fuck on with it,’ Mike said. Thompson looked as though he was about to hit him but thought better of it. He dropped back in his seat, crunched the Land Rover into gear. ‘Get outta my way gyal,’ he commanded, and accelerated forward, passing the exit to the prison. They sped through the back streets. People bolting from their path, so used to moving about without vehicles. Mike wanted to shout from the window about the existence of a vaccine. No more fear of the future, the dread of dying in agony. He could be their salvation, maybe a hero rather than handcuffed off to God knows where. Mike’s anger quickly faded. The fate of his family increasing the weight on his fragile, despairing mind. Would they act responsibly? Or, perhaps like him, they liked the way island life had become? The slower pace, no pressure to earn a living. But, sooner or later the disease would find them, the agonising deaths, a handful of naturally immune survivors, scraping a living from this rock in the Caribbean. The truly hopeless thing he realised, even with the trauma from such unimaginable loss of life, those that survived, would be drawn back to the world before. The need to get back to normal. Someone would emerge as a want-to-be leader, like Purple Bob, then the fighting, killing, struggling for power, greed, corruption… all the crap would come flooding back and the sorry history of mankind would stumble on, this tragedy fading from memory and becoming folk law, like… like the Black Death and Spanish Flu. Mike swayed and thudded against the battered frame, his mood suicidal, not daring to think about Leah and Ben. Mercifully, they skidded to a halt in front of the Kissimmee Resort. Thompson unlocked Mike’s handcuff and hauled him out. ‘What are we doing here?’ ‘Speak when spoken to,’ Thompson said, pushing Mike forward. Mike stumbled, his flipflops slapping against the smooth surface, only able to take pigeon steps because of his injuries. Impatiently shoved from behind, Mike became aware of the luxurious surroundings, the stark contrast to the Old Prison, stunning. The air conditioning, the clean surfaces, a man in uniform using a machine to polish the marble floor, another watering the tropical floor to ceiling plants; the only thing missing was groups of well-dressed tourists. He was acutely aware of his smell and the state of his clothes. Shoved onwards, they passed closed boutiques, a bar, a coffee shop, meeting areas with excessive tropical coloured sofas and chairs, all neatly arranged with puffed up cushions, ready for guests that had been banished over two years ago. Beyond, through walls of glass, was a vast infinity pool. They entered a walkway that led across the surface to an atrium and a guard standing in front of a door with a crudely painted sign, ‘Purple Suite’. The guard made a lethargic motion to come to attention when he recognised Thompson, who gave an impatient wave of his hand indicating for him to open the door. The guard looked undecided. Thompson scowled. ‘Wah’s problem?’ ‘No clothes allowed,’ the guard said, uncomfortably. Thompson stepped closer and grinned wickedly. ‘You whan my phone number?’ The guard shook his head. ‘Cause any time my clothes come off, a gyal whan’s my phone number, yah know what I’m saying?’ The guard reached for the handle. ‘What ‘bout him.’ ‘Truss me, yah don’t wanna see this white boy naked.’ Down a corridor Mike witnessed staff cleaning a bathroom and then from a balcony he looked down on a ransacked living area that a gang of cleaners was desperately trying to repair. A naked woman lay on one sofa, oblivious to the activity and a man was stretched out on the floor, his buttocks pale against a black and purple swirled rug. Thompson took a twist of his shirt and dragged him to a door, knocking impatiently. There was a gruff reply and Thompson went first. ‘I’ve got the pilot, boss.’ He allowed Mike to walk into the room without a shove. Purple Bob had his back to them, sitting at a writing desk, his ample backside flowing over the edges of the chair. He was naked. He looked over his shoulder and studied Mike though hooded eyes. Mike wrenched his gaze from the overflowing flesh to the bed, its purple sheets hanging off one side. Cushions were scattered everywhere; empty bottles and glasses covered most surfaces. Cyril walked in from the bathroom, patting his face with a towel. He was dressed in jeans and open necked polo shirt. He looked at Mike with disgust. ‘Ya should’ve hosed him?’ Thompson shrugged apologetically. ‘Damn, I can smell him from here,’ Cyril said. ‘You understand, we had to make sure,’ Purple Bob said, turning back to whatever was occupying him on the desktop. ‘Your fucking people tortured me, so no, I don’t understand’ Mike said, shifting uncomfortably as the memories flooded back. Thompson made a move, but Cyril held up his hand, stopping him. ‘Desperate times require desperate measures,’ Purple Bob rumbled, before leaning forward and snorting loudly. His body slumped in the chair, his shaved head back, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. ‘Man, you sure found the best damn coke I’ve ever known,’ he said, holding his hands out as if praising God. ‘You’ve got a shit way of showing appreciation,’ Mike said, ‘why am I here? I want to go home and see my family.’ Purple Bob stood and faced him, hands on hips, his bulging stomach and hanging genitalia making him look like some grotesque cave drawing or child’s horror picture. Mike looked away. ‘All in good time,’ Purple Bob smiled but it looked more like a leer as he hooked a purple silk dressing gown off the back of the chair and wrapped it around him. ‘Cause I require your services again.’ Mike looked back at the big man and resolutely focused on his face. ‘If you mean flying, I don’t think the King Air will be taking to the skies again…sadly.’ Purple Bob nodded. ‘You really fucked her up, didn’t you? Some might say you owe this island… a recompense.’ Mike clenched his fists but said nothing. ‘Maybe, like you finding another plane to fly.' Purple Bob walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, his legs splayed, the dressing gown hanging open exposing himself again. Mike was beyond tired. His hatred of the men standing with him in the room was not enough to give him the energy he needed to think clearly. He swayed and without asking, staggered to a nearby chair and sat carefully. ‘Y’want something to eat? Drink?’ Purple Bob said. Cyril threw up his hands in exasperation. ‘Get on wit da plan, father.’ Purple Bob studied Mike. ‘You understand I think, uwah position on this island?’ ‘I just want to get back to my family. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. It wasn’t my fault what happened.’ ‘Dat’s the only reason uwah still here,’ Cyril growled. ‘An why uwah woman still breathin.’ Purple Bob held up his hand. ‘Son, we agreed. I was doin’ the talking.’ Cyril threw his towel onto the floor. ‘I’m goin’ to get sumthing to eat,’ he strode towards the door, ‘come wit me,’ he looked at Thompson and then he hesitated, ‘he’s nah got the balls to do anything stoopid,’ he laughed harshly, ‘and the door’s locked, so nothing gonna happen like it did wit his woman,’ he laughed again, slamming the door behind them. Mike tried to concentrate. ‘Was Leah here?’ Purple Bob almost looked apologetic. ‘Ahuh, she paid me a visit. Wanted to know you were okay.’ ‘Here! In this room!’ Mike said aghast. ‘She’s fine,’ Purple Bob said. ‘I want to go home,’ Mike said, getting unsteadily to his feet. Purple Bob motioned for him to sit back down while getting up and pouring a glass of water from a carafe on the bedside table. He handed it to Mike. ‘Uwah position Mike, here on the island,’ he stood looking down at him, ‘it’s fragile, and that of your family…Cyril’s angry with uwah woman…he’s…he’s getting difficult to control.’ Mike finished the glass. ‘Is my family in danger?’ Purple Bob went back to his chair at the desk. No, no, no ,no, Mike…’ he smiled, ‘provided you are,’ he searched for the right word, ‘compliant,’ his smile broadened, ‘then I can personally guarantee their safety,’ Purple Bob finished in his best Sandhurst accent. Mike could feel the water filtering through his body, returning some lucidity. ‘So, unless I do what you say, they are in danger?’ ‘Precisely. That’s why I’m sending you on Island Defender to find another aircraft. We need to keep our security intact. It’s vital business Mike.’ Mike put his head in his hands. ‘I’m not leaving this island again,’ he looked up feeling tearful. ‘I’m not having you bastards interrogate me again.’ Purple Bob’s face clouded over but then regained its smile. ‘I guarantee dat will never happen again.’ ‘It didn’t have to happen then! I’m not leaving this island.’ Purple Bob’s face suddenly became serious. ‘You fucked up my plane Mike, uwah duty is to find me another.’ Desperation returned with full force. ‘What about Mr. Pete? Why can’t he go?’ Mike said. ‘He does not have the same skills as you and anyway, I decide what’s happening on this island and who does what,’ Purple Bob said. There was no humour in his expression now. ‘I need…I need to go home and tell my family I’m OK,’ Mike pleaded. Purple Bob turned back to the table and poured cocaine from a bag. ‘No time Mike, Island Defender’s waiting for you right now. We need a plane for our defence, this is urgent business.’ ‘No. I need to see my family.’ Purple Bob swivelled round in his chair. ‘Now!’ he suddenly boomed, ‘Or you’ll be buried out there,’ he pointed out of the window, ‘along with your family!’ Mike crossed his arms, willing himself to remain calm. ‘You need a pilot, I’m the only one good enough. All I’m asking, is to see my family before I go, it’ll take a few hours.’ Purple Bob jabbed a finger at him. ‘My first choice is you, but Mr Pete will do,’ he said darkly. ‘Please, I just need to let them know I’m OK.’ ‘Don’t push me,’ Purple Bob snorted loudly. ‘I’ll get a message to your family you’re on a vital mission for the security of the island.’ Mike felt hopeless. ‘I have to see them,’ he said. Purple Bob waved him towards the door. ‘You will. When you fly back. Now go.’ Mike slid off the chair and kneeled on the floor. ‘Please, just let me see them. What if I can’t find a plane?’ ‘Then you won’t be coming back,’ and Mike shuddered from the sudden malevolence on Purple Bob’s face. Mike listened to him snort up two fat lines. ‘Will you guarantee Leah and Ben’s safety until I return,’ he said, using the chair to pull himself to standing. Purple Bob turned to face him, a trace of white powder on his upper lip. ‘When you return with a plane, you will be allowed to leave this island with your family.’ His charm had returned along with his smile. Mike had a sudden thought. Samuel was captain of Island Defender. He would know how Leah and Ben were. He was an ally and more importantly a friend. A glimmer of hope. At the door he turned, emboldened he said, ‘when I return, if anything has happened to them I will bury you in that stuff,’ he left before Purple Bob could reply. Thompson was waiting outside the door. A naked woman climbed the stairs towards them, her breasts bouncing as she used the handrail to pull herself upwards. She looked half asleep. When she reached their level she stood uncertainly. She glanced at Purple Bob’s door and her shoulders sagged as she let out a deep sigh. Thompson chuckled beside him. She was a slim girl and didn’t look capable of handling what he had seen swinging between Purple Bob’s legs. A look of defiance hardened her dazed expression and she took a step forward, forcing herself to the door. She pushed it open with her shoulder, the muscles in her buttocks tensing from the effort, and disappeared inside. If he hadn’t flown to the Crooked Island, hadn’t found the stash of cocaine then none of this would be happening. Was it all his fault? Mike asked himself. Mike was relieved that Thompson no longer prodded or shoved him along, he was not sure he could have taken it. Without asking, he climbed into the passenger seat of the Land Rover, feeling the heat from the sun burn through the thin cotton of his shorts. The air was still and heavy, a few puffs of white cloud but otherwise a beautiful day in paradise. Two armed guards lounged on plastic chairs under palm trees, red hibiscus and tropical flowers festooned a well-kept border, full of buzzing insects and the occasional hummingbird. Across the cut grass, a cat was stalking. Mike felt the suspension give as Thompson got in beside him but he didn’t look away from the cat. The engine started with a clatter and Thompson gunned the engine, racing away from the front of the hotel, the tyres squealing over the polished paving slabs, the old Land Rover roared up and over the headland that separated Kissimmee from the main town of Plymouth. Braking sharply, something rolled from under his seat and nudged his foot. Mike bent forward and retrieved the red dinosaur. He held it to his nose and breathed deeply, ignoring the looks from Thompson. Mike’s eyes misted over, and he clenched the soft toy fiercely in his fist. The exchange shop and designated restaurant were closed. A gang of workers toiled under the sun, weeding the gardens that separated the road and the promenade. Beyond, a man was rowing out into the bay. A man and woman on a bench, a plume of smoke escaped from the man’s mouth as he looked with alarm at the speeding Land Rover. The harbour wall came into view supporting figures with fishing rods. They raced under an open barrier and skidded to a halt alongside Island Defender. Crewmen were already standing by to cast off. Mike got out without looking at Thompson. As he approached his heart sank as Cyril Roberts stepped from the bridge. ‘Where’s Samuel?’ he said, shading his eyes from the glare. Cyril Roberts had the same smile as his father, slow and menacing. ‘Not on this trip.’ Mike didn’t make a move to go on board. ‘But he’s the captain.’ Cyril shrugged. ‘Not on this trip.’ Mike spotted a familiar ginger haired face coming from the rear deck. ‘What’s happened to Samuel, Moses?’ They had drunk beer together with Samuel and the rest of the crew. Mike wasn’t sure he trusted him. ‘Told me they hadn’t gah time to fetch him, so I’m captain fah this trip.’ Mike walked awkwardly up the gangway, glad that it seemed Thompson was staying behind, and onto Island Defender’s deck, still clutching the dinosaur. ‘That’s not right is it?’ Mike said, fist bumping Moses’ and ignoring his puzzled look at the dinosaur and the state of his clothes. Moses avoided eye contact. ‘They say he charge up, but I never seen Sam drink too much, ain’t right anymore Mike, best say nuttin an keep heads down and do as we’re told. Be cool and juss stay away from him. I ‘fraid if Sam was here things would’ve been bad, you know his feelings for him.’ ‘Get going Moses,’ Cyril shouted. ‘Yes boss,’ Moses said. Mike looked up at the bridge and Cyril pointed at him. ‘Up here.’ Mike rested a hand on Moses’ arm. ‘Is Samuel with my family?’ 'I guess Mike. He usually hangs out on da Belle.’ ‘You haven’t heard from him?’ ‘No way to.’ ‘Moses!’ Cyril snapped. Mike followed him along the deck and up to the bridge, stuffing the toy in the back of his shorts. Cyril was standing arms folded, pistol holstered around his waist and had changed to blue, camouflaged combat shorts, black t-shirt and cap with a faded insignia of indeterminant origin. ‘Get this boat going Moses,’ he said, while glaring at Mike. Mike felt the deck vibrate through the thin plastic of his flip flops and a cloud of black smoke drifted across the harbour. ‘Where’re we going?’ ‘Find you another plane,’ Cyril said. ‘None of the local islands will have anything big enough,’ Mike said. ‘Go get cleaned up, you smell like piss, stay outta the way till I call fah you.’ Cyril turned away to stand behind Moses now in the captain’s chair. Island Defender moved from the quay side and Mike felt as if something was being torn inside, a terrible foreboding, a sudden desperate urge to run and jump for the harbour wall. A cruel hand was tearing his life in two, as Island Defender gathered speed, the tear became wider, with jagged edges, him on one side, Leah, Ben on the other, their sanctuary, their home and two years of happiness ripped down the middle. He wished the old coastal defence boat would break down and he could go back to how it was, their isolation, but the vessel continued to gather speed, the harbour wall slipped by. Moses looked over his shoulder. ‘Spare uniforms down in da crew’s quarters. A shower too.’ Mike did not acknowledge him, feeling numb he left through a door at the back of the bridge and down two flights of stairs to the crew’s quarters. His life had come full circle. A quest to save people he loved by means that was out of his control.