Free Thief by Greg Curtis

suspected, were ex-fraudsters, hiding under assumed names like him and hoarding their ill-gotten gains. Others were smugglers, bankrupt businessmen, and washed out hippies.  Some were no doubt running from old charges, others were defectors from various despotic regimes across the world, and some perhaps were even retired spies. Yet that worked for him. Before the authorities came for him, they’d have their hands full with the others.
     
    Fully ninety percent of the thirty thousand or so locals were Micronesians, while the rest were a bizarre mix of English, German and Japanese. Thankfully, nearly everyone spoke English, for which he was eternally grateful, although a lot of Marshallese words had wormed their way in to daily conversation. But they just helped to give the islands their own unique charm.
     
    Primitive, backwards, agricultural and different to anywhere else in the world, the islands possessed a beauty all their own.
     
    Idyllic weather, beautiful beaches, glorious sunsets and peaceful living, the islands had it all. If he avoided town and the tourists he could go weeks without ever seeing another human being or even knowing that they existed, and he liked that. Then, just to add to the wonder of the place, life was cheap there. Many of his neighbours lived in comparative luxury with their previous lives elsewhere. But the island’s greatest asset was the peaceful lifestyle. Life was slow here, backwards even. While TV other than satellite didn’t exist and even electricity was something people had to generate for themselves, at least the crime rate was almost non-existent. A fact attested to by the island having only two cops, both part time.
     
    Since living here Mikel had enjoyed a feeling of peace he’d never really known anywhere else. The island, his home had become a retreat, a place far away from the chaos and pain of the rest of the world. A place where no one could find him, and a place he could retire to when the need arose. Yet now he found he was no longer able to hide from the world in this, his private sanctuary. Somehow, it had found him, even here.
     
    Then again he realized as he saw her waiting for him, Sherial wasn’t really part of the world. Whatever else she might be, she had nothing of violence, deceit and pain about her. She had nothing earthly about her at all.
     
    He sighed and joined her at the table.
     
    Lunch proved to be the most amazing meal of his life, though perhaps not the most calorifically filling as he was forced to fall back on a chopped green salad. Though at least, he later reflected, mayonnaise; quite probably without the egg – it looked slightly thinner than normal, was a permitted food along with dairy products. Salad without it and plenty of cheese would have been unpalatable.
     
    They ate in the garden courtyard, a Spanish brick paved area filled with brick columns and surrounded by raised miniature gardens. Overhead, the naked cedar beams provided a strong contrast to the bright blue sky, while hanging plants softened their lines. He was particularly proud of this part of the house. It was one of the first things he had built since moving in, and it served the double purpose of covering his main workshop as well as providing outdoor enjoyment. All of it stood on a twelve inch slap of steel reinforced concrete, and there wasn’t a single thing to suggest anything other than solid earth lay underneath.
     
    Behind them the house stood in all its simple splendour. It was an old farmhouse he’d slowly converted to his needs. Knocking out walls, and extending it back towards the hills and building in endless French doors, it had become a single man’s cottage. Only slightly over two thousand square feet in size it boasted a modest total of six rooms including the bathroom and laundry. Open planning allowed for the lounge, dining and kitchen areas to merge into a seamless whole, while fully half the house was taken up by the single bedroom and large