Free Ocean Burning by Henry Carver Page B

onto my shoulder and stuffed it down between the hulls. The access panel slammed shut—too loud, damn it—and I spun the wheel until it clicked. Only a few more seconds remained before it would all be over.
    “Senor Conway?” Carlos ducked to avoid bumped his head, walked into the galley area, and saw me.
    I waved a hand in greeting. “Hey, Carlos. How was the island?” I asked, sitting at the chart table and studying a map.
    “Muy bonita,” he said, and walked to the door of his stateroom. He reached out, grabbed the knob, twisted. It didn’t budge. After all, it was locked.
    By the time he turned around again I was gone, already up the stairs and headed for the bow, stripping off my shirt and pants as I went until I was wearing only my boxers.
    Rigger had turned onto his right side, leaving the pocket completely inaccessible. I could hear footsteps on the stairs—Carlos coming to find the very key hidden in my palm.
    No time.
    I placed it gently under the chair, in a spot I thought it might naturally land if it had fallen out of a pocket. Standing up, I stretched my arms out towards the sky, then saluted at Carlos as he came into view. I smiled, trying to look natural.
    Rigger stirred in his sleep, his eyes starting to open.
    I rolled off the bow and struck out towards shore, pulling my way through the azure water, never looking back.

Chapter 9
    THE BEACH GLINTED at me as I waded in the last few feet and walked up onto the sand. Carmen looked stunning in a green one-piece, but I had eyes only for Ben Hawking. He grinned playfully as I trudged towards them, reached up an arm and waved me closer.
    I’d failed to give credit where credit was due. The man had a way about him, a sense of naivety mixed with basic dignity, and all of it wrapped up in that goofy grin. He’d fooled me, played me for a mark, and I begrudged him a new found respect.
    He deserved it. In truth, I was quaking in my boots. Alone on a sparsely inhabited island with a bank robber and his two cronies: I wasn’t quite sure how to play this one, and I couldn’t decide what he might do next.
    Poor Carmen, I thought.
    She couldn’t have known she was getting into bed with a shark. She rolled over lazily and kissed Ben on the lips. He kissed her back, even gave a little bit of the tongue, then looked at me and winked.
    I had to get Carmen alone, I realized. She needed to be warned, and maybe—just maybe—the two of us together could figure a way out of this mess.
    I approached them carefully. “Say, Ben, have you seen what’s beyond the palms?”
    “Nope. I haven’t moved since I laid down.”
    “Come on, let’s do a little exploring.”
    “I suppose,” he said, and pushed up lazily from the sand.
    I backed off from him, then turned on my heel and headed into the trees. The ground back here appeared to be loose island soil, sun-dappled and speckled with fallen coconuts. Ben shook one, checking to see if it was ripe.
    “Any luck?” I asked.
    “I can hear something sloshing around in there.”
    “Getting it out can be tricky, you know. Look around,” I spread my arms out and turned around, “coconut milk for the taking. But it might as well be locked in little individual cages. Actually getting the stuff out takes a lot of practice.” I studied his face.
    “I suppose you’re right,” he said, and grinned that stupid grin at me again. It struck me again how effective his deception was, even under pressure. A very cool customer.
    I pushed farther into the palms, working along until the soil turned rocky and we came upon small cliff. I started to the side and Ben followed. A hundred yards later we came to a pool fed by a modest waterfall.
    “Fantastic!” Ben shouted, and waded in. He swam up to the falls, climbed up a large flat rock, and slid back down. He did it again and again.
    I crouched down and watched him; I wondered about the money, about how he planned to move it. Part one of some plan seemed to have been fulfilled. The