79 The Crucifixion of Cruz (1/2)

Gabriel Cruz kept his binoculars glued to his eye sockets until the silhouettes of Susanto and his companion completely disappeared from view. When he lowered the glasses, he was shocked to see how far they already were from the island. He turned round to face the front of the boat, and felt a fresh rush of fear.

There was nothing but water, water, water stretching all around him, as far as he could see. Water that was alive: it moved constantly, rising and falling, making sounds. It was as if the boat was riding the back of a gigantic beast whose body consisted of water. It was docile right now: its hiss was the soothing sound made by a mother calming a child. But Cruz remembered its roar during the terrifying storm right after New Year's Day.

He'd listened to it aboard a luxury yacht that had been built to handle cyclones and typhoons, and he'd been scared shitless. Now he was sitting in an open boat that lurched and bounced even on the tiny waves caused by the wind. Well, he could console himself with the thought that he wouldn't drown if the boat ran into a storm. He would have a heart attack after the first few thunderbolts.

He needed a distraction from those thoughts. He turned to Felipe. Felipe, first mate of the Golden Dawn and its de facto captain, was also the captain here. Cruz felt inferior to Felipe, even though Felipe throughout his entire life wouldn't make half the money Cruz made in a single day.

”How far do you think we have come?” he asked. Felipe frowned and threw a glance over his shoulder at Henderson Island. He ordered fresh men to the oars before looking back at Cruz and saying:

”You mean our distance from the island? Five, maybe six miles.”

Cruz was horrified. According to his map, Henderson Island was much bigger than Pitcairn. Yet it was already no more than a smudge on the horizon to his naked eye. He raised his binoculars again, and it reassuringly popped into view. But already he couldn't see the trees, couldn't even see where the cliffs began.

He knew Felipe had meant sea miles. A sea mile was nearly two kilometers, 1.85 if he remembered right. They were roughly ten kilometers away from Henderson Island, and it was already starting to disappear from sight. It would be invisible at night, he was sure. And since Pitcairn was at best half the size of Henderson Island...

If they didn't reach Pitcairn before nightfall, they were as good as lost.

”Do you think we'll get close enough to Pitcairn to see it before it gets dark?” he asked Felipe. Felipe pursed his lips; his eyes darkened. He pretended to be deep in thought because he'd heard the fear in Cruz's voice, and wanted to prolong that delicious moment: the all-powerful billionaire was hanging on his lips! Eventually he said:

”We should, if everything goes well and we don't drift too much.”

”Drift? Why should we drift? Those guys are rowing like crazy!”

”I estimate we're drifting east about half a mile an hour,” said Felipe. ”I am going to adjust our course for that later in the afternoon.”

”Why not now?”

”I'll be able to do it more precisely later.”

Cruz wanted to press the point, but didn't know how to do it effectively. He expected he'd hear some navigational mumbo-jumbo that would tell him nothing, and fail to provide him with a valid counter-argument. He needed to assert himself, somehow: he felt he'd lose face if he didn't. So he said:

”What do you think about us, you and me, taking a turn at the oars? Those men aren't fresh any more.”

”You want to row the boat?” said Felipe, and grinned although he really tried his best not to do that. He was afraid it would make Cruz angry, and he was right.

”No, I don't want to row the boat,” snarled Cruz. ”I don't even want to be in that fucking boat. I wish I was somewhere else. But if those guys run out of steam just as we're getting close to Pitcairn and it's getting dark, we're sunk.”

”We have three shifts. An hour's rest for each half an hour at the oars. It really isn't necessary,” Felipe said placatingly.

”I want to do it, goddamit!”

”All right. If you insist. It's my shift next. I'll let Francis off halfway through, and you can take his place. Is that all right?”

”You think I can't handle an oar for half an hour?”

Felipe's eyes turned opaque. Looking over Cruz's shoulder, he said:

”I don't think anything, sir. I haven't seen you row a boat. I don't even know if you've ever done it before.”