Savages

by Shirley Conran

  Arthur looked at his watch. Seven twenty. Oh, God, they’d be back soon. He had been told that the boat party had been delayed and were returning overland. When they reappeared, it would be his job to break the news of Brett’s death to Suzy.

  The beach barbecue had been abruptly canceled. The tables laden with food had been carried back from the beach. The huge bonfire was gradually dying down. As it was the end of the season, there were hardly any guests: only the Nexus group, two Japanese businessmen, a middle-aged Englishwoman who never spoke to anyone and her angular, stooping, sandy-moustached husband, who spent most of his time in the bar.

  Arthur finished his whiskey. As well as breaking the news to Brett’s wife, he would also have to tell Brett’s mother. Maybe it would be better if he got his mother to do that. He’d telephone her in the morning, then leave the decision to her. Women knew best about that sort of thing.

  Arthur hoped that by tomorrow the telephone would be back in service. As soon as they’d returned to Paradise Bay, Arthur had tried to phone the Sydney office but the local line was down. They’d been on Paui four days, and during that time the line had been out of action twice! Still, Arthur had done what he’d come to do. Ed had been wrong, the President hadn’t procrastinated that morning; he’d briskly said, “Let us not go beating about this bush, Mr. Graham. Let us conduct our business in the Western way, quick as you like, with speed.”

  Speed!, Arthur had thought, recalling the months of fruitless negotiations. The President had carefully alluded to cobalt, then briskly suggested the percentage of shares to be held by the Paui development company, the flat fee payable annually, the percentage of profits and the amount on the check to be made out in his name and paid to Credit Suisse in Zurich before the Heads of Agreement could be signed. Surprisingly, these amounts were only slightly more than Arthur’s planned first offer.

  Without a word, Arthur had produced the check, already made out and drawn on a Nexus holding company in Switzerland. He had merely to fill in the amount.

  “A pleasure to do your business,” the President had said, inclining his head.

  Arthur had returned, well satisfied, to the Nexus minibus, which had then bumped through Queenstown toward the mine….

  In the flickering light of torches on the beach, Arthur turned to Charley and said, “Think you could get me another scotch? I don’t know where the hell the waiters are this evening.”

  Usually a three-piece calypso band played on the dance floor, but tonight there was no music. The darkened swimming pool was similarly deserted. The flaming torches mocked the conspicuous lack of gaiety.

  Charley came back from the bar. “I couldn’t find a waiter,” he said, “but the girl at the reception desk said she’d bring us drinks.”

  Charley sat down. Nobody spoke. Accidents are not rare in the mining business, but the fact that they’d been in a jovial holiday mood that morning, and that Brett’s pretty little wife would shortly appear, cheerful and smiling, left the small group depressed.

  Looking like an exotic stewardess in her maroon hotel uniform, Louise laid a tray of glasses and bottles before the little group. “I thought I’d better bring the bottle, sir, as the barman is temporarily absent.”

  “Everybody seems temporarily absent.” Gloomily, Charley poured the drinks.

  Arthur lifted his head and frowned at the sea. “What’s that noise?”

  “Outboard motor. They’re back at last!” Ed said with relief.

  “Odd that there aren’t any lights,” Arthur said.

  “I can hear more than one engine,” Charley said.

  “Let’s go meet them.” Arthur stood up. Everybody else stood up.

  Eyes peering into the black night, the Nexus party walked slowly down the beach toward the water.

  In the darkness before them, darker shapes appeared.

  “Something’s wrong!” Ed cried. “Three boats. No lights. Get back to the hotel!” He grabbed Isabel by the arm and turned to run up the beach.

  Ed nearly collided with Louise, who had run barefoot behind them, holding her shoes in her hand. “I can’t find anyone.” She sounded frightened. “Everyone’s disappeared. There are soldiers getting out of trucks in front of the hotel. What’s happening?”

  Three outboards cut out, and three black, inflatable assault craft glided toward the beach. Black men wearing helmets and black combat clothes waded ashore, carrying assault rifles. Quickly, they fanned over the beach.

  “Terrorists! Get off the beach!” Ed yelled, grabbing Louise. Dragging the two stumbling women, he ran back toward the hotel, then stopped abruptly.

  “Oh, my God!” Isabel cried.

  A line of similarly dressed soldiers had emerged from the hotel. With rifles at the ready, they slowly advanced.

  * * *

  Patty lifted her head sharply. “What’s that noise?”

  “Probably fireworks,” said the skipper. “Louise has them for the beach barbecue. Hey! Look, ladies! The boundary fence!”

  The bedraggled little group cheered up and limped faster toward the wire fence hung with electric lamps that surrounded the hotel grounds.

  Suzy said, “I’ve gotta do something about my face before we go any further.” She hobbled to the nearest light and fumbled in her purse for a comb.

  Carey had never seen Suzy look such a mess. Wearily she said, “My face can wait. But I sure do need a cigarette,” and fumbled in her white beachbag.

  Annie halfheartedly searched her green raffia tote bag for her makeup kit, but she knew she was beyond repair. She needed total immersion in a warm tub with a bottle of shampoo before she would feel halfway human.

  Silvana said impatiently, “Let’s not hang around. The men must be worrying.”

  Suzy gave a little yelp as she peered into her hand mirror and saw her scratched, filthy, mascara-streaked face. “Can’t we sneak in without being seen? I can’t possibly let anyone see me like this.”

  “Okay,” the skipper said, relieved that in a few minutes this spoiled bunch of Sheilas would be off his hands. “I’ll take you to your huts by the back path, the one the staff uses.”

  “Let’s hurry.” Patty zipped her navy canvas shoulder bag, which told the world that she loved San Francisco.

  The small, exhausted group stumbled along the wire fence until they reached the gate.

  “Hey, there should be a guard on this gate,” the skipper said. “I’d better report it.” A missing guard was a serious matter. Should thieves get into the grounds, within minutes the entire contents of a hut could be missing.

  “I can see the beach torches!” Suzy said, cheering up, as they walked over the clipped grass of the hotel grounds.

  The skipper halted. “Something odd seems to be happening. Keep quiet and listen.” He had heard the cocking of a weapon.

  In the distance they heard a sharp command, followed by two shots.

  Someone screamed, then there was silence, then more screaming. They heard another shot, then silence.

  The skipper turned and whispered, “Don’t any of you move. I’m going ahead to see what’s happened.” He moved forward in a crouch.

  Anxiously, the women watched his white shirt recede among the dark trees.

  Suzy looked around nervously. “I’m not going to stay here alone,” she whispered. “I’m going after him.”

  Everyone nodded in agreement.

  Using the numerous shrubs as cover, the women scuttled behind the skipper as he crept toward the beach in the semi-darkness.

  Carey caught up with the skipper as he took cover in the shadow of an oleander bush, beyond range of the beach torches. The vanilla smell of oleander filled Carey’s nostrils.

  The skipper whispered, “You shouldn’t have followed. Go back.”

  Carey did not hear him. She could not believe what she saw. There must have been about eighty silent soldiers on that beach, all wearing black combat fatigues, all clutching rifles. In front of the patio bar stood Arthur, Duke, Ed, Charl
ey and Roddy, with their hands behind their backs. Ed’s face was covered with blood. Isabel and the girl from the hotel recreation desk stood about six feet away, also with their hands behind their backs. The Japanese were being tied up by soldiers, while the English couple lay still upon the sand.

  Carey jumped as she felt a hand on her shoulder, but it was Patty. She groaned, “Charley, Charley …”

  “Shut up!” Carey hissed.

  The girl from the recreation desk yelled, “You can’t do this! These are American citizens and Japanese citizens! They are guests of the hotel. They have passports.”

  A soldier stepped forward and casually smashed the girl’s face with his rifle butt. She pitched to the sand and lay still.

  The skipper gasped. “That’s Louise, my wife. I’ve got to get her out.” He turned to Carey. “You’re in charge. Get these women back to the jungle double-quick, and no talking!” He thrust the flashlight into Carey’s hand and crouch-ran away to the right, into the dark circumference of the grim scene before him.

  Frozen with shock, Carey couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It had the unreal quality of a nightmare, she had that same sense of being eerily apart, that heart-thumping feeling of menace and dread. She couldn’t obey the skipper’s orders; she was incapable of movement. As if hypnotized, she watched Ed yell to an officer who held a machine gun, “What have you done with our wives?”

  The man grinned. “Nothing. Yet. But I want you to see what we will do.”

  Ed yelled, “Where are they?”

  Charley said, “Careful, Ed.”

  Several voices yelled at once, so Carey couldn’t hear what was said.

  One of the Japanese men called, “We are nothing to do with these Americans. Please release us.”

  The other Japanese called, “The women went on a boat this morning. I saw them.”

  The officer turned to him. “Where did the boat go, my friend?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Arthur called out, “We will pay whatever you want, we will give you helicopters, ships, gold—anything—if you release us.”

  The officer sauntered over and stood in front of Arthur. “You will ask for your life on your knees.”

  As Arthur clumsily maneuvered himself onto his knees, Carey could see that his hands were bound behind him. Then the officer calmly drew his pistol and shot Arthur in the groin. He screamed. The officer fired again, this time in the stomach. Arthur pitched forward head first onto the sand, kicked for a moment, and died.

  Behind Carey, Silvana gasped in incredulous disbelief. As if in a nightmare her entire body felt leaden and immovable.

  Carey heard Charley shout, “Do you realize that you’ve just shot an American citizen? You’ll never be able to hush this up!”

  The officer said, “Yes, we will, my friend. You will be taken out to sea, beyond the shark net. The CIA will not investigate down there.”

  “What do you want?” Charley cried desperately. “Whatever you want we’ll give it to you.”

  There was a cry, then a scuffle, as the two Japanese broke loose and dashed for the trees, leaving two terrorists howling with pain on the sand.

  A sharp order was followed by a staccato burst from a submachine gun. One of the Japanese fell and lay groaning, while the second man staggered on.

  There was another burst of fire. Very slowly, the Japanese dropped to his knees, slithered onto his face and lay whimpering.

  Ed was praying aloud as they shot Charley in the stomach. Then they shot Ed. Then Roddy. Then Duke. After that, they shot the skipper’s wife as she lay unconscious on the ground.

  They didn’t shoot Isabel. As Carey watched what they did to her, she vomited into the oleander bush. Patty started to shake uncontrollably. The two women clutched each other’s hand and tore back across the hotel grass, the way they had come. They were followed by Annie, who dragged Suzy. Silvana puffed along behind, tears coursing down her face in the darkness, her lip bitten through with the effort of keeping silent.

  Sobbing and gasping for breath, the women ran through the gate in the wire fence and hurled themselves back into the jungle.

  BOOK THREE

  PANIC

  7

  Patty, the fastest runner, was the first to reach the black comfort of the jungle, but after a few paces she had to stop, because she could see nothing in the dark. Where was that goddamn skipper? Behind Patty, Carey bumped into her. The two women clung to each other, wet with sweat and shaking with fear, as they waited for the others to catch up.

  In the dark, dense undergrowth, the five women felt less exposed and vulnerable. Suzy started to cry.

  “Shut up, Suzy!” Carey whispered. “We don’t dare make a noise. Let’s get as far away as possible.”

  They moved as fast as they could along the narrow track. Now they were heedless of shaking legs, ants in their shoes, creepers that lashed against their faces, thorns that tore at their arms and legs and clothes. The sharp tang of their own sweat mixed with the musty, fetid night smell of the jungle. Ankle deep in the mushy filth of the track, they stumbled after each other, tripping over tree roots and dead branches that cracked beneath their feet and scratched their legs.

  With one arm held in front of her face, Carey, in the lead with the light, was forcing a path through the undergrowth when she heard an urgent whisper.

  “Stop!” It was Annie. “Silvana isn’t behind me anymore.”

  “We can’t stop,” Patty hissed. “If Silvana can’t keep up, that’s her problem. If we stop, we’ll all be caught.”

  They stumbled on, then stopped abruptly. Carey had taken a wrong turn, and they were facing an impenetrable wall of twisting, black vegetation.

  The women shuffled back until they located the path, after which they moved along it with more caution.

  Suddenly Carey went rigid and switched off the flashlight. She could hear what sounded like a large animal panting in front of her. No big cats on the island, it had said in her little guidebook, no predatory creatures. But this hoarse panting sounded like …

  “Dio mio,” came a fearful sob from ahead.

  It was Silvana, who had not taken the wrong route, and was now ahead of them.

  Carey switched on the flashlight, cautiously played it over the path ahead and spotlit the dirt-streaked Valentino jumpsuit and grubby sneakers.

  Silvana sobbed, “Oh, thank God, I thought I’d lost you.”

  “If any of us gets left behind and found by those soldiers, they’ll know that the rest of us are ahead,” Carey said. “So we’ll have to stick together. Patty had better take the flashlight and lead, with Silvana behind her. I’ll go in the rear.”

  Unfortunately, Patty moved fast. It was relatively easy for her to do so, because she was holding the flashlight. Carey, bringing up the rear, could see nothing. With one hand, she clung to Annie’s shoulder. Ahead of them, Suzy continually stumbled and fell, tripping the women behind her. Each time they fell, they were immediately bitten by insects in the rotting vegetation of the path. When they scrambled to their feet for the fourth time, Patty and the light were nowhere to be seen.

  “That bitch! That selfish bitch!” Suzy cried. “She’s just left us without any light!”

  They stumbled on, blind. Annie was now in the lead, one arm protecting her eyes, the other groping ahead. A thorn spray tore at her cheek, and she stopped. “I can’t see a thing. Perhaps we’d better get off this track and simply hide.”

  There was a rustle ahead.

  Patty, with the flashlight, had returned for them. “For God’s sake, don’t fall behind again. Pull your shirttails out and let’s hang on to them. This is the last time I’m coming back.”

  “Give me back that flashlight,” Carey demanded.

  “No, you can damn well keep up.”

  “Patty, can’t we stop just a few minutes? I’ve got a terrible stitch in my side,” whimpered Suzy.

  “We … don’t … stop!” Patty whispered fiercely. “A stitch in you
r side is nothing compared to what they just did to Isabel. Just think of that and keep going.”

  After the first, frantic, headlong flight of panic had subsided, the women moved forward more easily, although Patty, in the lead, still fought imagined horrors. Her whole body had been scratched by thorns and branches, and every bit of bare flesh agonizingly bitten by insects. Patty was sure one had gotten into her vagina, she could feel it itching inside. Didn’t insects like moist, warm places? Hadn’t she heard some story about an insect that buried itself into somebody’s ear and burrowed right across her brain? It was an American female ambassador to some filthy part of Africa. How fast could insects travel up your vagina? Deep breathing, that was what she had better do, to stop this panic.

  To her right, Patty heard the sharp bark of a dog and realized that they must be near the native fishing village, where they’d heard the scream earlier.

  Better steer clear of that place, too. For the next few hundred yards, Patty slowed down, in order to move as silently as possible.

  Suzy’s cramp subsided. As she stumbled through the black, torturous brambles and leaves, hanging on to Annie’s shirt, it slowly dawned on Suzy that Brett had not been among the men who’d been shot on the beach.

  No, she definitely hadn’t seen Brett.

  If Brett had escaped from that bunch of black murderers, then he might still be alive. Perhaps there was hope. Perhaps Brett would be able to rescue them. Brett knew that the women had gone for a picnic along the coast, so he knew roughly where to look for them. As soon as he could get to a phone he’d call up the nearest American embassy, he’d tell them to send in the Marines.

  Patty stopped. Above the small circle of light, her voice whispered back to the women behind her. “Can you hear the sea? It sounds close. I think we’re nearly at the beach. I’m going to have a look. You guys stay here.”