by S. E. Hinton
Dr. McDevitt took a deep breath. He was witnessing what he'd only been told of before—Jamie's hysteria at sunset.
"There's nothing to be afraid of in the dark," he soothed.
"The hell there ain't!" Jamie was rapidly losing control. He looked around wildly, as if for an escape. "Bad stuff happens when it's dark. God, what's gonna happen now? Now what? God," he cried, "it's too late. It's dark. It's already dark."
Dr. McDevitt pushed a button on his intercom, called for an orderly and an injection. As rapidly as Jamie's hysteria was escalating, a pill would take too long.
"What bad stuff, Jamie?"
"You know. I can't stop it!" He paced, his eyes wild and empty. "I can't do nothin' about it! I'm too tired." His voice trailed off into a sob. "I'm too tired ..."
"Jamie," said the doctor, "you're going to need an injection now. I'm going to try not to be late with your medication again."
"Don't hurt me." Jamie gripped the back of his chair. "Please."
Lee advanced with the hypodermic; Jamie offered no resistance.
The orderly left, and Jamie slumped back into his chair.
His eyes gradually dulled as the tranquilizers took effect. His breathing returned to normal.
Something nagged at the doctor's memory. Yes, here it was in the police record—Jamie's deportation from three countries. Suspected of smuggling. Could any of this story be true? He shuffled through the papers, found a worn and well-stamped passport.
"Hey," Jamie said. "That's m-m-mine."
"Of course it is, Jamie. We're just keeping it for you. You can have it back."
"Okay," he muttered. "But don't lose it. I never lost a passport. Kell said I was the only person he knew who never lost a passport.... You know, Kell had a U.S. passport, but he wasn't a citizen ... he was Irish. But he had a couple. Knew where to get good fakes."
"So, Jamie, sometime will you tell me about your shark attack and the Burmese pirates?"
"Yeah. Wish Kell was here, though. He could tell a story. We had drinks on the house every time...." Jamie's voice trailed off drowsily.
Dr. McDevitt called for an orderly, and Jamie left docilely for his room. The doctor made a note. He must always schedule Jamie's sessions in the mornings. It would probably be a while before he was weaned from the strong evening sedation.
Once the young man had gone, the doctor couldn't help glancing at the darkened window. Interesting story, yet how much of what he said was true? The doctor suddenly looked away, wondering what the dark could contain that could terrify a man who had faced Burmese pirates. Who laughed at sharks.
Andaman Sea March 1964
"Well, Jamie, if you don't hurry and get that engine started, we'll cook."
"I'm working as fast as I can. It's hard to breathe down here. Anyway, you want it done right, don'tchya?"
Jamie came up from the engine room. He was dripping sweat. He was wearing only a pair of cotton drawstring pants, but they were soaked and clinging to him and he seriously considered taking them off, too. It was easily 100 degrees, and a bright sun reflecting off the clear water, the white sand of the beach and cove, added to the heat.
He could use a swim anyway. First, a cigarette.
Jamie sat down at the table under the boat's awning and tapped a cigarette out of the package that lay there.
"Whoever thought this tub was a pleasure boat didn't know what pleasure was," he remarked.
It was a nice little one-cabin cruiser, or had been once. Fifteen years and a lot of rough use had changed it considerably.
"Well now, Jamie, we can be buyin' our own yachts, now, can't we? This tub got us out of Rangoon, and it'll get us to Sri Lanka. That's all that's needed."
Kellen Quinn sat idly in the seat behind the wheel. Other than constantly adding up how much money they'd have waiting for them in Bangkok, there wasn't much else he could do at this point.
Jamie picked up a water jug and took a small, careful swallow. Neither he nor Kell mentioned the fact they were starting to watch the water supply.
"You can fix it, can't you, lad?"
"Yeah. Don't worry." He rubbed at the gold stubble on his chin. It showed up glittering against his tan. His normally dark blond hair was striped gold with sun and salt; his hazel eyes looked almost yellow in his tanned face.
Jamie Sommers was twenty-one years old and he was very, very rich, if he could get to some place where he could spend his money.
"It's a good thing I got those spare plugs." Jamie had insisted on a few parts, once he got a look at the boat that was supposed to get them to Sri Lanka. Parts were harder to find on the black market than rubies, but rubies weren't going to run a boat.
Buy a yacht. Now there was a good idea. Jamie put the dangerous escape from Rangoon out of his mind, letting it wander to how to spend his money.
He'd been thinking along the lines of week-long drunks and very pretty ladies—adding a yacht to that mix was a good idea.
He picked up the worn leather bag that lay on the table. Very carefully—Kell had fits about the pearls getting scratched, but there sure hadn't been time to do any fancy packaging—he slid the contents onto the table.
Pearls. Jade. Rubies.
After two years, it was apparent General NeWin's socialist government wasn't working; most people thought sooner or later it would collapse. Meanwhile, the black market in Burma was a trader's market, medicine, cooking pots, even soap more valuable than pretty stones—
A score waiting to happen for a thinking man like Kellen Quinn, an acting man like Jamie Sommers.
"This one's mine, right?" Jamie held up an 8-carat, teardrop ruby. He liked the rubies the best. Pearls and jade were pale next to rubies. Kell had taught him how to judge jewels—the clarity and color to this one was breathtaking. This one was a keeper. He wasn't going to "translate" it into cash. It made him feel good just to look at it. Yeah, he was keeping this one.
"I told you after you downed that armed guard, whichever one you want."
Kell watched Jamie hold the stone up to the sun. In truth, Kell was the more amenable to this because, as valuable as it was, the ruby was not the rarest of the gems. Several of the very old jade pieces were worth twice as much. And the artifacts—the poor kid showed no interest at all in the artifacts, and they were worth more than the rest together.
Let the kid have his ruby, Kell thought, standing up. He too was shirtless, burned dark by the sun, almost the same dark mahogany as his hair. His Irish blue eyes were startling in his face. Tall, lean, handsome, at first glance Kellen Quinn appeared much closer to forty than fifty. Just a touch of rusty gray in his hair, stubble, a few wry lines around his eyes, belied his youthful appearance.
Kell walked to the back of the boat and leaned over to dip his neckerchief in the sea, wring it slightly, and tie back around his neck.
He glanced out to sea and paused.
"Company," he said.
Jamie slipped the ruby into his pocket but pushed the remaining stones back in the bag.
They were anchored in a large cove of a small island— unmapped, uninhabited, stunningly beautiful, like most of the scattered Andamans. The islands weren't on any shipping routes; and since the political upheaval in Burma they were no place for tourists or anyone else who lived by laws. But they were a very convenient place to rendezvous, to trade cargoes. To hide while you repaired a boat...
As Jamie got a closer look at the small ship bearing down on them, he knew it was no pleasure cruiser.
A gunboat. His heart picked up pace.
"If it's military we're dead," Kell said. "Don't do anything foolish, lad."
Jamie glanced at him. He had considered swimming to shore—it wasn't close, but Jamie was a very good swimmer. He had been checked by the thought that Kell'd never make it. Kell had lived most of his life on the sea and couldn't have swum a horse pond. Besides that, as good as Jamie was, he'd be mowed down before he was halfway there. He knew about machine guns from the navy.
They could see who manned the ship now—not military, but certainly not civilians. Burmese, bare to the waist, loaded with ammo belts, carrying submachine guns and automatic rifles; most wore pistols, too.
Jamie thought briefly of their own pitiful arsenal—Kell's Luger, his own .38—he'd lost the M60 in that scuffle on the docks. Well, that didn't matter now, not against these guys. Anyway, neither he nor Kell was much at gunplay—both would rather use something else: Kell, words; Jamie, fists.
"Pirates," Kell said, and Jamie slipped the ruby out of his pocket and popped it into his mouth.
"You know, I thought I smelled a setup. Cahill was acting a wee bit peculiar."
"If so, we have a hope," Kell said. Jamie loved that about him: Kell always had a hope. "If they know what they're looking for and we make it easy for them to find it, they may leave us alive. After all, a third of the gross national product of Burma these days comes from smuggling; they don't want to scare off trade."
Jamie tried to picture himself and Kell as valuable economic factors ... then this abstract musing was crowded out by images of the different ways of dying Jamie had heard discussed....
He and Kell stood in plain sight on the back deck as the ship swung alongside of the little cruiser and a few of the machine-gunned thugs boarded.
Kell muttered, "If they think we're hiding something, they'll gut us to search our stomachs, without bothering to kill us first. So no tricks, lad.... Welcome, gentlemen." Kell raised his voice in greeting, as if they were long-expected guests.
Jamie had second thoughts about swallowing his ruby; it remained in his mouth like a tasteless mint. There was no way to get it out without calling attention to himself.
He looked at the long, fish-gutting knives that hung from some of the ammo belts. Sucking the ruby helped his dry mouth. The sun and the glare gave him a headache. The sweat seemed to roll down his body in waves.
The pirates barely glanced at Kell and Jamie as they began a thorough search of the boat. Shouting at each other in some foreign babble, keeping any stray items they thought worth the trouble, the pirates systematically tore through the boat.
The leader found the leather bag and was examining the contents, piece by piece. One of the others opened Kell's leather duffel to sort through the artifacts.
The leader walked up to where Jamie and Kell stood sweating in the sun. He held out his hand and growled out something that sounded like "More!"
"Oh, you've got it all, sir, yes, that's the whole kit and caboodle, we'd not be holding out on you, would we, Jamie?"
Kell gave the leader a big smile, and Jamie a friendly slap on the back.
Jamie lurched forward, and in an effort not to swallow, he spit instead. The ruby shot out of Jamie's mouth, across the hot deck, and plopped into the azure water.
And breathing, "Holy shit!" Jamie ran two strides across the boat and dived in after it.
He'd spent weeks pearl diving when they'd been in the French Polynesians, and the training paid off; in twenty-five feet of clear water, strangely devoid of the usual schools of bright fish, he swam down after the ruby. It was as bright as a drop of blood on the white sands. He fumbled for a minute, it jumped out of his fingers twice, then he swam to the top, the stone clenched tight in his fist. "Hey," he yelled, shaking back his hair from his eyes. "I got it!"
He grinned at the cheering. Maybe this would buy their lives...
"Jamie, look out!" Kell called.
Suddenly he got a feeling that the cheers were not for him.
The pirates were nudging each other, laughing, and pointing at something behind him, running and jostling for a better view, causing the small craft to list dangerously. Jamie looked behind him and saw the slick dark fin bearing down.
He turned and shot toward the boat. Almost immediately he was hit and tossed sideways. He came up swimming fast. In what seemed like a split second, another shove to the butt seemed to almost boost him into the boat, where Kell grabbed him under the arms and hoisted him onto the deck.
Jamie lay huddled, still clenching his fist, his eyes shut tight. He was choking out water, gasping in air.
"K-K-K-Kellen, is everything still on?"
For all he knew, he was missing a limb. He thought he could still feel his arm, his leg, but knew from other's stories that wasn't a reliable indication.
"Yes, Jamie, all your appendages are still attached, including the one you value most." Kell sounded like he was laughing.
Jamie uncurled and got shakily to his feet.
From the back of his right shoulder down to his elbow, the skin was rubbed off; and when the shark had brushed his right leg it'd taken Jamie's pants off, as well as the hide of his buttock and upper thigh.
Jamie stood naked and bleeding and breathing hard with pain. He felt like he'd been skinned and dipped in salt water. He became aware that the pirates were watching him. Speculation? Admiration? He walked up to the leader without a trace of a limp and only a suggestion of a swagger.
"You missed one." He grinned. He held out the ruby and dropped it into the scar-seamed hand.
The pirates burst into guffaws of rowdy laughter, and Jamie knew he'd cheated death twice that day.
"Well, at least they didn't take the whiskey." Kell lay on the deck, studying the stars. He was propped up on his sea bag to take a swig from the bottle.
Jamie lay on his left side, shifting to find a comfortable position, but it was useless. He wasn't going to be able to sit for a week—unless his wounds stopped oozing by tomorrow, he'd sail into Sri Lanka naked.
Jamie took a long pull at the bottle. The pain was as bad as a severe burn, and Kell charitably didn't object to his taking more than his share.
Kell laughed. "By God, Jamie, that was the fastest swimming I've ever seen from a man. We'll have to work up a show—the Jamie Sommers Swimming and Comedy Act. Should be easy from now on—I'm sure you've played your toughest audience."
Jamie chuckled. He could imagine how funny he'd looked, shooting through the water. Kell said he'd been yelling, too, though he didn't remember that.
"Wonder why that shark didn't bite me?"
"Must have been a lady shark. The ladies always like to give you a good rub before they bite, hey, Jamie?"
Jamie grinned but didn't pursue that line of conversation, the ladies being a source of friendly, and sometimes not so friendly, competition between them.
(Besides the occasional competition, their styles were very different. Kell would invest in a long courtship if he had the time; the game was as enjoyable to him as the score. Jamie liked to get right to business, and in Kell's opinion, was too fast to pull out his wallet... he was irritated by the fact that Jamie would spend money on what would be easily obtainable for free—
"A handsome young lad like yourself shouldn't have to pay a woman for sex."
"Ain't payin' 'em for sex. Payin' 'em to leave me alone, after."
Jamie was serious, but Kell roared, and often worked that conversation into a story, whether it fit or not.)
"No, Jamie, the shark didn't bite you for the same reason the pirates didn't gut you—your luck was with you today."
Jamie pondered that. In spite of everything, he knew it was true. They had no money, no cargo to trade, no jewels, damn little water, only this rust bucket between them and the schools of sharks, attracted by Jamie's blood, that swam in silent circles around the boat. Once in a while one would bump the boat, giving it a perversely gentle rocking motion.
And yet, his luck was with him. Kell was right about that.
"Well, Jamie, it's been a while since I first saw forty, and I'm getting too old for this line of work. I'm thinking of going to Monte Carlo, finding some rich widows who are susceptible to my charms. If all else fails, I know of one in America who'll be amiable to my persuasions. You coming along, lad?"
A while since Kell had seen forty ... Jamie had a hard time believing Kell was that old. Probably because he had more energy than anyone Jamie had ever known. The
talking alone Kell did would wear Jamie out.
"You're always welcome, you know—you're a scrapper, lad," Kell said. "A born scrapper. Grit. I like that in a man. I admired that about you the first day we met."
Jamie had taken on two guys in a Hawaiian bar, bested them both, mostly because they were drunk and by luck of the draw, he wasn't, and because he was small and very fast, and they were neither.
"Let me buy you a drink, young Jamie," Kell had offered, once the brawl was over.
Jamie took the drink gladly.
"So you're finished with the navy? And what plans do you have now? Well, it's always a good thing to have a plan—but I can see you're a man of action. I'm a man of thought. We could make a team, Jamie."
And then, "So you're familiar with the South China Sea? I have some prospects there. Oil, it'll be big there someday, Jamie. I know a man ..."
So Kell and Jamie shipped out together. Jamie loved Kell's way with words. He knew how to string them together, make them into weapons, music, dreams. On calm nights, in crew quarters, Kell's brogue would carry through the bunks. Stories, plans, bullshit so pleasant the sailors wished it the truth, forgave him the cons, scams, the cheats he tormented them with—Kell carried visions; they would have forgiven him much worse.
And Jamie, for the first time not lonely, would have forgiven him anything. But had much more sense than to trust him. They'd wandered together for a year, off and on, Kell busy with some business in Malaysia, Jamie working a cargo-liner run from Kota Kinabalu to Brunei, off Borneo, when Kell got wind of this fabulous deal, trading cargoes in Rangoon ... yes, Burma wasn't the safest of places right now, but it'd set them up for life, he said....
"Yeah," Jamie said now. He searched again for a comfortable position, but he bit back a groan at the pain. "I wouldn't mind a look at the French Riviera." He couldn't help it. "You got a plan after that?"
"We sell insurance in Baltimore."
Kell laughed when Jamie choked on his next gulp of whiskey.
"How much do you think those jewels were worth?" Jamie said, after a long silence. "Millions, lad. Millions."
