David Dun - Overfall

They returned to the table.

“I know you’re gonna hate this but we have a job for you,” Sam said.

“You do?” She appeared almost girlish in her enthusiasm. “What?” Now slightly more cautious.

“You could help with the scam if you want to. Aussie here has it worked out.”

Aussie nodded, at a rare loss for words.

“You know I’ll do it,” Anna said.

“Right,” Aussie said. “Now the locals have told me all about the resort. The island chief is big time on our payroll. He doesn’t know what we are going to do. He doesn’t want to know. But of course I had to swear that we wouldn’t hurt anybody.” Aussie looked at Anna. “Everything in Fiji is ultimately up to the chiefs.”

She nodded her understanding.

“Fortunately the chiefs like American dollars, so we white folk are pretty well received. The locals think a famous writer with a huge satellite dish just moved into this resort with a staff and armed guards. The rumor is that he wrote about certain terrorists and had to go into hiding. Locals do the cooking and maintain the grounds; word is they like the bloke but think he’s crazy.”

“That would be Jason,” Anna said.

“We’ll have to execute this flawlessly. There are two Dobermans on the grounds and at least five guards.”

“What do you mean at least?” Sam interjected.

“Recently there’s been more activity. The chief wasn’t sure, just seemed like more people, he said. But the guards aren’t visibly armed. I’m assuming they’ve got guns aplenty but they’re keeping them hidden so as not to disturb the locals. That’s a big advantage for us. Locals think they’re French.”

“So maybe Chellis for some reason had one contingent of his organization snatch Jason from another. Doesn’t quite make sense.” Sam pulled a map from a slim leather briefcase and went over the plan in detail. They had a scale drawing of the resort. After he was finished he had Anna repeat the plan.

“Now when I’m here at the gate, supposedly fallen drunk on my ass, you are holding me up and wanting to use a phone to call our resort,” Aussie said. “Sam lets you in.”

“Do I make noise before you let me in?” Anna asked.

“No,” Sam said.

“Okay, then I come just a few feet inside and carry on with Aussie here,” Anna said.

“That’s right, and when you hear the first pop, or see people running, or any kind of commotion starts, you and Aussie put on night vision, run down the road, and around to the beach just like we discussed. You better not be in that yard longer than two minutes, max.”

“And you’re sure they won’t just shoot us.”

“You in a bikini top? Not a chance.”

“We could start making out. You could maybe flash them a little,” Aussie chimed in.

She eyed Sam. “Did you put him up to this?”

Sam chuckled. “Two people gonna screw on the lawn. It would be distracting. And after all, this is a distraction.”

“You’re smoking something besides tobacco.”

Sam took her arm. “I think we’re ready to go. No flashing.”

Aussie smiled at Anna. “Peace?” he said with a cheeky grin.

She winked at him and left with Sam for their room. Sam knew something about the suggestion had bothered her. Or perhaps something about the way he handled it. And he thought that odd, because she was certainly not a prude.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t immediately come to your rescue.”

“You think I can’t take care of myself?”

Sam smiled and shook his head.

“Well, being chivalrous with one’s friends isn’t all that out of vogue.”

“Aussie was joking.”

“No, he wasn’t.”

“I got it. You want me to be possessive.”

That’s not so strange, is it?”

“You’re interested in me because you can’t have me.”

Silence.

“You don’t know what you feel or what to call it,” he said.

They brushed their teeth side by side.

“I haaaa newer hearrr”-she spat-“anything so ridiculous. I want what stirs my soul. And you, Sam or Robert or whatever, stir my soul.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Say something.”

“Look, you’re right. I know what you meant about possessive.”

“Now you’re patronizing me.”

“I’m trying to agree with you so we can get a little sleep.”

He adjourned to the bedroom to go over his notes. She put on light linen pajamas and emerged from the bathroom. Sam turned out the lights and they retired to their respective beds.

Sam lay in the dark, thinking, wondering if she had gone immediately to sleep.

“You could get in bed with me if you didn’t make a big deal about it.”

“Is that realistic?”

“That’s up to you.”

Sam thought for a while. “It’s always scary before a job. Especially if you’ve never done it before.” He rose and went over to her bed. He climbed in behind her and hugged her back.

She put her hand over his.

“Thanks,” she said.

Minutes later Sam heard the deep breaths begin. He crept back to the roll-away and managed to fall asleep.

They came down the beach at 1:30 A.M., running the fiberglass-bottomed inflatable at eight knots. It was nineteen feet, eleven inches long, and was powered by a pair of 250-horsepower Mercury outboards. In order to accommodate the horsepower, the transom had been beefed up and ballast added to the center of the boat. It had been a rich man’s plaything and at full throttle moved along at fifty-five to sixty miles an hour. Sam, T.J., and all eight men were on board.

They cruised slowly just outside a shallow coral reef, using a depth sounder and GPS to remain at least three hundred feet from the beach. Without night-vision goggles the massive broad-leafed trees lining the shore were shadowy billows in the dark. They were called vutu. like supplicants to the sun, they grew out over the water, then bowed up as they reached for the sky.

They were in Somosomo Strait, the place of the sharks. According to Aussie, each chief of Taveuni had to swim out into the strait in full ceremonial regalia, and if the sharks spared him it was a signal from the gods that he should be installed as chief. Apparently there were plenty of sharks in the strait, but as Aussie told it, he had speared fish there without incident, making him think the chiefs’ odds were pretty good.

The air hung heavy with moisture and was deathly still. Tropical heat lay across their shoulders like wool; the only sound was their boat churning a sudsy wake. As they drew near the landing site, Sam had them slow to a few knots until the sea stopped tracing their passage.

At four hundred yards from the compound they turned in to make a landing. As they approached the shore, all of the men shifted to the back of the boat, raising the bow high. The beach was a mix of rock, dead coral pieces, and silt, but they managed to put the V of the boat’s prow on a spot of the sand. Jumping ashore, they broke into two groups; the first group, with T.J. in the lead, moved off quickly down the beach and spread out.

The group led by Sam secured the boat. The boat’s pilot, the only one remaining aboard, backed the boat into deeper water with a pole and dropped an anchor off the stern.

The men wore camouflage from head to toe and camo paint on their skin, plus a helmet with night-vision goggles. Each carried an M4 carbine with attached grenade launcher and a Beretta M9 pistol. The M4s were fitted with massive sound suppressors; the grenades were only stun grenades, and all the rounds were rubber. Everyone had microphones and earpieces wired into their helmets, adjusted so that they worked well with whispers.

Sam’s group moved onto a trail just above the beach that followed the contours of the steep hillside. The compound sat on a high bluff perhaps 150 feet above the water on a natural bench. There were eight burres plus a two-story house and the main lodge facility. A well-maintained asphalted path ran up from the beach on the right side of the compound, snaked up the hill in switchbacks, and exited beside a large pool.