Patricia Cornwell - Isle of Dogs

Setting sail again, they were struck by a second storm that blew their mast and sail overboard and almost sank them as they frantically bailed out the barge. For two days, they waited out the tempestuous weather and searched for water to drink on an uninhabitable spot that Smith named Limbo Island. Finally, they repaired their sails with the shirts off their own backs and headed home to Jamestown.

Most scholars seem to believe that Tangier is one of the Russell Isles. But I asked myself after studying several old maps and a modern flight chart: Is it possible that

Tangier might really be Limbo, and might this explain the Islanders' tendency not to mean what they say or say what they mean? I don't think historians can completely rule out the possibility any more than I can offer much of a case for it. But if you look on a Washington sectional flight chart, you will see that Tangier and Limbo Islands are only a few minutes' helicopter flight apart.

To investigate this further, I decided to fly a helicopter to Jamestown and from there record the exact coordinates were Smith to sail from Jamestown to Tangier and then return to Jamestown and sail to Limbo. Note the geographic coordinates, which I shall supply here for Jamestown, Tangier, and Limbo as they were displayed on my GPS when I hovered over each island. After you study the chart, I will explain the significance:

Clearly, Tangier and Limbo are not at all far from each other. So the hypothetical case I make is if you, the reader, imagine Smith and his men in the open barge with terrible rains, thunder, lightning, and zero visibility, how could Smith be so certain that when he thought he sought refuge on what he named Tangier Island that he really wasn't on Limbo Island instead? I know with reasonable certainty that had I been flying in such conditions after a nip or two of Wild Turkey, perhaps I could have ended up on Limbo as easily as anywhere else.

Whether Tangier is really Limbo will never be known. I doubt if John Smith were here today that even he could tell us. But I have no doubt that if Smith visited Tangier in modern times, he would feel as if he were in Limbo, even if he weren't.

If Tangier is really Limbo, then I personally wish the name had stuck. I believe Limbo Island could have developed a strong and specialized market in attracting tourists who are neither here nor there and would like to go somewhere in the middle of nowhere and do nothing about anything for a while. I also don't think the governor of Virginia would have bothered ordering speed traps painted on the streets of a place named Limbo, nor would the people of Limbo have cared one way or other.

Be careful out there!

Andy could measure Hammer's impatience by the rhythm of her fingers drumming her desk. This moment, she was tapping out a loud staccato on her ink blotter as Andy briefed her on Tangier Island and how the uprising was connected to the Tangiermen's past, because he had no reason to know at this moment that his comments about dental malpractice had riled up the Islanders just as much as the speed trap had.

"Most of those people probably don't even know their past and have never heard of John Smith," Hammer countered from behind her desk, which afforded a fine view of the circular drive in front of headquarters and flags fluttering from tall poles.

"I wouldn't underestimate them, and I'm just trying to give you a little background," Andy replied, sweating beneath his uniform and dreading what Hammer was going to say about his latest Trooper Truth essay. "My point is, the Islanders are programmed to think people are picaroons out to steal their island from them and everything on it-very much the way the Native

Americans felt when the English sailed to Jamestown and started building their fort."

"Picaroons?" Hammer frowned.

"What the Islanders call pirates."

"Oh, God," she groaned.

Windy Brees suddenly wafted into Hammer's office with an excited look on her made-up face and a UPS package clutched in her bright red-painted fingernails.

"Holy heavens to Betsy!" Windy exclaimed. "You'll never guess what happened!"

Hammer never liked it when her secretary made her guess. "Just tell me," Hammer said with an edge of impatience.

"We've got more trouble than you can poke a snake at!" Windy breathlessly said. "Some dentist who works on those Tangierians is missing! He went to the island yesterday as usual, and his wife told the Reedville police that he never came back on the ferry, and when the clinic was called, some strange-talking boy said the dentist was being held hostage until the governor makes the island an independent state. Or something like that."

"Yes, I am already aware of what's happened. Apparently, the Islanders are holding him hostage in the medical clinic," Hammer said.

"The clinic?" Andy said as a very bad feeling crept over him.

"So the dentist told me when they let him make a phone call," Hammer explained. "But I don't know his name. He said he couldn't give it to me."

"Sherman Fox," Windy filled her in. "It's a weird spelling." She glanced at her notepad. "F-A-U-X."

"It's Faux," Andy corrected her.

"It's fo'? Fo' what?" Windy puzzled.

"Never mind," Hammer abruptly said. "Andy, did you happen to see this dentist when you were painting the speed trap yesterday?"

"No," he replied, neglecting to mention that when he had returned to the island later, wearing a disguise, he hadn't seen the dentist, either, but had probably been within twenty feet of him because one of the places Andy had visited was the medical clinic.

He needed to tell Hammer about his secret mission, but he thought it wise to wait until she was in a better mood.

"A large group of watermen were marching down Janders Road," he added, "and I'm not surprised because the Islanders have a long history of resentment and isolation. And as much as I admire Thomas Jefferson, he didn't help matters by ordering all the Tangier boats snatched and supplies cut off during the American Revolution. Here he is saying this to his own people and treating Tangier like an enemy country, as if the island wasn't part of the very Commonwealth he governed…"

"Well, I'm afraid Mister Jefferson isn't available to help us out!" Hammer curtly cut him off as she rose from her chair.

"Maybe that's best, based on how he handled the island last time," observed Andy, who had barely escaped on the awaiting Bell 407 helicopter when the watermen chased him down Janders Road, across several footbridges and through countless wetlands, and finally onto the tiny airstrip, where Trooper Macovich was waiting in the helicopter and, thank God, had already started the engine.

"We've got to go back," Andy told a frantic Macovich as he took off, skipped the hover, and sped away.

"You out of your damn crazy-ass mind?" Macovich's voice sounded loudly in Andy's headset as a rock pinged off a skid. "We ain't going back! Those nutcakes are throwing things at us! Let's just hope they don't hit a rotor blade!"

They didn't, because the 407 was very powerful and soon enough was well out of range.

"Well, the thing is, I didn't finish," Andy tried to explain as he watched the angry mob shrink to the size of ants.

"Man, you didn't finish painting the speed trap? Shit. That's just too bad," Macovich said." 'Cause I ain't going back there unless it's to buy crabs for the guv. If you ain't buying something, you'd better not go back, either, unless you want to end up crab bait."