Phil Williams - 2050 - Psycho Island

Rob and Billy left their gear just outside, but they took their rifles into the room. On the walls were pictures of black speedboats and a black submarine.

A few minutes later, a very unassuming man stepped through the open doorway, a laptop under his arm. He spoke with a very faint accent. “Mr. and Mrs. Roth. Welcome. I’m Cesar. We spoke on the phone.”

Everyone stood from their seats.

Jacob stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “I’m Jacob Roth.”

“Mr. Roth. Pleased to meet you in person.” Cesar turned to Rebecca. “And this must be Mrs. Roth.”

“Please, call me Rebecca.”

Cesar took her hand gently. “Pleased to meet you, Rebecca.”

He wasn’t the drug kingpin that Jacob had expected. Cesar was average height, thin, with a boyish face, and a light olive complexion. He looked more like an accountant or a software engineer. He wore business-casual attire—a button-down shirt and slacks.

After Cesar released Rebecca from his grasp, Jacob introduced Billy and Rob.

After the introductions, Cesar said, “You must be tired from your journey. If you desire, I can show you to your rooms.”

“I’d like to get started,” Rebecca said.

Cesar smiled. “As you wish.”

They sat around the table.

Cesar opened his laptop. “As I said on the phone, the first step is to locate Derek. We have stealth drones capable of facial recognition. We will search until we find him.”

“When can you launch the drones?” Rebecca asked.

“In a few hours, at sunrise,” Cesar replied. “There is a hurricane coming. We’ll do what we can before the hurricane. Then we’ll start again immediately afterward.”

“I’d like to talk with Cesar alone,” Jacob said.

Rob and Billy stood from their seats and exited the room.

Rebecca didn’t budge. “Whatever you have to say to him, you can say in front of me.”

Jacob glared at his wife. “If you expect me to finance this mission, you’ll do as I say.”

Rebecca left without a word, slamming the door behind her.

Jacob placed his locked metal suitcase on the table. He placed his palm to the reader, and the lock released. Jacob opened the small suitcase to reveal eighty shiny gold coins, worth approximately 400,000 Fed Coins. He pushed it across the table to Cesar. “As we agreed.”

Cesar picked up a Canadian Maple Leaf coin, then placed it back in the suitcase. “Very good, Mr. Roth.” He shut the suitcase.

“This has to be believable,” Jacob said.

“I understand.”

“When will you have the footage?”

“As you know, we already have footage of violence and death on this primitive island. It is not difficult to place someone’s likeness on one of the dead. I could have that complete in a few hours, but I do not think your wife would believe that we found him dead, just like that.” Cesar snapped his fingers. “She’ll want to see the drone launch, and she’ll want to see the footage in progress. We have to make it look good, no?”

Jacob leaned back in his chair. “Of course.”

“Mrs. Roth can watch the footage and see our progress in real time. In a few days, she’ll see video footage of Derek Reeves, dying on a primitive tropical island.”

“Under no circumstances can she find out.”

Cesar leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands steepled. “I understand very well, Mr. Roth. We are very good at what we do.”

Jacob narrowed his eyes at Cesar. “What exactly are you good at? Lying to families and taking their money?”

Cesar stared at Jacob, more interested than angry. “We give them closure or hope, depending on what they want. In your case, we provide something more valuable.”

Jacob crossed his arms over his chest. “And what’s that?”

“A wife who forgets her ex-husband.”

Jacob scowled at Cesar but didn’t speak.

“I do my research, Mr. Roth.” Cesar smiled politely. “You will receive what you desire.”

Summer had not wanted to go on the mission with Derek, but they needed someone lightweight. She’d given birth sixteen days ago, but she was likely already at her prepregnancy weight of 115, if not below. Her stomach still protruded slightly. Her uterus hadn’t returned to its prebaby size, but the food scarcity and the physical activity had dropped her baby weight faster than any workout or diet craze.

Eliza and Summer were by far the lightest of the scavengers, but Eliza was in no shape to scavenge, not to mention, they’d be scavenging the very same location where she’d been gang-raped just two days earlier. In addition, they needed at least four people to carry the loot, and only four had volunteered: Summer, Gavin, Javier, and Derek.

Just before sunrise, they paddled up the river, against the current. The main river forked. Derek and Gavin steered left. Summer and Javier followed in their canoe. The river narrowed, the jungle covering both banks. Caiman eyes, shining in the moonlight, pointed in their direction.

The scavengers rarely talked, careful not to draw any unwanted attention. They paddled against the current for another half mile, now deep into Aryan territory. They beached both canoes on the riverbank, got out, and hid the boats in the brush. A nearby caiman hissed and splashed into the water. Glowing eyes moved closer, gliding through the water.

Gavin grabbed the plastic bin, which used to be a container for recyclables. They’d made holes on each side for the rope to pass through. The rope was already tied and sitting inside the bin. Each of them wore empty backpacks, except for the duffel bag inside each. Other than Gavin’s pocketknife, nobody had a weapon. This was a stealth mission, and they needed their hands free. They wouldn’t be able to shoot their way out if they were caught anyway.

Derek led them from the riverbank through an old park. Aryans slept in makeshift houses: tents, lean-tos, and small hovels made from reused cinder blocks. They entered what remained of a working-class neighborhood. The homes were reduced to piles of rubble. They moved through the neighborhood, zigzagging past rotting wood with protruding nails, terra-cotta, shards of glass, and cinder blocks. More Aryans slept here in their makeshift houses.

The foursome crept into what was left of an upscale neighborhood. The plots were larger here, the materials more durable. The concrete and stucco homes were in shambles, the roofs blown away by hurricanes from a decade ago, but some first-floor walls still stood.

Derek held up his fist, stopping the group. He crouched, the group shielded by a crumbling wall. They peeked over the rubble, looking at two homes, next-door neighbors that stood nearly intact. The mansions were surrounded by fifteen-foot high walls, only visible through the steel gates.

Two rifle-carrying Aryan guards patrolled both gates, the embers of their marijuana cigarettes glowing red in the darkness. The scavengers watched their routine, the guards rarely looking out, more concerned with their weed. When the guards from both houses were unaware, Derek led them into the narrow alley between the mansions. Summer couldn’t help glaring at Derek, but he was standoffish, keeping his distance, rarely looking in her direction.

Derek stopped midway down the alley and whispered, “This is it. The house that looks like a bunker is Wade’s.”

Summer looked up at the imposing wall, then to Gavin, and whispered, “Can you climb this?”

During their planning for the mission, Gavin stated he could scale most urban walls under twenty feet using parkour.

Gavin murmured, “It’s easy. I’ll show you.” He handed his backpack to Javier, then touched both walls with his palms. He reached out with one foot and stepped up the wall a few feet, his arms and foot supporting his weight. He placed his other foot on the wall to further support his weight. His arms were straight out to the sides and his feet looked like the lower half of an X . Then he moved up the walls, moving one limb at a time to shimmy to the top.