Read Online The Island by Peter Benchley - Free Book Online Page B

Justin, “Drink up. We’ll see if we can catch a plane to New York.”
    Justin slurped the last of his Coke and slid off the seat.
    The man said, “I didn’t say you couldn’t go.”
    “Yes, you did.”
    “Nope. I said you couldn’t book passage.”
    Maynard took a deep breath. “I see. So how do we . . .”
    “I have to take you down for free.”
    “Oh . . . well, that’s very nice of you.”
    “ ’Course, there’s nothing to stop you from contributing to the cost of the fuel.”
    “Sure. What’s a . . . fair contribution?”
    “Fifty bucks a head. Cash. In advance.”
    “You got it. What time?”
    “Seven o’clock. Won’t wait for you.”
    “What gate?”
    “Gate? Shit.” The man tipped his head toward the runways. “Out there, on the apron.”
    “What’s the equipment?”
    The man looked at Maynard, and lowered his voice to a mocking basso. “Well, Captain, I tell you: The equipment is whatever freakin’ bird feels like starting in the morning.”
    The only civil thing Maynard could think of to say was “Okay.” He took Justin’s hand and led him away from the bar.
    The girl at the Courtesy Desk reserved a room for them at the airport hotel and directed them to the Courtesy Bus that would take them there.
    In the little van, Maynard said to Justin, “Anything you want to do tonight?”
    “I don’t care. Watch TV?”
    “Hey, buddy, we’re in Miami. You should have a look at it.”
    “Okay. We going somewhere tomorrow?”
    “Maybe. I have to make a couple of calls.”
    “I have school on Monday.”
    “Monday may be a holiday. You never can tell.”
    “What holiday?”
    “Let’s wait and see.”
    According to the overseas operator, there was only one phone line into the Turks and Caicos Islands. Usually, it was either busy or out of order. Most messages were received by radio and transmitted, at leisure, via the island grapevine. Furthermore, she argued, there was no point in trying to call the government on a Saturday night.
    Maynard pleaded with her to try any number. He had to get a message through to the government. He wasn’t sure the islands had a government, but the argument seemed to work. The operator said she’d call back.
    They watched the evening news—no mention of the New Jersey boats—and, at Justin’s insistence, “The Brady Bunch.” Maynard was about to call the overseas operator again, when the phone rang.
    “I’ve got the Caicos for you,” the operator said. Behind her voice, Maynard heard a loud hum and a flurry of crackles.
    “Who am I talking to?”
    “I don’t know. I kept trying numbers till one answered.” There was a click, and the operator was gone.
    “Hello? Hello?” The hum on the line pulsed, swelling and fading, swelling and fading. “Hello?”
    “Same to you, then.” It was a woman’s voice, faint and far away.
    “Who am I talking to?”
    “Who you ringin’?”
    Maynard spoke slowly, trying to enunciate every word clearly. “My name is Blair Maynard. I am from Today magazine. I am trying to contact someone in the government.”
    “Birds,” said the woman.
    “I’m sorry.” Maynard didn’t know how, but evidently he had offended the woman.
    “Birds!” the woman repeated.
    “What’s birds?”
    “He’s Birds. He the commissioner ’round here. Birds Makepeace.”
    “Do you know where he is?”
    “Not here. He got no truck with Evvy.”
    “Can you get a message to him for me?”
    “What you want with Birds?”
    “I would like to see him tomorrow. Can you tell him that?”
    “I reckon he be around, ’less he fishin’.”
    “Where are you?”
    “Where am I?” The woman was puzzled. “I’m here. Where’re you?”
    “No. I mean, are you in Grand Turk?”
    “Grand Turk? What I be doin’ in Grand Turk?”
    Maynard tried to recall the other large islands in the Caicos group. “Great Bone? Are you on Great Bone Cay?”
    “I hope so,” she giggled. “Last time I looked.”
    “And where is he? Where is