Ark Angel

sharks.”

    After breakfast, Alex went back up to his room to fetch his trunks. The shutters had been drawn back and the windows were wide open. He had a spectacular view of the whole of Little Point. Looking out, Alex saw Drevin standing by his buggy, talking into some sort of phone. Alex thought for a moment, then went over to his case and drew out the iPod Smithers had given him. He put on the headphones, turned it on, then pointed the screen in Drevin’s direction. Almost at once, he heard Drevin’s voice. It was so clear, he could have been standing right next to him.
    “…for the final preparations. I am going over everything again today. I want all the programming to be double-checked.” A pause. “The boat is coming in tonight at eleven. Not at Little Point. The western tip of the island, behind the launch site. I’ll be waiting for it there…”
    There was a movement at the door. It was Paul. “What are you doing, Alex?” he asked. Alex took off the headphones. “Nothing.” Paul saw the iPod. “Are you taking that down to the beach?”
    “No. I’m just checking it’s working.” The two of them left together. For the rest of the morning they swam and snorkelled and went out with the kite. This time there was a little more wind and Paul taught Alex a few tricks—jumps and the handle pass. But Alex found it hard to concentrate. All he could think about was the conversation he’d overheard. A boat was arriving that night at eleven. Why? Drevin obviously didn’t want it to be seen. That was why he wasn’t using the jetty near the house. Could it be that he was planning to leave, and, if so, should Alex alert the CIA now? No. It was too soon. Better to get over to the other side of the island once darkness had fallen and see for himself. That was the reason he was here. It would mean slipping past the checkpoint, but of course, he couldn’t swim round.
    Alex remembered what the head of security had told him. There was razor wire concealed in the water.
    There had to be another way.
    Lunch was at one o’clock: delicious shrimp roti served with salad and rice. Then they rested for an hour, avoiding the worst heat of the sun. At half past three there was a knock on Alex’s door and a young black man appeared, wearing the grey overalls of the security staff.
    “Mr Rider?” he asked.

    Alex got to his feet. “I’m Alex.”
    “My name is Kolo. Mr Drevin said you needed a diving buddy.”
    “That’s right.”
    “You a certified diver?”
    “Yes.”
    “Then let’s go!”
    Paul wasn’t around. Alex followed Kolo outside and down to an equipment store underneath the house. It was a large room, a cross between a garage and a boathouse. Here there was spare equipment for the various boats, a few nets and, in a separate area, scuba tanks, BCDs, wetsuits, fins and everything else needed to go diving.
    “The water’s warm out there,” Kolo said as he hauled out a couple of tanks. “But the Mary Belle is deep, about twenty-two metres. So I’m going to give you a half-body wetsuit and I’ll check out some weights.”
    Half an hour later, Alex was dressed in a bright blue neoprene wetsuit that came down to his thighs and halfway down his arms. Kolo was dressed in black. Carrying his equipment, Alex staggered out onto the beach, where a boat with a Bajan skipper was waiting to take the two of them out to sea.
    “Good luck, Alex!”
    Alex turned to see Paul Drevin standing on the terrace above him, waving. He waved back, then climbed into the boat.
    The journey only took a few minutes. In that time, Alex went over his equipment, running through the usual checks. His mask fitted. The BCD was brand new. He turned on his air supply and checked his gauge. He had been given just under 3,000 psi. Alex made a quick calculation. The deeper he went, the more air he’d use. But he was a light breather. At twenty-two metres, the depth of the Mary Belle, he guessed he would have a bottom time of at least half an hour.
    He noticed Kolo watching him as he finished his preparations. Alex had been looking forward to visiting the wreck, but suddenly he felt uncomfortable. He had been diving many times with his uncle and once with friends, and each time it had been a happy, sociable affair. Now he was in a boat with a captain who hadn’t said a word and a buddy who had barely spoken either. Two hired hands taking the rich kid for a ride. For a moment, he understood the loneliness that Paul must have felt