“It’s going to happen,” the boy said.
“Okay, then.”
“Let’s get out of this miserable place.”
The bushes up ahead rustled. There was no time for Willa and Charlene to leave the way they’d entered; they’d be seen. Instead, Charlene gave Willa a look that said, Follow me! and led her off to the side, deep within the dark mangrove.
They got a look at the two girls in profile, but the heavy shadows prevented a good solid view at their facial features.
The boy was a different story. He followed the two girls and stopped right where Charlene and Willa had stopped.
“One of you wearing perfume?” he called ahead, the girls absorbed by the undergrowth.
“We’re Cast Members, idiot! What do you think?”
Willa could smell the lilac on Charlene from two feet away. She could have killed her for it. She shot her friend a look that said, Are you kidding me?
The boy walked into some dappled sunlight. He was easily six feet tall. College age. Lifeguard-handsome with a tinge of boy next door. Square shoulders. Hair cut too short to guess its color.
He looked around like a hound sniffing the air. Looked right at Willa and Charlene, but did not see them—they hoped.
He continued on. “Wait up.”
But the Asian girls didn’t answer. They’d left him well behind.
* * *
People rarely questioned Maybeck. Even adults. Either he was invisible or people feared him—he wasn’t sure which. He didn’t always think of himself as African American; he was “me” in his head. But how other people saw him was different. Sometimes it didn’t work out all that well, and sometimes, like this, it worked out just fine. Because as he passed a sign reading CAST MEMBERS ONLY PLEASE and walked down a rutted sand road, no one tried to stop him from entering the staff area. No one spoke to him at all. He wore the cape of independence. No one was going to say boo to him.
More important, no one was going to stop him from doing what had to be done. His job was reconnaissance. He was a Keeper spy, sent to penetrate the enemy camp. Mission accomplished, he thought. At least phase one. He’d made it inside.
Now he had to start up a conversation—never a real sticking point for him.
The area was littered with all sorts of equipment, including a miniature tractor, bicycles, a dozen Pargos, tanks of propane gas, stacks of wooden poles, barbecue cookers, and fish netting. There was a galvanized metal Quonset hut, a white concrete building with only one window, clearly built to withstand hurricane-force winds. This unmarked building was the staff headquarters. Maybeck followed the sound of an air conditioner and knew this was where he’d find the action. He arrived at a small multipurpose room, off of which were a pair of offices. In the corner, a guy in his mid-twenties was reading a book while nursing a cup of coffee. Maybeck nodded hello. Judging by the guy’s reaction, his island Cast Member costume worked—his khaki shorts and white polo were his passport to open access.
He reviewed the material posted on two bulletin boards, ignoring the printed pamphlets and focusing on the handwritten material.
Remember to shut off all propane valves every night!
Fresh water is a luxury! Conservation first!
Personal hygiene is the best ambassador—remember to shower!
Remember: there’s a waiting list
to work on Castaway.
Earn your place here.
But it was another note that caught his eye:
To whoever is messing with
the marine radio: stop it!
It must be left set to receive
distress signals.
By resetting the frequency
you are endangering lives!
Maybeck reread this several times and wished Philby had already retrieved his phone so that he could take a photo of it so he wouldn’t have to memorize it. Philby would know more about marine radios, but Maybeck recognized a possible Overtaker clue when he saw one: something out of the ordinary being done in secrecy. In this case, the use of a radio suggested off-island contact, possibly with a ship or even shore. And by using a radio, there would be no phone bill to trace, no evidence of such contact if anyone came looking. It reeked of the Overtakers.
“You’re new,” the guy in the corner said. It wasn’t a question.
Maybeck worried he’d lingered too long at the bulletin boards. Worse, he realized that the island staff was so small they all knew each other.
“Training,” Maybeck said. “I don’t get to stay. I’m on loan from the Dream because so many of our guests signed up for the island.”
“Never heard of that,” the guy said. “I mean, the ship Cast Members always help out. But wearing our costume…”
“You wear what Laundry gives you. Am I right?” Maybeck said, his delivery cocky. One thing Maybeck never lacked was attitude. Times like this it came in handy.