The captain yelled at one of his crew and the man rushed to the dead monk. Lifting the body from the deck, he tossed the corpse into the water.
Hastily, Tristan helped Marissa climb over the railing. Bentley went in first. Marissa and Tristan jumped together. Tse Wah was the last to leap.
As soon as Marissa was able to stop her downward plunge in the surprisingly icy water, she stroked to the surface. Turning around, she looked up at the junk. It was already moving, heading north, away from the direction of the PRC patrol boat.
“Take your shoes off,” Tristan suggested.
“But don’t let go of them. Hold them in your hands. It’ll be much easier to swim.”
April 20, 19908:05 A.M.
Between the weight of her wet clothes and the shoes she held in her hands, Marissa found swimming an effort. Although she had been at it for some minutes, she hardly seemed to have moved closer to the shore. Bentley and Tse had swum ahead, but Tristan stayed alongside Marissa.
“Just stay calm, luv,” Tristan said.
“Maybe you should give me your shoes.”
Marissa gladly handed them over. Tristan had tied his laces together and had strung his shoes around his neck, Taking Marissa’s, he jammed them into his pockets. Without the shoes, Marissa’s swimming improved.
The shock of the shooting and the panicked jump into the water had totally occupied Marissa’s consciousness, but as she swam and thought about the fact that she was in the ocean, she began to think about Wendy’s death. In her mind’s eye she started to see the hungry gray monsters cruising silently beneath the surface. Knowing that there was a bleeding body in the water made the fear that much more poignant.
“Do you think there are sharks around here?” Marissa managed to ask between strokes. She was hoping for reassurance.
“Let’s worry about one problem at a time,” Tristan said.
“Of course there are sharks,” Bentley called back to them.
“Thanks, mate,” Tristan yelled ahead.
“That’s just what we wanted to hear!”
Marissa tried not to dwell on it. Yet with each stroke, she half expected to be yanked from below. If Tristan had not been next to her, she knew she would have panicked.
“Just keep your eyes on the land,” Tristan advised.
“We’ll be there soon enough.”
It took a long time, but gradually the trees seemed closer. Up ahead, Marissa saw that Bentley had stopped swimming. He was standing waist-deep in water. From there he walked to shore.
By the time Marissa and Tristan arrived at the same depth, Bentley and Tse were already wringing out their clothes.
“Welcome to the PRC,” Tristan said as he took Marissa’s hand for the last twenty feet.
The beach was sickle shaped, extending about three hundred yards between rocky promontories. Behind the beach were lush, semitropical trees bordering a swampy marsh. Seabirds and marsh birds were everywhere. Their din was constant.
Facing back to sea, Marissa gazed out over the emerald expanse dotted with tiny offshore islands. It was a peaceful, picture postcard view. Sea gulls lazily circled above. There wasn’t a trace of the junk, the cigarette boat, or the patrol boat.
The group relaxed on the beach, soaking up the warm sun after having been so chilled by the cold water. Tristan took their passports out of his money belt and opened them to the sun to dry. He did the same with his Hong Kong currency, weighing down the bills with seashells.
“I don’t believe the captain could kill the monk like that,” Marissa said with a shudder.
“He didn’t hesitate for a second.”
“Life is cheap in this part of the world,” Tristan said.
“I wonder if I’ll ever recover from all this,” she said.
“First Wendy’s death, then Robert’s, now this shooting. And all for nothing!”
7 Tristan reached out and gripped her hand.
“No one can ever say we didn’t try,” he said.
After the group had been resting for a half hour, they were disturbed by a distant droning noise that rapidly escalated. Having been sensitized by their recent ordeal, everyone looked at each other in puzzled consternation. The sound not only got louder, but it developed a peculiar concussive, pulsating quality.