He nudged it flush with a rubber mallet and a couple of strikes of his heel.
“We won’t be long.” David Jefferson cradled a submachine gun in his arms.
“Aren’t you taking an awful risk?” Gibson pointed to the H&K in Jefferson’s arms. “Pacifists don’t carry weapons.”
“So we’ve become eco-terrorists. It’s not a stretch.”
“David. It’s not…”
“This is my operation.”
“I know. But, I’ve been with you a long time. I know how much this means to you. Don’t lose sight of the big picture. You can’t be seen…”
“Everybody in!”
Four men enshrouded in black clambered down the ship’s boarding steps and piled into the launch. Each took an assigned position in the bow and on the gunwales. One fired up the engine as David stepped inside.
“Just make sure and run the pump,” said Gibson. “Island security has put so many holes in the hull that I can’t even guarantee I found them all. And remember what I said.”
“Let’s go.” David Jefferson cast off the mooring line as the engine of the dark craft screamed to life. And as the sun touched the sea they moved off into the islands of ImagiNation.
TWELVE
Water arced from the rear of the boat as the Sea-Doo Islandia skimmed across the water. The vessel’s shallow draft made the jet-boat the perfect inter-island transport. The archipelago’s islands had been plotted and reclaimed in a pattern that reduced the wave activity within the chain, and allowed the smaller craft a smoother ride on the channels.
Steve watched the islands fly by as Katherine piloted the craft. The topography of each personal paradise differed according to the taste of the owner. However, every one was extravagantly landscaped to the last twig and berry. No single island was more than a year old and yet each looked as if the plants had taken root and sprouted years ago.
“We’re almost there.” Katherine had given no hint of where they were headed. Nor had she let up on the throttle since they had stepped in the boat.
“Where?” Steve had to shout to be heard.
“The edge of ImagiNation.” She pointed ahead.
Steve laughed and she joined him.
“No, really.” She watched the water ahead of the boat.
Steve looked over the bow of the small watercraft and saw the channel widen before them into the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
Katherine killed the engine and they drifted onto the beach of the southern channel island. It wasn’t finished. The earth here was dark and thick, unlike the fine white sand that he had seen on every other island they had passed.
“Welcome to your island.” She grabbed his hand and led him out of the boat. She ushered him onto the beach. He did not resist. Instead, he focused on the touch of her hand.
It was like in the old songs, before swearing and other dirty lyrics were allowed – a spark from the simple contact of this other person’s hand delighted him.
She pulled him along to the western-most point of the island.
“Here’s one of the best features,” she was almost whispering. “It’s the perfect island to watch the sunset.”
“Why is that?” Steve shifted his feet in the claylike soil.
“No bugs yet, for one. Two,” she pointed out to sea.
Steve looked back toward the western sky. Oranges and purples layered the horizon and the sun melted into the sea. All was quiet. The lapping of the waves disappeared. The rocking of the boat against the sand was distant to him. He stepped closer to the girl, and put his arm around her waist.
They watched as nature seduced them both and let themselves be taken in by the turn of another day.
“I try to come out here every night. It takes away the pressure and aggravation of the day. As if my troubles set with it. With all the unreasonable requests, endless paperwork, and dirty limericks I deal with, I like to come out here where I know I’m alone.”
Steve turned to her. Her dark eyes smoldered as the breeze blew her hair across her
“We won’t be long.” David Jefferson cradled a submachine gun in his arms.
“Aren’t you taking an awful risk?” Gibson pointed to the H&K in Jefferson’s arms. “Pacifists don’t carry weapons.”
“So we’ve become eco-terrorists. It’s not a stretch.”
“David. It’s not…”
“This is my operation.”
“I know. But, I’ve been with you a long time. I know how much this means to you. Don’t lose sight of the big picture. You can’t be seen…”
“Everybody in!”
Four men enshrouded in black clambered down the ship’s boarding steps and piled into the launch. Each took an assigned position in the bow and on the gunwales. One fired up the engine as David stepped inside.
“Just make sure and run the pump,” said Gibson. “Island security has put so many holes in the hull that I can’t even guarantee I found them all. And remember what I said.”
“Let’s go.” David Jefferson cast off the mooring line as the engine of the dark craft screamed to life. And as the sun touched the sea they moved off into the islands of ImagiNation.
TWELVE
Water arced from the rear of the boat as the Sea-Doo Islandia skimmed across the water. The vessel’s shallow draft made the jet-boat the perfect inter-island transport. The archipelago’s islands had been plotted and reclaimed in a pattern that reduced the wave activity within the chain, and allowed the smaller craft a smoother ride on the channels.
Steve watched the islands fly by as Katherine piloted the craft. The topography of each personal paradise differed according to the taste of the owner. However, every one was extravagantly landscaped to the last twig and berry. No single island was more than a year old and yet each looked as if the plants had taken root and sprouted years ago.
“We’re almost there.” Katherine had given no hint of where they were headed. Nor had she let up on the throttle since they had stepped in the boat.
“Where?” Steve had to shout to be heard.
“The edge of ImagiNation.” She pointed ahead.
Steve laughed and she joined him.
“No, really.” She watched the water ahead of the boat.
Steve looked over the bow of the small watercraft and saw the channel widen before them into the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico.
Katherine killed the engine and they drifted onto the beach of the southern channel island. It wasn’t finished. The earth here was dark and thick, unlike the fine white sand that he had seen on every other island they had passed.
“Welcome to your island.” She grabbed his hand and led him out of the boat. She ushered him onto the beach. He did not resist. Instead, he focused on the touch of her hand.
It was like in the old songs, before swearing and other dirty lyrics were allowed – a spark from the simple contact of this other person’s hand delighted him.
She pulled him along to the western-most point of the island.
“Here’s one of the best features,” she was almost whispering. “It’s the perfect island to watch the sunset.”
“Why is that?” Steve shifted his feet in the claylike soil.
“No bugs yet, for one. Two,” she pointed out to sea.
Steve looked back toward the western sky. Oranges and purples layered the horizon and the sun melted into the sea. All was quiet. The lapping of the waves disappeared. The rocking of the boat against the sand was distant to him. He stepped closer to the girl, and put his arm around her waist.
They watched as nature seduced them both and let themselves be taken in by the turn of another day.
“I try to come out here every night. It takes away the pressure and aggravation of the day. As if my troubles set with it. With all the unreasonable requests, endless paperwork, and dirty limericks I deal with, I like to come out here where I know I’m alone.”
Steve turned to her. Her dark eyes smoldered as the breeze blew her hair across her
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