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TEN MINUTES LATER he was back in the air and heading southeast toward Selayar Island. Another twenty minutes, and he was again dropping through the clouds. Below, the sea was a flat blue. He leveled off at two thousand
feet and followed the coastline until the southern tip of the island came into view. He put the Ikarus down a few hundred yards offshore and taxied toward the beach. Sitting on the side of a dirt road was a pair of Isuzu SUVs. As the Ikarus’s skids scraped the sand, the doors to the SUVs opened and out stepped Rivera, Remi, and the three men from Pulau Legundi.
Sam shut down the engine, climbed out onto the pontoon, and plodded ashore.
“Check him,” Rivera ordered. One of the men frisked Sam, then stepped back and shook his head. “Search the plane, too.”
Sam said, “I’d like to hug my wife.”
“Go ahead.”
Sam let Remi come forward, hoping Rivera would let her out of earshot. It wasn’t to be. “That’s far enough,” he called.
Sam and Remi embraced. He whispered, “Take the number three seat. Grab the sleeping bag and be ready.”
Despite the cryptic nature of the message, Remi simply replied, “Okay.”
They separated. Sam gave her a reassuring smile, then she stepped back to Rivera’s side. The man Rivera had sent to search the plane waded ashore. “There’s nothing aboard. No weapons. Just some sleeping bags, blankets, and camping gear.”
Sam said, “In case we have to stay overnight.”
“That’s a relic of a plane,” said Rivera. “Are you sure it will get us where we’re going?”
“Not even remotely,” Sam replied, “but it’s what you get for a twenty-four-hour deadline. We can cancel the trip if you’d like.”
“No, we’re going.”
“I can only carry three of you.”
“Fine. What’s our destination?”
“A bay on the eastern coast. As far as I can tell, it doesn’t even have a name. It’ll take us two and a half hours.”
“If anyone is waiting for us, I’ll shoot you both.”
“And die in the resulting crash,” Sam replied. “I have to admit that has a certain appeal.”
“I can fly a plane as well as you can fly a helicopter. Let’s get moving.”
SAM SHOULD HAVE COMPENSATED for the Ikarus’s edge. It was closer to three hours before the coastline appeared through the windshield. Sam put the plane through an abbreviated checklist and began his descent. He banked gently to the north and pointed the nose at the mouth of the crescent-shaped bay. In the rear seat beside Remi—who, as instructed, had taken the seat behind Sam’s—Rivera leaned forward for a better view.
“It’s a small bay,” he remarked.
“A quarter-mile wide at the mouth and three-quarters of a mile at its widest. Six islands.”
“And you’re sure Chicomoztoc is one of them?”
“I never said I was sure. It’s my best guess based on everything we know. You seem to be forgetting that we managed to do in a few weeks what you couldn’t accomplish in almost a decade.”
“Belated congratulations,” said Rivera. “How did you find it?”
“Long story, but in a minute you’ll see what put the frosting on the cake. The question is, will you recognize it?”
As Sam dropped the Ikarus through a thousand feet, they passed between the headlands and into the bay.
“Where is it?” Rivera asked.
“Patience.”