X-Isle (41 page)

Baz struggled to bring anything more than a squeak to his dry throat. “Er...”

Preacher John placed his hands flat on the locker and tilted his head backwards, gazing for a moment out of the porthole. “Then it’s time you learned.” He turned to face Baz. “Get down on your knees.”

“What?”

“Get down on your knees, boy, and pray to God. Here, beside me.” He pointed to the filthy planking in front of the locker.

Baz sank forward onto his knees, partly because Preacher John had commanded it, and partly because his legs felt so weak they could no longer hold him up.

“God is in this place, as He is everywhere, looking down upon us. Place yourself before Him, then, and pray.” Preacher John had bowed his head again. Baz rested his elbows on the lid of the locker and put his hands together, clasping them tightly in order to try and stop their shaking. He stared at the upright shotgun, the blue-black smoothness of the barrels, the perfectly machined patterns in the wood. And beyond the shotgun he saw a piece of rubber cabling, just visible where it looped beneath the far corner of the locker. It was the cabling that he and Ray and Gene had laid only last night. It seemed like a thousand years ago now.

“Close your eyes and pray for forgiveness. Pray for your sins, and for all the sins of the world. And pray that God will find you worthy.”

Baz squeezed his eyes tight shut, his whole body shivering as he waited for what was to come, the blow that would surely fall. Because now he understood. He was the gift. The lamb. The sacrifice. That was why he was here.

“Oh God... oh God...” The whispered words came out of him without any conscious thought. Spoken automatically in fear and despair. But the sound of them hung there, and their meaning grew. 
Help me. God help me. Don’t let this happen...

He’d never prayed before, not really.

Please, God... if you’re there. I’m so scared... and I don’t know what to do. Don’t know what to do...

He’d helped to build a bomb. A wicked and murderous thing. It lay before him now, right beneath his elbows, even as he prayed to God to make it go away. And if he was killed, then it would be his own doing, his own fault.

Yet nothing happened. The boat rocked gently on.

Baz sank into his own inner darkness, no longer praying but just desperately hoping. Hoping for a sign, or an idea, or a miracle. Waiting. And at the same time he shrank from the overwhelming presence of Preacher John. He could sense the solid mass of the man who knelt beside him, could hear him breathing through his nostrils, deep and controlled and patient. As if he too were waiting...

Jump up and cut the cable. This was still the only thing that Baz could think of doing. It wouldn’t save him, but it would take away his guilt – make it so that he wasn’t going to be a murderer. But no. That didn’t work either. If he exposed the bomb, or defused it, then his friends on X-Isle would die, and he would be to blame. What was the right thing to do? Where could he find the answer?

There was a soft squeak of the planking behind him, a rustle of material. Oh God, it was coming. This was it. Baz opened his eyes wide. A huge hand crossed his vision, reaching out, thick hairy fingers closing around the barrels of the shotgun...

CHAPTER
 
TWENTY-SIX

“
Well, isn’t this cozy?”

Isaac stood with his back to the open doorway, the shotgun in his grasp.

Baz looked at the barrels, and was then unable to look away. His eyes were fixed on those dark and sinister tunnels. Far into them he was drawn, his body cold, a bubble of sick-water rising at the back of his throat.

“Get up.”

Through waves of terror the words came, and Baz automatically raised one knee.

“Not you, you ruddy half-wit. Stay where you are. You – get up.”

What? Baz couldn’t tear his gaze away from the shotgun, but he was aware of movement, another squeak of the planking as Preacher John rose to his feet.

“So it comes to this at last, then, Isaac. As I knew it would.”

“Oh, you knew it would. Well, you know everything, don’t you? Pick up that diving belt.” Isaac waved the shotgun towards the other side of the cabin.

Baz grasped the fact that, for the moment at least, this had nothing to do with him. He turned his head and saw Preacher John stoop to pick up a tangled object from the floor. A webbed nylon belt – red and brown stripes – a series of what looked like big yellow buckles. No, they were weights. It was the same kind of belt that Baz had seen earlier on the two divers.

“Put it on.” Isaac’s face was flushed, his voice slightly unsteady. He seemed the more nervous of the two men.

“What do you think you’re going to do, Isaac?” Preacher John swung the heavy diving belt around his girth. He hitched up his seaman’s smock, brought the ends of the belt together and searched for the fastening. At no time did he take his eyes off Isaac.

“I think I’m gonna watch you go for a dive,” said Isaac.

“I see. Well, I can soon take this thing off, once I’m in the water. Unless you intend to shoot me first. Is that your plan?”

“Just get outside.”

Baz sank back down onto one knee, horrified. Isaac was going to kill Preacher John! He’d seen and heard enough to know that there was deep animosity between the two... but murder... to murder your own father...

“What about Luke and Amos?” Preacher John seemed calm, in no hurry to move. “What do you intend to tell them?”

“You had an accident. You must have over balanced, fallen overboard. Just disappeared.”

“And you expect them to believe that?”

“You were out of sight, even before they left. You could have already gone. And I have a witness.”

Preacher John seemed puzzled for a second. Then he glanced down at Baz. “The boy? You seriously think he’ll be your alibi? Back up your story?”

“He’ll say whatever I tell him to say if he wants to stay alive. That’s why I brought him.”

“You didn’t bring him.” Preacher John was still unflustered, matter of fact. “I did. You would have brought the mechanic.”

“What’s the difference? I’ve still got a witness.”

“Oh, I don’t think there can be any witnesses, Isaac. And that’s why I brought 
this
 boy. Not a capo, not a mechanic, but one that’s worthless. One that I can easily afford to lose. You haven’t thought this through at all, have you?” Preacher John’s voice was even, controlled.

But Isaac began to look as though control were slipping away from him. “Don’t come that tone with me,” he said. “I’ve put up with it for too long! You’ve always treated me like the fool of this family. The idiot! Always favored the others over me...” He was spluttering now, his anger and hatred plain to see, all pretense at coolness gone. “Always made me do your dirty work. Dump this kid, get rid of that one, bring these young girls across. And all the while you hide behind God, like you’re so... so holy, like you’re better than anyone else. Well, I’ve had a lifetime of listening to your crap, a bellyful, and now you’ll listen to me for once. I’ve thought this through all right, don’t you worry. I got you on this boat. Yeah, and I made sure there was a witness, and I brought this gun. I planned it all!”

“Really? And now you think you’re just going to take me outside and shoot me. Hmph.” Preacher John was openly jeering. “You haven’t got the guts, Isaac. That’s right. You’re gutless, and Godless too. You have no God to guide your hand, and so your hand falters. I see it shaking even now.”

And it was true. The gun was raised, pointing towards Preacher John, but the barrels wavered around uncertainly. Sweat poured down Isaac’s face, glistening droplets on his dark beard.

“You think 
you
 planned this moment?” said Preacher John. “You haven’t the wit. 
I
 planned it! I saw this day coming long ago. I saw how you would turn against me and try to rob me of what is mine!” His voice grew louder, booming around the little wooden cabin so that the windows vibrated. “I prayed to God for guidance then, and God answered. 
Send him to me! Send him to me and I will make him whole again, and all the world I will make whole! Build me an altar, like Abraham of old! Bring me Isaac, your firstborn! Put your trust in me, and I will draw back the waters into the fountains of the earth...”

“What?” Isaac briefly took one hand from the gun to dash the sweat from his eyes.

“Sacrifice, Isaac! Sacrifice! This is what God demands! To Him our first fruits shall be given – and you are my first fruit! The sacrifice has to be 
you
. It was always you! But’ – Preacher John raised his eyes towards the ceiling of the cabin – ‘I was weak-hearted. And though I built my altar as God commanded me, I could not offer up my firstborn there. Not in the sight of my other sons. It would have to be away from the island, and hidden from all but the eyes of God. Out here, on the boat. A private covenant between me and my Maker.” Preacher John took a step forward, and Isaac backed away, stumbling against the door-post.

“But first I needed to see for myself what a traitor you were.” Preacher John glanced towards the porthole. “Aye. So I had you bring girls over from the mainland and let you think that they would be the next to go to the altar. I tested you, and all my sons, as God tests me. And Luke and Amos kept their faith. They would do whatever I asked of them, no matter what. But not you. You wanted me brought down, destroyed, so that you could take my place. Isaac... Isaac...”

A note of exasperation came into Preacher John’s voice, as though he were tired of explaining. “Don’t you understand? I am an instrument of God! To defy me is to defy God Himself! Only a fool would try. Or a traitorous dog like you. But even a dog must have his day, and so I decided to let you have yours – out here on the boat, just the two of us...”

Baz shrank against the wall of the locker, plainly as insignificant to this scene as if he’d been a spider in the corner.

“You’d have been suspicious, though,” said Preacher John, “if I’d invited myself out on a diving trip for no good reason. Much better if the invitation were to come from you. And that’s why I got rid of Moko.”

“You... what?” Isaac seemed to almost drop the gun, the twin barrels momentarily dipping downwards before he hastily regained his grip.

“Aye, all my doing. I put the fear of God into that heathen – made sure he’d jump ship and not come back again. I wanted the 
Cormorant
 short-handed. I knew it wouldn’t be long before one of you asked for my help, once there was treasure within reach.” Preacher John brought one arm up to point a finger directly at Isaac. “And there you saw your chance, Isaac. A chance to kill me. To do murder.” He nodded slowly as he said the word. “Aye, murder. And how cunning you tried to be. Pretending that you didn’t want me on the boat... having to be persuaded. This is work for 
strong
 men, you said. And you were right. This 
is
 work for strong men – men of God! But you have no strength, because you have no God! And so you can’t do it, can you? Even though I’ve put myself at your mercy – even now – when all is yours for the taking... you can’t do it... you just can’t do it...”

Preacher John spread both arms and moved towards the raised gun. “You’re a fool, Isaac! A coward! A gutless... Godless... idiot...”

“Keep away!” Isaac stepped back through the doorway. “Keep away from me, you mad bastard!” His voice was almost a scream. “I’m warning you! I’m warning you! Get away! Gaah!”

There was a click – and another – sharp metallic sounds that cut through the high panic of Isaac’s voice. Then silence. Isaac had pulled the triggers, but the shotgun hadn’t gone off.

Preacher John sighed, almost as though he were disappointed. He put a hand in his pocket, withdrew it and held it out. Resting in his open palm were two cartridges. He kept his arm extended for another moment before Isaac’s horrified gaze, then allowed the orange cartridges to tumble to the floor. They landed with a clatter and rolled across the planking, one of them coming to rest against the split toe of Baz’s trainer.

“I see everything, Isaac. God grants me the vision to see into the soul of every living thing that passes before me. God grants me protection from my murdering enemies. And now may God grant me the strength to carry out His will.”

From his other pocket Preacher John drew a gun – a short-barreled pistol, its chipped black paintwork somehow making it look all the more purposeful, all the more deadly.

“Now get out. Onto the foredeck. You’ve shown me all I need to know.” Preacher John moved forward.

Isaac had disappeared beyond the doorway, and out of Baz’s sight.

“Don’t. Don’t do this... no...”

“Get on the foredeck!” Preacher John ducked as he left the cabin.

Baz looked towards the porthole and saw Isaac stumble past, moving backwards, still carrying the useless shotgun.

“No... no... no, you can’t...” Isaac’s voice was muffled now, but his terror was awful to hear. Baz remained on one knee beside the locker, pouring with perspiration, unable to get up. He dropped his head so that he would see no more of whatever was happening out there. Instead he kept his eyes fixed on the solitary cartridge that lay by his shoe, concentrating on that alone, watching it roll from side to side with the rocking motion of the boat.

“O Lord, behold Thy servant, and accept this sacrifice!” Preacher John was roaring away outside. “Thou hast delivered me from mine enemies! Thou hast brought me into Thy sight and shown me the paths of righteousness! Thy will be done, O Lord! 
Thy... will... be...”

The crash of the pistol drowned out the last of Preacher John’s words, but through the booming echo that followed, Baz heard a faint splash. It seemed to him that the boat momentarily rocked a little more, the cartridge at his feet travelled a little further. Then silence.

For a long time Baz stared at the floor, his head empty of any conscious thought, a vague ringing sounded in his ears. Some kind of feeling returned to him, and at last he was able to move. He fumbled for the belt loop of his shorts, took hold of the piece of string and pulled the penknife from his pocket.