Let the Music Play - 24. Checkout Time

With a crunch of gravel, the mini-bus came to a halt outside the stucco-clad cottages. Eric, feeling on top of the world, bounced out, looking around for his band mates. He spotted them coming out of Brandon and Chase’s cottage, and yelled, “I got my cast off,” as he pointed to his bare leg.

“I can see that, bro,” Jon replied, walking up to his brother. “Now you can have some fun with us. The beach is great.”

“Not so fast,” Helen said, crossing her arms and adopting a stern expression, “This is a working vacation. We do have a video shoot and a few photo shoots next week, so I’ve made some plans to get you guys ready.”

As Helen had expected, a round of groans greeted her. Eric answered first, “Come on, Helen, I just got my cast off. Can’t I have some fun first?”

The nods of his band mates signaled their support for Eric’s position, and Helen fed them a little more line, “Don’t you even want to hear what I have planned?”

Four shaking heads made their position clear, so Helen reeled in her fish, “I’m absolutely shocked at you all. Well, okay then, I suppose I’ll have to cancel the yacht. I guess you guys didn’t want to go on a boating excursion down the coast and have a real Australian beach barbecue anyway, and I guess the surfing lessons can wait as well...”

Eric arched both eyebrows before blurting out, “Whoa, wait... You said work, but that sounds like fun.”

Helen laughed before telling her charges, “Eric, have I or have I not told you once already that you need to even up your tan for the shoot? Your brothers and Brandon are looking a little faded too. So, my idea of work is to get you guys some sun, some exercise, and relax. But, being as y’all don’t want too, I’ll go ahead and cancel.”

“Whoa,” Jon replied, “You know we don’t mind that definition of work. That sounds great. When do we go?”

Helen laughed, “So I take it there are no objections?” To no one’s surprise, none was voiced, and seeing four happy, eager faces, Helen added, “The boat will be arriving at the beach shortly; it’s coming down the coast from Tin Can Bay, a town just west of here. The skipper and his partner are surfers, so once we get where we’re going, you’ll get some surfing lessons, then they’ll bring us back tonight.”

As the four guys exchanged a jubilant round of high-fives, Helen decided it was time to let the other shoe drop. With a sweet smile, and an even sweeter voice, she said, “While I was in Noosa waiting for Eric, I stopped by a little sporting goods store. I got you all some sunscreen. Two kinds, in fact. One is SPF 8, and the other is SPF 20. The SPF 20 is for wherever your tans are darkest, and the SPF 8 is for pale areas, like the one on Eric’s leg where his cast was.”

Puffing out his bare chest Jon said with a grin, “My tan’s pretty even already. I’ll just use the SPF 8 and get really dark.”

With a sad shake of her head, and forcing herself not to laugh, Helen replied, “No, hon. Remember back on the bus to Vegas, when you and Eric found those pictures of Brandon on the ‘net and tried to scare him? Remember what I said about free publicity, and getting you boys to show more skin sometimes? Well, one of the photo spreads will be in racing swimwear and you all need to even up your tans for it. So, the sunscreen wasn’t the only thing I bought at the store.” Helen opened up the plastic bag she’d been holding. “Chase, I knew you’d have one with you, but I figured the other guys wouldn’t.” Helen pulled three Speedo swimsuits from her bag, and her smile turned wicked as she watched for Jon’s reaction.

She didn’t have long to wait. Jon’s eyes opened wide, and he began to shake his head as he said, “No way! I don’t want to be running around in Speedos on a boat. By the pool maybe, but...”

Helen cut him off, “This is business, hon, and I’m not kidding about the photo shoot.”

Still seeking a way out, Jon replied, “You can’t tell me you aren’t enjoying this. You knew I’d hate it.”

Nodding her head in agreement, Helen said, “You know I’ve never had anything against mixing business with pleasure, so watching you boys squirm is just an added bonus.”

With a shrug and a smile, Eric strode up to Helen and examined the three suits in her hand. “I’ll take the white one. You know how shy I am,” Eric said with a very fake innocent smile, knowing full well that when wet, white was the most revealing color.

“I knew you wouldn’t care, Eric. Jon, on the other hand, I expected to be a big baby about it. Brandon, what about you? You had no problems before.”

With a shrug of his own, Brandon stepped up and picked the blue suit over the red one. “They call ‘em cossies here. I read somewhere they’re more common here than back home.” Brandon turned his head and said over his shoulder to Jon, “Come on bro, it’s no big deal and it’s not like you’ll be the only guy in ‘em.”

Stepping forward, his shoulders slumped in defeat, Jon found that Brandon had left him the bright red suit. Jon asked in a grumbling voice, “Can I at least wear shorts over ‘em on the boat?”

Helen shook her head; enjoying the rare opportunity to make Jon squirm, she said, “Nope. Too much good sun out there and you’d just get tan lines anyway. Suck it up and deal, kiddo.”

With a sigh, Jon took the red suit and stomped off to his cottage to get changed. Eric followed, twirling his white suit on his finger and laughing at his older bother’s reluctance. Brandon and Chase returned to their own cottage, and as Chase rummaged around in his suitcase, Brandon asked, “Do you think Helen is on the level, or is she just yanking our chains?”

Surfacing from his suitcase with a pair of black Speedos, Chase laughed. “Jon’s a little shy, and Helen would do this to him for the hell of it, but I think she’s telling the truth. Hey, don’t look so pensive; you’ve already had pictures of you in Speedos splashed all over the Internet.”

Brandon shrugged and then dropped his shorts and began to pull on the blue swimsuit Helen had purchased for him. “Yeah, I didn’t mind too much at the pool back in Phoenix, but I had no idea there was a photographer there. It’s the photo-shoot that is bugging me.” Brandon finished pulling on his suit and turned to face a mirror before adding, “These things don’t hide much.”

After tugging on his own suit, Chase walked up and hugged his boyfriend from behind, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “You definitely don’t have anything to be shy about. What Helen said on the bus was right; you look like a hot guy who’s comfortable in his own skin. Come on, have fun. You look really, really good like that.”

* * *

Back in Rome, Steve, Wilde, and Zeke returned to their set of rooms after a long day of interviews and publicity events. Zeke, who knew of the issues between Wilde and Steve, announced that he needed to get some sleep, and left for his own room. Steve became uncomfortable as soon as Zeke left, the same way he had ever since they’d talked a few nights earlier. Wilde was fast growing tired of it, and said, “Steve, chill out. Why are you acting so damn flakey around me? It’s like you’re angry or something.”

Steve shrugged, and with a sigh, he slumped down into an overstuffed chair. He remained silent for a while, nervously fingering a strand of his long, black hair. “I know what I said that night. I remember it, sort of, and I know you do because you weren’t as drunk. Now, it’s like you know a part of me that nobody does. How can you be cool with it? Hell, I’m not cool with it, and I’m really freaked out that Zeke and Instinct know.”

Taking a seat across from Steve, Wilde replied, “I don’t see what the big deal is. Hell, as if Brandon Wolfe is going to have issues with you because you might like... a guy. Or Eric Carlisle, who set us up to talk that night, is going to freak out about it. Come on dude, it’s no big deal. Did you think any less of me when you found out I sometimes like guys?”

His face reddening, Steve’s head dropped as he admitted in a whisper, “Yeah, Wilde, I did.”

* * * 

In Los Angeles, Joe Clump, or Lump as he was sometimes known, crawled on the floor of the seedy hotel room, oblivious to the stench from the hall or from himself – he hadn’t showered in over a week – pawing through the filthy carpet in a futile search for grains of speed. He’d been doing so for three hours, ever since taking his last hit of methamphetamine from a soot-stained glass pipe. He’d burned out three lighters trying to get one more hit. That’s all he wanted, just one more hit, and he’d do anything to get it. He was broke, deeply in debt, but he’d have given his right arm for just one... more... hit. He had to hurry; he knew the hotel manager would be throwing him out in an hour, because with no money, checkout time was an absolute, and he had nowhere to go.

The cravings wracked him. For speed, but also for heroin, to which he was equally addicted, but the cheap, reddish-white speed was all he’d been able to afford. Desperately, he searched through the carpet; thinking in the way an addict sometimes does that he must have dropped a grain or two, somewhere...

Exhausted, in misery and partially delirious, he picked himself up off the floor and staggering a little, he returned to the bare table, which held only a flat mirror and a razor blade. For the hundredth time, he looked at the mirror, holding it up at an angle to the light, searching for any trace of the dust he so craved. What he found, instead, was an image that horrified him. His own face, never handsome, stared back at him, pale and pitted, with scabs both new and old, like something out of a horror movie. The first sob surprised him, and more followed, as he recoiled from the sight. He’d never know why, but at that moment, he saw but one means to escape. The words ‘Checkout Time’ echoed through what was left of his mind. Picking up the razor blade and holding it in his shaking fingers, he stared at it for a few long moments, his mind a tortured haze. He held the blade above his other wrist, his hands shaking a little less now that his decision had been made. He couldn’t watch, but he felt it, the cold, and then the pain, as he drove the blade across his exposed wrist, cutting deep.

A warm feeling overcame the pain, as his vision clouded and his cravings faded, along with so much else, his relief made imperfect only by the eventual pounding in his ears. A surreal blur of movement and noise was all that he would remember, fading in and out to become sickening feel of motion, and then later accompanied by a sting in his arm as a paramedic tried to find a vein.

* * *

Walking out to greet the Land Rover, Dimitri approached the driver’s side window and said to The Scar, “Things go well inside. Vladimir and his assistant are still ahead of schedule, and all of the Kryton switches tested out within parameters. They have begun the assembly process, working in turn.”

Climbing out of the vehicle, The Scar replied, “I have the cameras; let’s go inside. I had to go to two different stores to find disposables. I found them at a grocery market, oddly enough. I just hope that Vladimir minds his tongue for once, because it is all I can do to keep from ripping his heart out at times. How do you stand that insolent man?”

With a shrug, Dimitri replied, “I just know his ways. He’s an engineer, and they, by their nature, can be grating. I do not believe he intends offense, nor does he realize that he gives it. He can actually be quite endearing at times, though I thank providence daily that he now has an assistant other than me.”

Entering the building, The Scar stood near the entrance to the clean room and watched the engineer at work mounting a plutonium core. The Scar waited several minutes until the engineer stepped back for a break, and then donned his own clean-room suit, and stepped through the airlock, accompanied by Dimitri. He handed one camera to Dimitri, and ignoring the engineer, snapped a few flash photos of the bomb from varying angles. When he was done, he took a few more of the bomb’s two twins, and then told the engineer, “We need to photograph these in different locations in the room.”

The engineer nodded and said, allowing his irritation to seep into his voice, “Yes, they are on a wheeled base, as you specified. This is most inconvenient. Is it truly necessary?”

With his temper beginning to boil, The Scar snapped out a reply, “It is, because I say it is! The reason why does not concern you. What is needed are photographs of the assembly process, showing the devices at several different stages of completion in different locations in the room. You will, as you have been told, exchange a few of the plastic ties that hold the wires for similar ones.”

Pondering his orders for a moment, the engineer suddenly realized the reason for them. “Ah. You wish these photos as proof that you have more weapons than you do. That is also why you are using disposable film cameras; to avoid any claim of digital manipulation? Very well, that is a logical reason and therefore I shall do as you ask.”

The engineer began moving the device he’d been working on, a task that, in spite of the wheels, required The Scar to lend a hand due to the weight. Once the device had been moved a dozen feet, The Scar waited while the engineer added a few more components and then snapped a few photographs at a downward angle. Without a word, The Scar turned and stormed out of the clean room, his temper at a rapid boil.

Dimitri followed him outside. The Scar turned and asked, “Can that assistant complete the assembly alone?”

Dimitri shrugged. “He probably can, but nowhere near as fast. Have you reached the end of your patience with Vladimir?”

The Scar nodded, grinding his teeth before answering, “Yes, the insolent bastard is being difficult. If I am around Vladimir much longer, I fear that I will kill him. I need to ask you to take the rest of the photos. Just a few, perhaps at two more stages of completion, and make certain you move the bombs around so that there will appear to be at least ten when the film is examined.”

“It shall be as you say, Vozhd.”

With a sigh, The Scar added, “Speaking of annoyances, I will be heading back up north tomorrow. I cannot risk offending the manager of that group, and there is also the other matter: the stripped screws that Vladimir noticed. I was very careful when I closed it up after installing the Kryton switches. Therefore, someone else has opened it. I must make certain of what occurred. My best guess is that the young hellion used the scooter to smuggle in some drugs. If so, that is fine. However, if he saw anything or is suspicious, he will need to be silenced sooner rather than later, even at the risk of losing our means of placing the devices. I am likely worried for nothing, but I must be certain; we can not afford any undue risk of exposure at this juncture.”

Dimitri nodded, absentmindedly placing his hand on the butt of the knife he’d used to gut the fake gunsmith. “Would you like me to come along, in case he needs to be taken care of?”

The Scar chuckled. “No, Dimitri. I have killed many times, as you know. In any case, I would quite enjoy killing that one myself, after all the grief he has caused me. I don’t anticipate any problems in finding out what he knows; he becomes quite open when he’s been drinking tequila. All I have to do, I expect, is to be pleasant and buy him a few drinks.”

* * *

Helen and Barbra stood waiting outside the cottages, enjoying the view of the Pacific Ocean. They couldn’t miss the sixty-foot yacht cruising parallel to the beach, and Helen bellowed for the band mates. Brandon and Chase appeared first, followed quickly by Eric. Upon seeing how they were dressed, Barbra arched an eyebrow in Helen’s direction and asked with a chuckle, “I suspect you had a hand in this? You do realize, don’t you hon, that they might take away your lesbian card if word gets out that you made guys wear banana hammocks?”

Giving Barbra a wink to indicate she’d fill her in later, Helen was about to holler again when Jon, grumbling under his breath, padded out of his cottage in a bright red Speedo. Helen waited for him to join his band mates before tossing them the two bottles of sunscreen. “Put it on, guys. The sun is fierce. Chase, your tan is pretty even so you’ll be fine with just one, but the rest of you need to put the two kinds on like I told you.

Snickering at Jon’s painfully evident unease, Helen pulled Barbra aside for a private chat while the members of Instinct slathered on the sunscreen. Chuckling, she said, “They call them ‘budgie smugglers’ here.” In a whisper, she added, “I told them they’d be wearing some Speedos for one of the photo shoots so they need to have the tan lines for it. Let them think that, otherwise they might be even more uneasy about the photo shoot and what’s really planned. The costume designer e-mailed me a few sketches last week, and I think she’s got a really good idea, so the boys really do need to work on their tans. There really will be a photo shoot in Speedos at some point, so I’m not lying, exactly.”

Barbra chuckled and whispered back, “I guess I’ll find out when they do, right? I take it they won’t like it one bit.” Helen’s nod, coupled with her sly grin, was all the confirmation Barbra needed.

They all walked down to the surf line as the yacht’s inflatable Zodiac, its outboard rumbling, picked its way in through the breakers. Due to the Zodiac’s limited size, two trips would be required.

The ride out in the Zodiac through the surf was exciting, with a wave crashing over and soaking them all, but then they were alongside the charter boat’s stern swim-dive platform, and Brandon looked up in awe. He’d never been on a boat before and was thrilled beyond words.

Letting his band mates lead the way, he climbed up a few steps and then set foot on the teak deck. The power yacht was long and sleek, white with black glass, and he followed his friends, looking around, thrilled to be onboard. The Zodiac roared away, off to pick up Günter, Helen, and Barbra.

After the Zodiac had made its second trip and all the guests were aboard, a deeply tan guy in boardies and flip-flops ambled confidently onto the stern deck. “G’day. I’m your skipper, Carl, and that there,” he said, flipping a thumb at the similarly attired man who had driven the Zodiac, “is Drake, my partner. We’ve got a big day planned, including some surfing lessons. Drake and I were both on the pro tour a few years back, so you’ll be learning from the best. Hell, Drake was ranked higher then me, a fact he never lets me forget.”

After giving his guests a brief tour of the boat and its facilities, including the safety gear, the proud skipper ushered them to the upper deck and to a bimini-covered flybridge. Pointing at their location on the electronic chart-plotter, he said, “We’re heading down the coast. We’ll cut out from the shore from here, taking a direct bearing to Double Island Point. From there, we’ll turn due south, set anchor, and take the Zodiac ashore at a spot I know. That’s where we’ll do some surfing and have a beach cookout.

Shoving the throttles forward, the skipper angled out to sea, navigating by sight for the distant profile of Double Island Point. The warm breeze across the decks grew stronger as the yacht sliced through the azure-blue waters, and Brandon and his band mates staked out the front deck, enjoying the subdued hum of the big diesel engines, the wind, the spray, and the sun.

The yacht surged east, approaching the point, bucking slightly over the long rollers of the Queensland coast. Eric stretched out on a towel, soaking in the sun next to Jon, and Brandon and Chase set their towels next to each other a few feet away. Chase looked to his right, at the approaching dark green hills of the point, and said, “This is so cool. I hope we get to do more stuff like this.”

Jon agreed, though he had one reservation, and voiced it, “I think Helen set us up. I know she enjoyed making us wear these damn swimsuits. She wouldn’t even let me bring shorts.”

Eric laughed, easing up on an elbow to tell his elder brother, “In case you didn’t notice, bro, the only one stressed out about it is you.”

Easing up on his own elbows, Jon replied, “Yeah, but this is just about today. Does she really want us to wear stuff like this for a photo shoot?”

Chase, who had no reservations whatsoever, said, “Probably, but what’s the big deal?”

Sensing defeat on the issue, Jon lay back. “Yeah, whatever. I just think she enjoyed making me squirm.”

Eric bounded up, climbing into the bowsprit, feeling the wind in his face. Turning to face his band mates, he grinned. “Yeah, I bet she did, but you’re forgetting something. She only gets to make you squirm if you let her. Just relax and forget about it. If you weren’t so uptight, she wouldn’t be able to get ya.”

Angling his head up off the deck to look at his brother, Jon realized that he had a point and a very good point at that. “Bro, you’re right. Okay, I can at least pretend I don’t mind.”

After rounding the point, they were all rewarded with a view down the coast, miles and miles of pristine beaches, stretching south as far as the eye could see. A commotion behind them announced the arrival of Drake, carrying a tray full of mixed drinks. With a broad smile and a deep Australian accent, he announced, “Vodka Screwdrivers. I figured you blokes wouldn’t want the little umbrellas, so I left ‘em off.”

Eric took his drink and asked, “Any chance of some tequila?”

Drake never got a chance to answer, because Eric’s band mates cried out in unison, “No!”

Shrugging, Eric leaned back against the wire railing and told Drake, “They won’t let me have any damn fun. Oh well. So, you used to be on the pro tour, and you’re going to teach us to surf?”

Drake nodded, proudly tapping his bare chest as he said, “I was ranked tenth in the world for a while. We should have some good waves today, there’s a swell from the southeast out of the Tasman Sea and the wind’s offshore. With any luck, we’ll find a good beach break. I’ve surfed this coast many times so I know some good spots.”

Eying the man, who appeared to be in great shape even if he was pushing thirty, Brandon took notice of the flowered board shorts he was wearing and remembered how the skipper had referred to him as his partner. Smiling, Brandon accepted the drink, and lay back beside Chase.

Drake walked aft, and when he’d gone Brandon said to Chase, “I have a hunch he’s like us. The skipper called him his partner.”

A laugh from Eric interrupted Brandon. “Whoa, bro, your gaydar is truly whacked. I don’t think they are, and I’m pretty good at picking up on stuff like that. Face it dude, I’ve got better gaydar than you, and that ain’t saying much.”

Brandon arched an eyebrow in Eric’s direction as Eric shot him a wicked grin, but he couldn’t really argue the point because he knew that Eric was pretty much right. He also knew that Eric’s uncanny knack for reading people was rarely wrong.

Half an hour later, everyone was served a round of roast beef sandwiches, and the yacht slowed, angling in towards the surf line. Fifty yards outside the breakers, Drake activated the bow-mounted Windlass, lowering the anchor overboard, playing out the heavy line as the skipper backed the boat down to set it.

Drake leaned against the rail, looking inshore at the surf line, his face breaking into a broad grin as he looked at the right break. The sets were peaking at four foot and glassy. The last time he’s surfed this break, it had been pumping at seven feet, massive open tubes, and he’d had an epic day, but four foot and glassy was nothing to bitch about. It would, he knew, be ideal for beginners. Perfect.

Motioning for the guys to follow, Drake led them to the stern. Pulling the first of over a half-dozen boards from a rack, he said, “These are already beaded, which means there’s a coating of wax on ‘em. The wax is beaded to a rough finish which gives your feet something to grip. These boards are all five-ten thrusters, meaning they’re five foot ten inches long, and have three fins, or skegs as we call ‘em. A longer board would be a little easier to learn on, but these shouldn’t be too hard.”

Handing each member of Instinct a board, Drake showed them how to put on the leashes, explaining as he did so, “These keep your board with you when you wipe out. That’s for both your safety, and that of those around you, because a loose board can be carried by a wave and hit with a lot of force. They’re just Velcro bands that go on your ankles, and the cord is clear polyurethane which is springy. Now, the first thing you need to do is paddle. We’ll go into the water from the stern platform. Just watch me and do what I do. First, just lie on top of the board and get a feel for it, then use a freestyle stroke to paddle. It takes a little getting used to, but you’ll learn fast.”

Drake led off, stepping into the sea from the yacht’s swim platform, and the four members of Instinct followed one at a time. They all discovered that even laying on a surfboard took a little balance, but after a few pointers from Drake, they were able to paddle awkwardly in towards the seaward edge of a promising break that Drake had spotted. Brandon, who'd had the most recent endurance swimming experiences in high school, found the going the easiest, soon settling into a smooth, deep stroke.

Once they were close to where the waves were breaking, Drake pulled up, and gave the guys a quick lesson on how to sit on a surfboard while waiting for a wave. That turned out to be more difficult than paddling, and after a few flailing sideways falls, they ended up laying prone to wait for the waves. Eric looked back at the incoming swells, and noticed something on the yacht; the skipper, with a pair of binoculars and a bullhorn, scanning the water from the roof of the wheelhouse. Keeping his eyes on the boat, Eric asked Drake, “What’s he looking for?”

As casually as he could manage, which bothered Eric because he noticed the forced ease, Drake replied, “He’s just keeping a lookout so we don’t get any party crashers. If he spots any men in grey suits, he’ll alert us with the bullhorn so no worries.”

Easing his arms out of the water, Chase shivered slightly as he asked, “‘Men in grey suits... You mean sharks, right? Great White Sharks?”

Drake shrugged, “Yeah, but probably not Great Whites. Mako, Bull Sharks, Tigersharks, and Hammerheads are a lot more common. They can be a problem sometimes but not as serious as you’re thinking. I’ve been surfing for twenty years and they haven’t eaten me yet. We’ve got a lookout so no real worries.” Thanks to the four horrified expressions Drake could tell that he’d been less than convincing, so he decided to take a different tack and get their minds off the sharks by pointing at the horizon and adding, “There’s a good set coming in. Chase, this is a right break, and you’re furthest to the right, so you go first. When I tell you, paddle hard. When you take off, don’t try and stand right away, just angle the board to the right and follow the wave face. Then you can try and stand. Okay, go, paddle hard, deep strokes.”

Pulling hard, Chase barely noticed as the swell built underneath him, tipping his board towards the beach as he felt the rush of acceleration. A few more strokes and he was skimming ahead of the wave, and heard Drake remind him to turn. Leaning to his right, he slowly brought the nose around, parallel to the face, as he picked up even more speed and felt the spray in his face. Grinning from the thrill, he lifted up with his arms and struggled to bring his knees up under him, and then eased into a low crouch. He held it for a few seconds, and then tumbled off the board into the sea. For the first time in his life, he’d stood on a surfboard, and when he surfaced, he let out a whoop of joy, the men in grey suits forgotten.

Scrambling back on his board, he swung the nose to seaward and paddled furiously, but not quite fast enough. The next wave broke just short of him, and he held on as the white water engulfed him, dragging him towards the beach. When Chase surfaced, he started paddling again, and Drake shouted some quick instructions, “You need to duck-dive to get through a wave. Right before it hits, through your weight forward and shove the nose of the board down, then lay flat. The wave will go right over you.”

It wasn’t quite as easy as Drake made out, but after a couple of minutes and two duck-dives, Chase managed to fight his way through the surf line and paddled up to Drake, Brandon, and Jon. He followed their gaze and watched Eric’s head pop up above a wave, and he stood up for a few moments before tumbling into the path of the breaker.

Jon went next, and then Brandon, and finally Drake took his turn, showing them what a real pro could do as he carved up the face of the wave, exiting with a one-eighty back over the face right before it closed out.

Two hours later, Brandon and his band mates were getting tired, even though they were thrilled with the progress they were making. Drake could tell they were ready for a break, so he said, “You four head into the beach. I’ll wait until I see you’re all ashore, then I’ll bring the ladies in on the Zodiac. I’ll be bringing the grub, too. If you want to help, see if you can gather up some dry driftwood.”

Jon went in last, managing, to his delight, to stand long enough to try a few tentative maneuvers before falling. He caught the next wave in, tobogganing through the white water, until his skegs hit sand. Scrambling to his feet and tucking his board under his arm, he ran a few yards up the beach to join Brandon, Chase, and Eric, planting his board in the sand beside theirs in the shade of some Australian pine trees. “Wow,” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear, “that’s harder than I thought, but fun.” A round of happy nods confirmed he wasn’t alone in that particular assessment.

An hour later, sitting around a fire-pit while Drake and the skipper grilled steaks on an iron grid propped up on rocks over the flames, they enjoyed their first Australian beach cookout, the end to a perfect day.

* * *

Back at their desert compound two hundred miles west of Toowoomba, The Scar followed Dimitri out past the buildings for total privacy before saying, “Once the additional bomb cases are done, we don’t need these workmen and they constitute an ongoing security risk. You know Vladimir better than I do; will he strongly object if we terminate them? We can’t afford to have any trouble with him, not now.”

Looking out at the spectacular outback sunset and the silhouettes of bottle trees, Dimitri thought for a while before replying, “Perhaps. It might also make him suspicious regarding his own safety. Keeping these men busy until the demonstration of capability might be a safer option. My guards won’t let them leave here, and we can at least give them a date when they will be leaving. If any grow restive or suspicious they can be terminated, but better to keep Vladimir as happy as possible until he’s done. It is a pity he needs to come out here to use some of the machine tools. Were that not so, he wouldn’t need to know.”

The Scar sighed, irritated by the occurrence of yet another complication, “Very well, we shall wait – for now.”