Disclaimer: I'll bet these characters are glad I don't own them and have no claim on them.
True Believer
"Easy, Gordo. Real easy."
Gordon could feel John's fear, no, smell it as his brother's hot breath rasped across his ear. The downward stroke of his hand hesitated, the titanium of the dive knife momentarily catching the glint of the sun.
"You know they can sense it," Gordon whispered.
"Spare me..."
"It's only a baby."
"Twelve foot of white pointer is way enough for me."
Gordon didn't move his gaze from the grey-bodied shark he straddled in water up to his knees. Even in its juvenile state, it would only take it to thrash in the shallows to knock one of them off their feet.
John stood cheek to jowl with him, his arms tensed with the aim of the stock prod at the gill slit; the only defense against the alpha predator of the sea in the voltage he could deliver if needed. Their bodies were almost intertwined as Gordon worked with infinite patience to free it from the stranglehold of a set net and from certain death. He had one more section to cut. Just in front of its gills. And just behind its coal-fired eyes, which were covered by his t-shirt to keep it calm.
"Ready?"
"For the last fifty minutes."
Gordon did the count. His knuckles were already raw from working along the sandpaper-rough surface of its body. He didn't want to give the fish any more encouragement to feed. He slid the knife under the last restraining nylon binds and made a quick jerk upward to yank the last of the net free, at the same time whipping off the t-shirt from the fish's snout with his free hand.
Gordon ran, pulling his brother with him. He leapt over the shark's caudal fins and sprinted through the shallows with John barely a step behind. The twenty feet to shore suddenly seemed a long way. As his feet touched firmer sand, Gordon glanced over his shoulder. The shark raised its cavernous mouth skywards, rippled its body and was gone.
Gordon grinned as he watched it go.
"Remind me why we did that," his brother panted as he sprawled hands first onto the sand.
"White pointers are a vulnerable species."
"I can relate. Thunderbird Five was looking pretty cushy for awhile there."
"Sharks are part of the ecosystem. She belongs as much as we do."
"I was definitely seeing myself as part of the food chain. She, huh? You and your distressed damsels. You had to do it, didn't you, Gordo," John said and sighed.
Gordon grin grew broader. He knew John would never let an animal die on their beach if he could help it and he hadn't hesitated to help. Gordon shrugged loosely.
"You know. 'What goes around, comes around.'" He bent to offer his hand to John to pull him up. "Besides, I noticed it tended to thrash to the left. I thought it'd get you, first."
John barked a laugh and Gordon deftly avoided a cuff behind the ears. "Let's get back to it before they send out a search party."
'It' was cleaning up the beach on Tracy Island. A cyclone across neighboring islands the previous week had left their beach littered with debris, and Gordon and John had been assigned to clean it up.
Gordon hummed as he went back to work. He didn't mind this detail. The sea was his mistress and he never tired of the gifts it could bestow on him. To rescue the shark was a highlight but he wasn't so sure if it was for his older brother. John had been ordered to get a bit of 'color' after his month on space duty. Despite the layers of sun block and UV clothing John wore, Gordon feared that goodwill act of standing in the water for so long had earned John a little more color than he needed.
They'd almost finished the last section of beach when Gordon bent to pick up a bottle. It was actually a flagon – one of those ugly, stub-necked pieces that once bulged with too much wine. He was about to lob it into the back of the sand tractor tray with the rest of what they'd gathered when he stopped. He gave it a shake. There was something in it and he turned it to make out what it was.
"Grass?"
Gordon shook the flagon again. It was definitely grass, thatched into interlacing patterns. He tried the screw-top lid. Usually the salt water crusted them tight but this gave easily in his fingers, which meant the bottle hadn't been in the water for long. The glass was clear, not sand-peppered and the grass was still green. Definitely hadn't been in the water for long.
"Gordo?"
Gordon hooked the thatch with his little finger and drew it out. He turned it this way and that before he made sense of it.
"Help? The thatch spells 'H-E-L-P'? Look how the letters are neatly…"
"Oh, cute." John chuckled beside him. "A message in a bottle. Trust you to be the one." John yanked the flagon from his hand and tossed it in the back. "Kid's trick. Pure and simple. Look at this. Drunk and funny. How many times did we do the same thing, huh? Come on. Lunch. We've earned it."
John sauntered into the lounge after a shower and that much anticipated meal stop. His father was at his desk talking to Scott, who was on live feed from mobile control, and John sat down to listen. Earlier that morning, Scott and Virgil had been called to a fire along the Alaskan oil pipeline after several explosions. The rescue was going well if Scott's voice was anything to go by. He was upbeat, optimistic, even if a little smeared with the day's action. No injuries but they'd been using the Firefly to knock down some pretty serious heat.
His father had barely signed off from Scott when he said, "Where's Gordon?"
Good question.
John looked airily around him. He remembered his brother hadn't joined him for lunch.
"Colonel Casey will be in our area tomorrow and he said he'd drop by to see if we'd found anything worthwhile to occupy our time," his father said with a laugh. "It's Gordon's day-off but I need him to entertain our guest out in the water, particularly if there's a rescue. Tim mentioned again about seeing a Water Mamba so Gordon can humor him. You, too. Tell Gordon when you see him."
John agreed as he slid from his seat, determined to find Gordon this very minute. He went straight to his brother's room and knocked. There was a muffled acknowledgement and John slid the door open to find Gordon at his laptop shuffling papers frantically. Gordon was still in his swimmers and immediately assumed his deadpan, guileless expression – which meant only one thing. Trouble.
John sighed again. "Gordo, what are you doing?"
"Imperata cylindrica," Gordon said as he reached under the papers and drew out the chain of thatch. "The type of grass. Not too many islands this far east in Melonesia have it. Brains thinks…"
"Brains! Isn't he helping with the rescue?"
Gordon fingered the grass in his hands, his eyelids now half-mast, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
"Brains thinks, if it'd been in the water it could have only come from one place. You know, considering the…direction of the current…wind strength."
"If it'd been in the water. If… It could have come from a passing vessel. It could have come from…" Gordon's expression remained resolute and John knew it was useless to argue sense. "All right. All right. Where?"
"Ples Kunai Island. Kunai is Pidgin for grass." Gordon held up what was in his fingers. "Often, this kind."
"So, what does Al say? Anyone, anything reported missing in our area?"Gordon tapped at the edge of his keyboard. "That doesn't necessarily mean."
"Kunai is uninhabited, isn't it? Owned by the Australian government. Can Al get the scanners in on it? Pick up life signs. Trying to help you out here, bro. Save you from a year of shit stirring if anyone else finds out what you're doing – all because of a bottle."
"The island has a lot of rock according to Brains. What if someone is lying hurt in a cave, the bottle the only means of asking for help? Lying there believing someone will take it seriously. Wanting someone – someone like me – to believe."
John would've laughed outright if it wasn't for the earnest look on Gordon's face. "Our very own true believer." Over the years, they'd lived through it all: monsters, ghosts, extraterrestrials. The list was endless. And John knew exactly what his younger brother intended. "Sorry, Gordo but there's nothing you can do. You're to play host tomorrow with me. Dad wants to see you about it. All leave is cancelled."
Gordon watched the display of his bedside clock click to 12:01 midnight. Technically, he was now on his day off. He had a good eight hours before he was needed. Enough time to jaunt over to Kunai, check it out to satisfy his curiosity and get back in time for breakfast. No-one'd be the wiser. He had run it thoroughly by Brains: weather conditions were clear, glass stable, currents favorable, even the rise of the full moon would help visibility. They often went fishing at night.
What was the harm in a little extended cruising?
He slid from the sheets, pulled into his wet suit and gathered the pack he'd loaded in readiness. It might be a foolhardy purpose but he wasn't going unprepared. He had all the safety gear he needed already stowed in the speedboat.
There was only one problem – Scott.
Getting out without his oldest brother seeing him would be difficult. Virgil and Scott had returned after supper and had spent the evening cleaning up and winding down. Scott was always wired after a rescue, making him the last to retire. Gordon had considered all avenues of stealthy escape and came up with out the front through the balcony as the best option. To go out the back put him in too much danger of being discovered by the other members of the family.
But out the front was where Scott prowled.
When Gordon was ready, he slid out from his room and tiptoed so he could peer into the lounge. No-one was there. He waited. Listened. All quiet. He ventured into the room, his bare feet silent on the smooth floor. He stopped every few strides to watch and listen. Only the distant ocean. He was part of the way across the floor space when he heard the deep intake of breath like someone stretched, and a shadow emerged from one of the loungers at the far end of the balcony.
Instinctively, he ducked down to hide behind one of the lounge chairs. The shadow became Scott as he wandered to the balcony railing to lean on it while he finished a drink. Gordon waited, barely allowing himself to breathe. He could see his brother's feet from where he stared out under the chair.
Scott lingered for longer than Gordon would've liked but when he finally moved and walked to cross the lounge, Gordon braced to run out the balcony doors. He watched Scott's toes come closer then pass the lounge.
"Night, Gordo," Scott said.
Gordon flinched. He glanced up as he heard pressure on the chair in front of him, his eldest brother leaning his elbows on the back of the chair.
"Bring us back something nice, huh. A mermaid or something. Better yet. Wrestle us a mahi mahi home for breakfast. Sure would go a long way toward me smoothing things over with Dad when he finds out." Scott chuckled as he drew back and disappeared down the hall.
Gordon, not needing a second chance, grabbed his bag and scooted down to the pier and the waiting boat. He looked up to see his brother reappear at the railing to watch. He was so engrossed in his planning as he untied the stern line he failed to hear someone approach from behind.
He stifled a yelp when a hand grabbed his forearm.
"I'll cast off. You get her turning over." It was John, also in a wet suit and carrying a bag.
"But…?""Come on," John whispered. "Can't let you make a fool of yourself all on your own. Brains'll cover for me. Grandma packed us some eats in case we're late back and Virgil wants rock lobster if we get a chance to look. Got that? Rock lobster."
Gordon groaned as he felt the entire household must have been watching them. "So why are we whispering?"
John clamped his fingers over Gordon's mouth. "Because Dad doesn't know – yet."
The sound of the motor dying to a guttural gurgle roused John from his semi doze.
"Land 'hoy," Gordon said dramatically from his braced stance by the wheel. "Starboard bow."
John reluctantly let his feet slide from the grab rails on the gunwale and stood up next to his brother to look beyond the low slung windshield. The island of Kunai was a low spread of flecked, flat beach running up to an area of dense blue black that disappeared into an unchecked expanse of stars. It looked very much like a chaise lounge resting along their starboard side. It was a flood tide but even under the whitish moon John could see the line where the water changed from ocean to bay as the reef arced to protect the shore.
John knew he'd be needed up front to check the depth when they passed over the reef. As he was about to climb forward, Gordon thrust a bottle of water at him.
"You need to keep up the fluids." John looked uncertainly at the offering. "You're practically glowing in the dark, did you know? You sure you feel okay?"
John knew his suit felt a little tighter and he could feel the residual heat from the day's sun slicking his suit with sweat.
"Yeah, yeah. Slight headache is all but thanks."
He went forward to sit on the stem and clutch the bow line for balance, drinking the water and cursing his sensitivity to the environment. His fair complexion meant he burnt easily and he reacted to the world around him with baffling severity. The time spent in the space station didn't help. No wonder his imagination tended to be less populated and uncomplicated compared to Gordon's. He glanced momentarily at his beloved stars as he called the depth. He enjoyed contemplating the vast emptiness between stellar bodies of inert material, imagining the practicality of living in different atmospheres, or the potentials of alternate universes. Cerebral. A world away from the ear-splitting noise and blood-curdling chaos in Gordon's mind of adventures.
"I have to do this," Gordon murmured behind him.
"I'm here, aren't I?" John watched dark patches slide by the hull.
"As a skeptic."
"Sometimes I just think out loud, you know. Doesn't mean…" He raised his right hand and he felt the boat swing shoreward to avoid a section of reef. He could see the glitter of moon on the waves along the shore, feel the pitch of the boat quieten within the reef and smell the beached weed.
"It doesn't cost to believe, John."
John glanced back at his brother to see him focussed further ahead. He could disagree but didn't have the heart. What was Gordon going to walk back into after this wild-goose chase? What had any believer of the unusual suffered down through the ages?
"Not inside, at least. Much more costly without it," Gordon said with feeling.
John chuckled, surprised by his brother's philosophical mood.
"Hey, is that a jetty? Dead ahead?" Gordon exclaimed, his reverie gone as quickly as it had come. John had to agree. The square-angled shape out over the fluid movement of the water certainly looked like somewhere to tie-up.
"Who knows what the government used the island for," John said in his best analytical voice. "And how often they need to come here."
Gordon immediately radioed Thunderbird Five using their official protocol then added, "Hey Al, you awake up there?"
There was a short delay before Alan responded sleepily. "Am now. There, yet? Given up? Have I won our bet?"
"Anything changed since we last looked?"
"Nope. I've got the computer monitoring the scanners. Not a peep. Sorry, Gordo."
"Okay. Thanks. Out."
They motored the full length of the bay without talking but John could sense Gordon's eagerness. His brother had barely cut the engine and angled the bow into the jetty, than John needed to jump onto the plank of the jetty to save overshooting it. It was a flimsy affair, caked in flotsam and still slimy wet from wild seas earlier in the week. What John did notice as he slid the rope over the mooring was how smooth the top of the pylon was. From the habit of other vessels tying up? Gordon let their boat bump the fender roughly and let it drift to dock in the following sea instead of using the motor. John secured it forward and aft in a rush but it was Gordon who was first to the beach.
"No harm in a scout. Shouldn't take…" Gordon's voice trailed.
John saw him bend to study the sand. Then John saw it for himself. The sand had been disturbed and recently, at least since the cyclone. By people. And a good number of them.
"Hello! Hello!" Gordon's voice echoed across the beach but there was no answer save the plovers they disturbed.
Without any overt agreement between them, Gordon hitched the backpack higher on his shoulder and took the lead. John followed at his heel. Gordon used the flashlight to draw along the ground in the direction the activity in the sand indicated and his pulse beat that bit faster. Excitement? Trepidation? Or vindication. At least someone had been there.
"Hello! Hello!"
"Gordon, Alan said no-one is here," John said irritably. "This is obviously not what you imagined. This looks organized and regular. Not some kind of emergency."
Gordon saw John had unzipped the top of his wet suit and peeled it back from his skin. Even in the blast of yellow light, he could see the redness sprouting up his brother's neck. He offered another bottle of water.
"Starting to itch?"
John agreed reluctantly.
"Come on. We won't be long."
Gordon went back to look at what the sand told him – lots of feet walking to and from the jetty to the line of grass. He had to admit it wasn't quite what he expected but it was intriguing. The grass had been standing six foot tall but the wild winds had partially flattened it, laying it to one side and covering a well-worn track. Gordon discovered the path when he reached the grass where evidence of people disappeared from the sand. He waved the cane-like grass aside with his forearm as he waded inland.
"What do you think? Snakes in this lot? Pretty warm evening," John asked behind him, using the temporary tunnel Gordon was making.
"Oh, probably the usual tropical fare. Snakes, spiders, scorpions. All waiting to show a sensitive blond a good time."
"I don't know, Gordo. Bad feeling here."
"Are you sure it's not too much sun?" Gordon grinned.
After a few minutes of grass bashing, Gordon broke through to a cleared space – and the remains of a camp. When he stopped suddenly, John bumped into him and muttered an apology. They both stared over the site. The cyclone had done a good job of dismantling it. Wooden boxes were strewn, camouflage netting shredded, support poles twisted and snapped, cooking gear overturned.
Gordon went to the nearest box and pried the lid.
"Boomerangs?" He picked up a cheap, highly decorated angled throwing stick and stared at the other two hundred left in the box. "Made in Tonga?"
John went to another box. "Same here. Tourist wares."
Gordon found a box with flagons of wine – the same type they'd found on their beach.
"Well, maybe we weren't too far wrong." He showed John.
"This is some trader's camp, Gords. Look at this rubbishy stuff. Boomerangs. T-shirts with 'I love a sunburnt country' printed on it. No prizes for guessing where this is headed."
"Definitely you, John." Gordon held up one of the t-shirts against his brother's chest. Then he was a little more serious. "This is way off the trader routes and going the wrong way if it's headed east. This doesn't make sense."
"No-one needs help here, bro. Except to clean up the mess."
Gordon righted one box by itself and spent longer examining the contents. He was not ready to admit defeat, yet.
"What do you think this is?" He held up a wooden implement about three feet long. "It looks similar to those boomerangs."
John took it to study. It was shaped in the characteristic boomerang airfoil like a pair of airplane wings but was longer, straighter and significantly heavier than the tourist ones. It was also without the decoration. John swung it and its movement made the air 'sing' with a whurr.
"Maybe it's used for a different purpose," he suggested.
"A boomerang? You throw it and it comes back so you can catch it. Simple."
"There are actually different types. This looks a little more – ah – businesslike. They were used to hunt and as weapons. Not all of them are playthings."
"To kill someone? You're joking."
"Well, to stun. To bring down prey or quarry. You know the original Australians weren't the only people group to use them. Islanders. Even Indians. Pretty effective weapons, don't you think? Quiet. Re-useable. No need to worry about ammunition. Wouldn't jam in this sand. And might even return to you if you missed."
Gordon stifled a laugh. "I'm impressed, John. Now, who has the vivid imagination?"
"It can get pretty quiet in Five," John said defensively. "That wrangler guy on Bonga is interesting when he gets talking. I think we've seen enough. This is a trader's camp and possibly an illegal one. The owner of these goods may not appreciate us being here. We can follow this up from home."
Gordon looked around the goods. "A quick walk along the beach and up to the rocky point and we'll be out of here. After I dive for Virgil's rock lobster. Something tells me you're not up to it."
John agreed to the last part.
It only took a few minutes to walk the beach and to climb the section of rocks at the end. There was a well-worn trail to the top and to a cave on the leeward side. The very end of the island ended in a sharp drop into the ocean. Gordon trailed his flashlight over the remains of a campfire and into the cave that revealed the scuttle of centipedes and scorpions. Beside him, John swabbed his forehead with the back of his forearm.
No-one was there.
From their vantage point, they could see over the tiny island, just an upthrust of rock spilling down to sand and the long grass. The beach in the bay was the only stretch of sand, the windward side of the island being rocks and tossed foam.
All quiet. All empty.
As Gordon ran the flashlight over the scene one last time, something tiny and luminous green flashed from the sand. He bent to pick it up and held it under the light. It was a bracelet of linked silver with a single charm.
"A fur ball with its paw in a power socket. That's all I need," John said curtly. Gordon knew the feline was another member of the animal kingdom that adversely affected his older brother. Gordon had to agree the charm did look like a furry cat, the two jewel eyes winking discordantly inside an edge of heavily jagged silver. This had to be a child's bracelet but an expensive one. "Mystery solved. The trader has kids and the kids have been fooling around. Satisfied now, Squirt?"
Gordon stared at the bracelet, willing to know its history. He saw again the carefully woven letters of grass. Would a child intent on mischief have the patience? Before he could think of a reason to linger any longer, two things happened at once. John deposited the contents of his stomach in the sand at his feet. And he spied a large, aerodynamic shape sail across the bay beneath them.