CHAPTER SEVEN
At the Settlement
Face had just come back from visiting his buddy Tano over in the village. He looked around for Murdock at the tables outside HQ, but didn't see him. He figured he was either inside, working on a model, or maybe sacked out in his hooch. (Of course, the wooden huts they called home were a good deal sturdier and much nicer than the shacks and tents they had lived in over in 'Nam, but the slang term had stuck, and old habits died hard among the older vets.)
He checked the hut and found it empty. He then wandered into the bar, and was a little surprised to find it deserted except for Dink, who was pulling out the storm windows. "We got trouble coming, Dink?"
"Not yet, but my knee is tellin' me there's a storm blowin' our way in the next few days, an' she's gonna raise hell with us."
Face frowned. "Funny, Tano didn't say anything while I was over there."
Dink shrugged. "The villagers wouldn't. Storms are a normal part of life to them… they just deal with them and move on. They figure if we don't know how to survive a storm out here, then we don't deserve to live on the island."
Hannibal's low chuckle came from behind them as he leaned against the doorframe. He grinned around his freshly lit cigar. "They're right. We should know how to handle storms. We've been through a couple already. I'll get B. A. and some of the others working on pulling supplies and equipment together and bringing it in here. If we have to we can send for more supplies from Basseterre. By air if we need to. Face, you go talk to Doc about what he needs. Either of you seen Murdock?"
Dink shook his head and reached for another window cover and Hannibal took it from him and leaned it against the the bar. "I haven't seen him all day, which is a little surprising. I have a package for him. Came in on the supply boat this morning. I know he's expecting another model from his buddy."
Face stared at Hannibal. "This isn't right. I haven't seen him since last night, and his hut is empty. His jacket and hat were gone, too."
Hannibal scowled. "Okay, he's got to be around here somewhere. He can't have wandered off very far. He wouldn't do that. Face, you and B. A. go work on the supplies for the storm, but talk to the guys at the same time and find out if anyone saw Murdock, or saw him talking with anybody. See who talked to him last. Maybe that person knows what happened… knows where he went. Something wasn't making sense, and Hannibal hated things that didn't make sense.
Face was the one who came up with the first clue. James was on duty in the Infirmary, and he was sitting at the desk. He looked up at Face and smiled. He put a finger to his lips. "I finally got that guy asleep." He pointed to a dark-haired patient in the cot nearest them, and for one wild second, Face hoped it was Murdock. It wasn't. It was another vet Face didn't know very well. James continued, "He's got a pretty bad case of the flu, and he's been restless. What can I do for you?"
Face ran his hand through his hair. "Look, Murdock is missing. Did you see him at all this morning?"
James frowned and scratched his chin. "Yeah, I did, actually. I thought it was a little weird, and I would have told you guys, but I got busy with a guy who came in with a big fish hook in his hand. I forgot about it."
Face sighed impatiently. "Forgot about what, James?"
"Well, he was acting all secretive and sneaky. And he left camp with Carrick, which is the weird part. I mean, he and Carrick don't exactly seem like buddies, right?"
Face stared at the medic in confusion. "No, they don't. Huh. I wonder what that was all about…" He stared off into space for a moment, and then looked back at James. "Thanks for the intel. Oh, and tell Doc there's a storm coming… Hannibal needs to know what you guys need for supplies and to batten this place down. He plans to arrange for an air shipment if we need anything urgently."
James shrugged. "Not our first storm. Doc should be back soon. I'll tell him, and have him talk to Hannibal. Hope you find Murdock." He scribbled a rapid note for Finn and then turned back to his report.
Face pivoted on his heel and practically sprinted back to HQ. This was not good. Not good at all. Murdock, where in the hell are you?"
Somewhere over the Bermuda Triangle
H. M. Murdock had no idea where the hell he was, and that was not good. Not good at all. Because the plane he was fighting to control was bucking and shimmying worse than the spin cycle of a washing machine. He was pretty sure they had just flipped and rolled at least three times. Normally, he wouldn't have minded the mid-air acrobatics, but it sounded to him as if the wings were about to tear right off the plane. It simply wasn't meant to take the onslaught of magnetic buffeting that was attacking it from every side.
His fingers flew over the instruments purely by instinct, as muscle memory took over his brain, and Billy shouted out instructions . While it was true Billy could never get lost or turned around due to the magnetic anomalies, it was also true that neither of them were prepared for the sheer violence of being in the center of the Triangle. Suddenly, there were no references to direction, or gravity, or speed. And then it happened. All movement, all sound, EVERYTHING simply… stopped.
Murdock was utterly confused, because outside the cockpit, there was absolute sensory deprivation in less than one-tenth of a second. They were not even adrift. They were simply sitting there, as still as a stone. They were in complete, silent pitch blackness. Billy stared out the windshield attempting to make sense of what had just happened. He looked over at his friend. "Uh, boss, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."
On Basseterre
Carrick was feeling pretty good. His plan had gone off without a hitch. He had gotten off the damned island, Murdock was fish food by now, and nobody had seen them leave, so he was safe. He had even ensured the guy who had picked him up in the speedboat out in the water would never talk. Carrick figured the idiot deserved what he got. He was stupid enough to bring along the cement weight Carrick had asked for. After disposing of the body, he had sunk the boat a mile offshore and then waded ashore onto a deserted beach near town.
The only hitch was that a storm was brewing and all flights to the mainland were being cancelled or delayed for the next week out of an abundance of caution. He thought it was pretty stupid, The only flights available were local island hoppers, and those he certainly did not want! So, he decided he would make the best of things, and find himself some female companionship, buy a couple of bottles of rum, and hole up for the duration. He would wait for the storm to pass, and then book the first flight out of this hellhole, and then hightail it back to the States. He chuckled as he thought about that. He had some connections there… He could easily hook up another gig… maybe even head over to Europe or Asia for a while. Hell, they had a swinging drug trade over there… he could easily become a very wealthy man… Yeah, life was good.
~TBC~