Across the calm ocean surface, in the massive land shadows by the point, there were two corresponding flickers of light. A small boat had rounded the waters of the cove's entrance, its grey-black hull slowly emerging in the early sunlight.
Its destination was that section of the beach where Lawrence stood.
Several minutes later, Lawrence struck another match and held it up until there was an acknowledgment from the approaching craft, at which instant both were extinguished and the black crewman started running back over the sand towards Bengal Court.
On the lawn, by the corner of the building, Sam Tucker turned and saw the racing Lawrence. He walked to the stairs in the sea wall and waited for him. The black man reached the steps; he and Tucker spoke briefly, and together they approached the terrace doors of the adjoining room - Alison Booth's room. Tucker opened them, and the two men went inside, leaving the double doors ajar.
Peter kept shifting his eyes from the motel to the beach. There was no visible activity from the terrace; the small boat plodded its way over the remarkably still waters towards the beach, now only three or four hundred yards from shore. It was a long, flat-bottom fishing boat, propelled by a muffled engine. Sitting in the stern was a black man in what appeared to be ragged clothes and a wide straw sun hat. Hook poles shot up from the small deck, nets were draped over the sides of the hull; the effect was that of a perfectly normal Jamaican fisherman out for the dawn catch.
When the boat came within several hundred feet of the shore, the black skipper lit a match, then extinguished it quickly. Jensen looked up at the terrace. In seconds, the figure of Sam Tucker emerged from the darkness beyond the open doors. He held one end of a stretcher on which a man lay wrapped in blankets; Lawrence followed, holding the other end.
Gently but swiftly, the two men ran - glided - the stretcher across the terrace, down the sea-wall steps, over the sand, and towards the beach. The timing was precise, not a moment wasted. It seemed to Jensen that the instant the boat hit shallow water, Tucker and Lawrence waded into the calm surf with the stretcher and placed it carefully over the sides onto the deck. The nets were swung over on top of the blanketed man and the fishing boat was immediately pushed back into the water by Sam Tucker as Lawrence slid onto the bow slat. Seconds later, Lawrence had removed his shirt and from some recess in the boat lifted out a torn, dishevelled straw hat, clamped it on his head, and yanked a hook pole from its clasp. The transformation was complete. Lawrence the conspirator was now a lethargic native fisherman.
The small flat-bottom craft turned, rippling the glasslike surface of the water, and headed out. The motor chugged a bit louder than before; the skipper wanted to get away from the beach with his concealed human cargo.
Sam Tucker waved; Lawrence nodded and dipped the hook pole. Tucker came out of the miniature surf and walked swiftly back towards Bengal Court.
Peter Jensen watched as the fishing boat veered in open water towards the point. Several times Lawrence leaned forward and down, fingering nets but obviously checking the condition of the man on the stretcher. Intermittently, he seemed to be issuing quiet commands to the black at the engine tiller. The sun had now cleared the edge of the Jamaican horizon. It would be a hot day.
Up at the terrace Peter saw that the double doors of Alison Booth's room remained open. With the additional light, he could also see that there was new activity inside. Sam Tucker came out twice, carrying tan plastic bags, which he left on the patio. Then a second man - the doctor's assistant, Peter realized - emerged, holding a large cylinder by its neck and a huge black suitcase in his other hand. He placed them on the stone, bent down below them on the sea wall, and stood up moments later with two elongated cans - aerosol cans, thought Jensen - and handed one to Tucker as he came through the door. The two men talked briefly and then went back inside the room.
No more than three minutes had elapsed when Tucker and the doctor's aide were seen again, this time somewhat comically as they backed into the door frame simultaneously. Each held his arm outstretched;