“They grew coffee and cocoa,” Jack said. “At least that’s my understanding. Of course, I don’t have any idea where they grew it.”

“Uh-oh, I see a soldier,” Laurie said.

“I see him, too,” Jack said. His eyes had been searching along the waterfront as they came closer.

The soldier was dressed in the same jungle camouflage fatigues and red beret as the ones at the gate. He was aimlessly pacing a cobblestone square immediately at the base of the pier with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Does that mean we switch to plan C?” Warren questioned teasingly.

“Not yet,” Jack said. “Obviously, he’s where he is to interdict people coming off the pier. But look at that Chickee Hut built on the beach. If we got in there, we’d be home free.”

“We can’t just run the canoe up onto the beach,” Laurie said. “He’ll see that as well.”

“Look how high that pier is,” Jack said. “What if we were to slip underneath, beach the canoe there and then walk to the Chickee Hut? What do you think?”

“Sounds cool,” Warren said. “But this boat is not going to fit under that pier, no way.”

Jack stood up and made his way over to one of the poles that supported the thatched roof. It disappeared into a hole in the gunwale. Grasping it with both hands, he pulled it up. “How convenient!” he said. “This canoe is a convertible.”

A few minutes later, they had all the poles out, and the thatched roof had been converted to a pile of sticks and dried leaves. They distributed it along both sides under the benches.

“The owner’s not going to be happy about this,” Natalie commented.

Jack angled the boat so that the pier shielded them as much as possible from the line of sight from the square. Jack cut the engine just at the moment they glided into the shade under the pier. Grasping the timbers they guided the boat toward shore, being careful to duck under crossbeams.

The boat scraped up the shady patch of shore and came to a stop.

“So far so good,” Jack said. He encouraged the women and Warren to get out. Then, with Warren pulling and Jack paddling, they got the boat high on the beach.

Jack got out and pointed to a stone wall that ran perpendicular to the base of the pier before disappearing into the gently rising sand of the beach. “Let’s hug the wall. When we clear it, head for the Chickee Bar.”

A few minutes later, they were in the bar. The soldier had not paid them any heed. Either he didn’t see them or he didn’t care.

The bar was deserted except for a black man carefully cutting up lemons and limes. Jack motioned toward the stools and suggested a celebratory drink. Everyone was happy to comply. It had been hot in the canoe after the sun came out and especially after the canopy had come down.