‘Yes, sir.’

The air was suddenly torn apart by an indescribable noise. It swelled from nothing to a high pitch of intensity within a couple of seconds. Something moved above our heads and I looked up to see the Boeing 707 coming in right overhead, nose up and flared out for landing. It was so damned low that instinctively I flinched and crouched lower, as if to escape having my head knocked off. The undercarriage was down, the navigation lights flashing, and there was a row of illuminated ports along the side. I could even see the heads of some of the passengers as they looked out.

The noise of those four big jets at that range was deafening and made the windows rattle in their frames. Then the plane moved away towards the mainland and I saw the cherry-red heat of the jet pipes before it settled down over the brow of the hill to land on the runway.

I looked quickly across at the quay, putting the binoculars to my eyes. Blackbeard was looking back towards the airstrip and the line he was holding dropped from his hand. He turned and waved, and the other man climbed out of the work boat, and they both ran towards the road leading to the airstrip and vanished behind the boathouse.

I blew air explosively from my lungs, and said shakily, ‘How old were you when you went grey, John?’

There was a smile in his voice. ‘About sixty-five, sir. But I lived a quiet life.’

‘I hear it’s strongly recommended.’ I put the pistol back in my pocket. ‘I’m going to the other side of the house. If you want me, just shout. If anything moves across there I want to know.’

I stood up and walked across the room, pausing to flash a light at Jill, who still lay cramped in the same position. There wasn’t anything I could do for her. Leotta was sitting in the armchair, her hands clasped over her ears, staring up disbelievingly at where the passenger jet had almost landed on top of us. I took hold of her hand and led her outside.