Ben climbed aboard, and Emile cast off. The boat burbled out to sea, the twin outboards churning up a white wake behind them. The ocean was flat and smooth, but this was hurricane season and things could get rough without warning. Emile smoked and talked incessantly over the burble of the engines, speaking a form of Creole English out of which Ben caught maybe one word in five. Ben asked him where they were headed, and Emile pointed westwards and replied, ‘Over deh ih Savana Island, Bahss. That’s where we be goin.’

Ben peered into the darkness. ‘Roth lives there?’

Emile grinned, ‘Sure does, mos’ defenetly.’

‘The guy with the hat. Does he work for Roth too?’

Emile’s smile fell away as he replied darkly, ‘Angelo? Yuh cyan trust dat moomoo.’

‘Thanks for the advice.’

The boat burbled on. After a few more minutes the dark silhouette of Savana Island could be made out against the night sky, a hemispherical dome rising out of the ocean to blot out the stars. Ben could make out a few faint lines by the shore, another jetty that he guessed was their destination. As they chugged closer Emile steered the cruiser towards a tiny inlet. Forested cliffs loomed high overhead. Emile cut the motors and they bumped against the jetty and lashed up. On shore, the lights of a Jeep flared into life. Ben disembarked and headed towards the waiting vehicle, where he was met by another Afro-Caribbean much less loquacious than Emile, and a burly white guy who said, ‘Yo, my name’s Charlie. I work for Mr Roth. Okay if I frisk you, bud?’

Ben said it was okay, and held out his arms to let him do his work. What Keegan had said about Roth’s paranoia was no joke, obviously. Charlie finished patting him down and said, ‘You’re clean. Welcome to Savana Island.’ He ushered Ben into the open-top Jeep. The Afro-Caribbean guy gunned the engine, and they took off with Charlie riding shotgun, climbing fast into the dark forested hills.

The track was steep and twisting, and badly surfaced with ruts full of white sand that made the Jeep tyres dig in deep and spin for traction. The night air ruffled Ben’s hair and shirt, thick with the warm scent of the sea mixed with palm vegetation and flowers. They bumped along for about a mile without seeing any sign of human habitation, then rounded a bend in the track and a house suddenly came into view. It stood perched high on a clifftop with big windows overlooking the ocean and a decking on stilts that jutted out over the cliff edge.

The Jeep rolled to a halt. Charlie waved towards the house and said, ‘Right up there, bud. He’s waitin’ for ya.’