The policeman knelt, tied off the boat at the bow. A second officer leaned out from behind the wheel and dropped a figure-eight loop around a pillar. He cut the engine, pinched sweat from his eyes.

Beside her the phone vibrated against the warm earth. She turned it over.

Ropes tightened. Two battered travel bags landed on the dock. The second policeman stepped from the boat, knelt by the first bag, unzipped it, and examined something inside. He stood and handed it to the first policeman.

Cracked leather, water-stained and scuffed. Also wrong, she thought lazily.

The two men were nodding at each other. Small eyes, high cheekbones, prominent teeth. Small mouths too. They could almost be brothers.

“Nothing to worry about,” said the first. He had noticed her staring. He had spoken in English.

He flashed her a smile that was anything but a smile.

She smoothed out her sundress. Why would she be worried?

The same non-smile from the second policeman. “Gather your friends.” They began to head up the rise.

Her phone began to ring. She rejected the call with a text.

Somewhere out of sight an invisible hand was tapping a microphone. Voices reflected back at her from across the fjord, over-amplified, heavily distorted.

On the rise, the officers were facing each other. They were checking each other’s equipment, tapping each other down.

She found herself thinking of her father, though she did not know why. She pushed the thought from her mind.

She looked at the boat straining at the dock. Farther up the coast people were swimming, but here on the island, down by the water, there was no one about. From here you could see only the path that led from the boat dock up toward the camp. She looked up again toward the rise. She could not see the men.

Her phone vibrated. A text from Leela:

You coming?

It had been a mistake to take the ferry on her own. The people on the way over had seemed sophisticated, long and cool in their shades and their sun hats, though many were younger than she was. She had hung back, embarrassed, let them pass up the rise ahead of her, wishing Leela was there with her. It was getting harder and harder to imagine herself among the thronging crowds. More and more tempting to turn and head for home.

She could hear the applause now. Stirring music played.

She texted a reply:

Soon.

The boat key was in the ignition. Strange, she thought. Tempting fate. She looked at the outboard motor. Evinrude 225 E-TEC. Barely used, its white surface completely unscuffed. She looked about her.