The Murder Games

CHAPTER 6

Based on my limited visibility, I have no idea how the pilot plans to land the plane. My best look at the caldera island comes from my little porthole. The other views come from the front windscreen and the other windows that dot both sides of the aircraft. Those portals only reveal dark blue skies and dying sunlight.

In my mind, the biggest obstacle to landing is the lack of a runway. Thick green trees and rich undergrowth smother the entire island, especially the moderately level center. The terrain turns mountainous to the north, and to the south, a sandy beach ties into the giant circle impression. Coral covers the rim of the caldera ring, inches below the turquoise water which deepens into a cobalt blue for hundreds of miles.

From my writing research, I recognize coconut trees, palms, and various other groves like purple coral and pond-apple trees. I've seen some of the varieties on vacations, but their presence here—or better yet, my presence here—leaves me pondering the path that led me to a tropical island in the middle of nowhere. If my hands weren't zip-tied, I'd think someone kidnapped me and Cara, and four other people to give us a vacation getaway. But I know there's more to it than that. There has to be.

As the plane swoops down toward the gentle water that rests inside the caldera circle, I have a realization. The aircraft is a seaplane with pontoon floats for landing gear. We don't need a runway. All we need is water, and we have plenty of that.

Next to me, Cara mumbles something I can't make out over the plane's rumbling engines. She raises her head and stares at me through glassy eyes.

"Where are we?" she says a little louder. Her chin sags, mouth parting as she comes out from under the drug's powerful grip. Her raspy voice struggles to rise above the den, but fortunately I can read her lips.

I speak a notch louder. "Some island in the middle of the ocean."

"What?" She pushes up but the zip-ties keep her from rising. Her gaze darts down to inspect her bound wrists. "What happened? Why am I... why are you?"

"Do you remember the jet?"

"We were looking out the window, and then, that's all I..."

"That's because our kidnapper stuck you with a syringe. He got me too." I allow her to soak up this alarming information. "He's not here anymore, but he handed us over to these guys." I gesture toward the men in the cockpit.

"Sex trafficking. Oh my God!" She peers through my window as the seaplane glides over the water and touches down with a few hard bumps, jostling our heads.

"I don't think so," I reply as the plane slows and comes to a gradual stop near a wooden dock that juts out into the enormous caldera lagoon.

"Some faraway island," she says. "What else can it be? They abduct girls—or women in our case—then take us out of the country. It has to be that."

"Take a look behind you."

She twists around as much as she can to see the man and the woman with the dark hair, presumably in their late forties or early fifties. Then she glimpses the younger man and the red head.

"I don't think sex traffickers go for people much over thirty. And they most likely don't go for guys. Although, I'm not saying they wouldn't, but it's probably not the stereotype they're aiming for."

"Then what is this? What's going on?"

My shrug comes at about the same time the pilot shuts off the engines. I don't get any help explaining from the other captives behind me. I suppose they have grown weary of answering my questions. They seem to want me to handle bringing Cara up to speed on our situation.