Island of Thieves by Josh Lacey Page B

go now, but he say it is better to wait for the morning. I think he is right. We will stay in a hotel and leave one hour before dawn. That way, we are not be seen. We sail to the north. We are tourists trying for fish. We have rods and lines to make it look true. You like fishing, Harvey?”
    â€œTo be honest, I’ve never really seen the point.”
    â€œThe point is,” said Otto, “it’s fun.”
    â€œI don’t like killing things for fun.”
    â€œThat’s your problem,” said Otto. He turned to me. “How about you, Tom? You like fishing?”
    â€œActually, I do, yeah. I’ve only been a few times, though. And never like this. I’ve only done it in a river, not at sea.”
    â€œThe sea is best,” said Otto. “The fish are bigger, you understand? More strong. More fighting. Maybe, after, we catch some fish. You like that?”
    â€œSounds good,” I said.
    Las Lomas was a quiet little town. Dinghies bobbed in the harbor and brightly colored fishing boats were lined along the dock. Old men sat in cafés, sheltering from the weather. The water was as gray as the sky.
    â€œHere it is,” said Otto, pointing out to sea. “Isla de la Frontera.”
    I could see a distant silhouette, a dark shape resting on the edge of the horizon.
    There it was. The Island of Thieves.

20
    On the other side of the street from the hotel, there was an Internet café. I saw it when we drove into the parking lot, and again from the window of our room. I thought about sneaking out and sending a message to the U.S. embassy or the CIA, asking for help.
We’re trapped in a hotel with Otto Gonzalez,
I could say.
Why don’t you come and arrest him? Or has he bribed you too?
    In the end, I didn’t even get a chance to wander around the hotel on my own, let alone sneak out and use the Internet. Miguel escorted us wherever we went. He took us upstairs to our room—my uncle and I were sharing—and waited in the corridor while we showered and changed. Then he led us back downstairs again for supper.
    That night there were five of us sitting around the table in the small restaurant on the ground floor of the hotel: me, my uncle, Otto, Miguel, and Arturo. A few old men made up the rest of the clientele. I don’t know if they actually recognised Otto or just got the sense that he was a dangerous customer, but they were careful to sit far enough away that they had no chance of overhearing any of our conversation.
    Arturo had brought a large map of Isla de la Frontera, which he unrolled and spread over the table. It was a proper nautical chart, showing the depths of the ocean and the location of navigation buoys and two lighthouses, one at each end of the island.
    â€œThis is the prison,” said Otto, pointing at a structure on the eastern side. “This is the harbor. But we go here, yes?” He pointed at the northern tip of the island.
    â€œThat’s right,” said Uncle Harvey. He turned to me. “Tom, will you do the honors?”
    â€œWhich honors?” I said.
    â€œWill you read out our instructions? So we know where we’re going.”
    â€œOh, yes. Sorry. Sure.” I had copied the relevant sentences onto a sheet of the hotel’s notepaper. Now I fished it out of my pocket and read it aloud:
“Our Captayne took the pinnace ashore and I went with him and six men also, who were sworne by God to be secret in al they saw. Here we buried five chests filled with gold and three more chests filled with silver. We placed them at the northern tip of the Islande in a line with the small rocke which lookes likke a fishes head. If anyone comes after us, you must go to the angel. Look to her fifteen feete. Her mouth is black. She has no teethe but she has a deep hart and ther you will find it.”
    I’d pored over those words again and again till I almost knew them by heart, but they still filled me with a sense of