Chapter 1: Day One

The fury had passed. The gusting wind no longer screamed and howled. With dawn the clouds cleared and the sun warmed the sea. Once giant foaming crests had subsided to large fat swells, which brake languorously on the beach. Along the high water mark flotsam and jetsam cast ashore by the tempest lay amongst the tangled seaweed. A lone man clad in a soiled and sodden flight suit walks the beach. He stops at the edge of the green jungle and slowly squats by a sparkling puddle of rainwater.

The small jet had gone down during the typhoon. It had been a terrifying ordeal particularly after the lightening had struck the cockpit and all instrumentation and electronics had been lost. For endless hours we had been carried blind and buffeted helplessly on the crest of the storm. When the fuel was gone I had announced for everyone to prepare for a hard landing. The black mass of land had appeared just as that raging black sea seemed to be about to embrace us.

I had attempted to land on the hard sand above the surf line and thought we had made it with the thump of wheel contact. Maintaining control I had been able to just slow the plane. Then the world had gone completely crazy. The undercarriage had ripped away with an incredibly loud metallic scream and the plane had twisted into the waves. I had looked up and in a frozen instant witnessed a towering wave, which proceeded to engulf the world into a consuming blackness.

That I was alive and squatting on this tropical beach seemed a miracle that at the moment I was too exhausted to fully comprehend. I had found a trickle of fresh water flowing from the jungle. It seemed as if I had swallowed most of the Pacific Ocean during the previous night. I splashed the cool water on my face and let it run down my throat. There was a resulting pink color running between my fingers. Feeling my face I realized that I had some minor cuts and scrapes. But besides some aches and bruises I felt I was in relatively good shape.

I stood up and shaded my eyes from the brilliant dawn sun to survey the beach in both directions. I wondered how everyone else on the flight had fared. There had been four other passengers, Mr. Talbot, my employer, and three women.

Yesterday, when first seeing the boarding passengers I had decided this trip was going to be a mix of business and pleasure for someone. I had only briefly seen the females before our rushed departure from Honolulu. My quick impression of the three girls was one of pretty faces, a lot of hair, model-type figures, hairspray, stylish clothes and perfume. They consisted of Kimberly, her sister Brittany and a friend named Jennifer. Brittany and Jennifer were teenagers perhaps 18 or 19; it was hard to tell. I had overhead their conversation and learned the girls had just graduated from a high school back in the States. Kimberly was in her late twenties and probably Talbot's girlfriend. One of the impressed young ground crew had confided that Kimberly had been a "Playmate"' and "Miss Year". He had her picture taped to the inside of his toolbox.

My name is Taylor, John Taylor. I am 31 years old. I am single having been divorced now for about four years. I have been flying aircraft since I was 16. After a stint in the US Air Force I had become connected with Talbot Enterprises. The money was very good. It had to be because Talbot was very hard to work for. For example, this situation I was in now would seem the logical result of his way of doing business.

We had flown from Honolulu to some obscure South Sea island three days before. Talbot had some oil drilling concessions there. The remote unmapped landing site was a WWII relic. The sole standing structure was a battered Quonset hut. No sooner had we landed than Talbot and the females had disappeared in a waiting humvee. I had bunked down in a dingy flight crew quarters for the duration.

I was dismayed to find the only available local satellite communication system was down. Several days previously I had seen a posted weather map that showed an ominous front brewing and moving north. Knowing that it was mid-season for typhoons I had wanted to chart the front's progress. I had been unable to get any current data. The short wave gear on the plane only issued a roar of static. The problem was compounded by the fact I had not filed any flight plan in Honolulu that reflected our current position. Part of my specialized job description involved doing my part in keeping these little drill-site sightseeing trips undocumented and untraceable. No one had any idea where we were.