Gregoire piloted the boat for just under an hour, scanning the water’s surface for debris, before turning in to the island resort marked on his map. There was no reason to think that Arris would have made it here, given the range of the Huey, but Gregoire wasn’t going to rule out anything in the search for his friend. He puttered the boat into the make-shift marina and brought it alongside the dock before cutting the engine. He hopped out of the boat and began tying it to a cleat when a dockworker approached.
The dockworker paused a few yards short of where Gregoire was bent over and surveyed him, trying, it seemed to Gregoire, to determine how to deal with his arrival. Clearly, the little motorboat on which Gregoire had arrived was not the kind of seafaring craft that normally made it here, as was evidenced by the few yachts that were already tied up. Gregoire looked at his boat for a second and then glanced up at the dockworker.
“The dock is for registered guests, sir,” the man said, trying to be polite and nearly unable to hide his disdain.
Gregoire smiled and stood. “I’m sure it is, but you know what they say, ‘any port in a storm.’”
This confused the dockworker, who made a clear act of scanning the skies for Gregoire. “The weather is excellent today, sir, is there some way I can be of assistance?”
“Maybe,” Gregoire said, moving closer to the worker and making a scene of checking the area out. “Is there an airstrip on this island?”
“Of course, it is how many of the guests arrive.”
“Where is it?”
“About a kilometer inland from here,” the worker said, turning and motioning with his hand, “up this road.”
“Do you know if anybody landed at it recently?” Gregoire asked, closing the distance with the worker to make the man feel uncomfortable with the amount of space between them and rattle him into cooperating. Some people didn’t like to be talked to too closely and would forget their position of authority, and Gregoire had to overcome what he presumed was the dockworker’s primary responsibility: keep out the riff-raff.
The worker took a few steps back. “No,” he said, “I work here.”
Gregoire nodded and started walking up the dock toward the road, the worker following along, confused. “I need to go there. Do you have any transportation for guests?”
“Of course, but you have to be a registered guest of the resort to –,” the worker said, before Gregoire waved his hand to cut him off.
“Okay, okay, it’s just up this road a click or so, got it,” Gregoire said, pulling out his wallet and proffering the worker a US government credit card. “Won’t kill me to walk. Here, take this and fill the tanks on my boat. I won’t be long.”