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pledged a silent oath of allegiance to anyone who could get her out
of this mess. With the same breath she also hoped that this time the rebels would shoot her
companion, otherwise she'd have no choice but to kill the stupid bastard herself.
    She also knew that developing a grudge was better than sitting in fear, and the desire to hurt
Alan Wagner was quite empowering. If this was anger management, then it worked for her.
    Alan, meanwhile, was giving his testosterone a pep talk as he got ready to get them both
seriously hurt. He actually gave Jana a patronising in-charge wink. The sound of returning bootsteps
did not bode well for either of them. She knew that.
    She hit Alan as hard as she could.
    When the two gunmen flung their door open they found her waiting quietly, and him doubled over
groaning about his balls.
    'You come now,' the taller one said. 'Both you.'
    Jana did as she was told. It was more sensible than giving lip to a teenager with a
semi-automatic.
    Once outside their bure they were shoved along the winding path through the tropical vegetation.
She knew it led towards the dining room, about 50 metres away on the far side of the waterfall-pool
and beach volleyball area. As soon as they cleared the private gardens, Alan stumbled and fell. One
soldier laughed, the other kicked him in the ribs; both trained their weapons on him.
    Jana stopped and waited. Unlike her roommate, she knew it was pointless to make a break for it.
There could be no escape from here without outside help. And that was unlikely. Still, and ever the
optimist, she scanned the grounds between them and the lagoon for any signs of rescue.
    Twilight in the tropics, she noted irrelevantly, is just a state of mind. The sun sinks so fast
near the equator that day becomes night in a blink of the eye. And while Jana had never seen a
sunset look so ominously like blood smeared on the horizon, she caught her breath in that moment
before dark and hoped that what she'd glimpsed was a conning tower. Then she laughed silently at her
wishful thinking. Given her luck this week, she'd just seen the arse end of a cruise ship.
    Alan was now dusting himself down and shrugging the boy soldiers off, as if they were nothing.
    What kind of rebels are these ? One of the men pushed her in the back to hurry her on. If
she so wanted to kill Alan, why the hell didn't they?
    Movements to her left caught her attention. A magnificent banyan tree, the focal point of the
resort's three swimming pools, was still covered in streamers and coloured lights from the
traditional welcome they'd been given nine days ago. Now she saw it was occupied by four grotty
rebels inside a circle of mounted machine guns. All directions were covered, but one of the guns was
aimed at the five-star bures - the cabins - of Laui Island's East Garden. They were now nothing more
than superbly appointed thatched prison cells that held the other randomly paired-off members of the
Pacific Tourism & Enviro-Trade Conference.
    The dining room was shut-up. While the bures were self-contained and lockable, most of the
resort's communal buildings like the bar, theatre and convention room, had folding timber storm
doors rather than permanent walls. Ordinarily, they were rarely used. Given the balmy evening and
crystal-clear sky, why was the dining room closed in?
    Their escorts stopped in the sand below the outdoor deck and ordered, 'You wait.'
    Jana grabbed Alan's sleeve and yanked him to a stand still. 'Don't aggravate them any more
Alan.'
    'Stupid bitch. We'd be outta here now if you'd follow me.'
    'No. We'd be dead now. Didn't you see that little arsenal?' She pointed to the banyan tree.
    Alan looked up. She saw his shoulders stiffen but he was not about to admit his near death error.
Jana strained to identify the voices coming from the dining room. One belonged to Mila Ifran, the
leader of these island rebels, but while the other man's first language was obviously English, his
accent was hard to determine.