Mike Dixon

That was something to worry about. Footsie was another.
The guy was evil. Tim knew people like him in the army.
They were called psychopaths. The service did its best to
keep them out but some slipped through. They lived entirely
for themselves and derived pleasure from causing pain to
others. Tim had spent the night dreaming about Footsie. He
reminded him of a little boy in his class at school. The boy
was a loner. He sat in a corner and didn‟t mix with the other
children. One of his pleasures was making hurtful remarks.
Another was killing things. He started with cats and graduated
to bigger animals. One day he killed a little girl. Tim
felt guilty whenever he thought about it. He and his mates
knew what the boy was like. They should have warned their
teachers but a stupid schoolboy code prevented them from
dobbing him in.
Tim hung onto the controls and watched the sea glide
past. It was high tide and most of the reefs were covered.
Here and there, waves were breaking on the leeside. He
compared his sightings with the GPS and thought about
what Tong Yee had written in the journal. So far everything
was checking out to perfection. The guy was clearly good.
Tim wished he‟d had a chance to meet him. He sat back and
took the boat towards the reef, adjusting his speed so that
they would arrive at daybreak.
Two hours later the sun rose over a clear horizon and
shone in their faces. At the front of the boat, David reached
for his Polaroid sunglasses and pulled his hat down over his
forehead. Tim was untroubled by the glare. He stood with
one hand on the outboard motor and the other shielding his
face from the sun.
„There she is, mate … off to starboard where the water‟s
coming over the reef.‟
David adjusted his Polaroids.
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