"Okay." Rick was careful to keep his voice at a whisper. He knew sound carried across the water.
The boys let the sail down and lashed it just enough to keep a sudden breeze from tangling the lines, then took paddles and steered for the small crescent of beach that made a light streak between the sea and the black rock of the volcano. The lights of the village were gradually lost as the jutting rock between the beach and the western land slope blocked their view.
Rick and Chahda timed their paddle strokes to catch a low wave as it sped to shore, and in a moment the vinta's bow grated on sand. Chahda jumped to shore, carrying the craft's anchor—a block of stone with a hole in it for the rope—and hauled the vinta's bow up on dry coral sand. Rick stepped to the sand and paused, ears tuned for any unusual noise. He heard nothing except the sharp barking of a dog in the village.
"If this is like most Asiatic villages, there'll be enough mutts to make it a dog catcher's paradise," he whispered in Chahda's ear. "They'll give us away sure!"
Chahda shook his head. "Leave to me. Have plenty sad experience with dogs. I come ready for them."
Rick wondered how the Hindu boy was prepared, but he realized this was no time for questions. He put his lips close to the hidden radio unit under Chahda's turban and called softly, "Rick to home base."
"Go ahead, Rick," Zircon's voice said faintly through the heavy folds of turban.
"We're on the beach, about to leave the vinta."
"Good luck. We're standing by for a fast run if needed. Be careful."
"We will," Rick promised. "Off for now." He drew the automatic from his sash, pulled back the slide, and let it carry a round into the chamber. Then he lowered the hammer to half cock and made sure the safety was on. He tucked the pistol into his sash, and loosened the kris in its sheath.