Little Brac, Cayman IslandsD
awn was breaking on the eastern horizon as the Junebug cruised just outside the reef surrounding the smaller of the two Cayman Island land masses. There wasn’t much to see through the gloom except a stretch of white sand backed by a line of wind-warped ironwood trees. The GPS on the cockpit console showed a blinking arrow pointing toward a spot on the beach just behind a shallow tidal pool. Shake swept the binoculars across that area slowly until he saw the blinking infra-red strobe tied to a tree.
“There it is.” He handed the binoculars to Steamer Bartlett and pointed. “Line us up with the strobe while I make a call.”
“Good morning, sir.” The voice on the phone was familiar and cheerful. “We’ve got you in sight.”
“Good morning, Chesty. We’re gonna anchor o
