Cwong’s shipment would be delivered two days late. Hawker got the message on the portable UHF radio the agency had provided. He got the message in simple code during his first check-in time. He called someone—he didn’t know who, or where—at 7 A.M. and 7 P.M. every day. Since Harper had wanted to arrive on Kira-Kira the day before the delivery, that meant they’d have an extra day to fill on this tiny unnamed island. Hawker insisted they not spend the days doing nothing. Boredom was a killer—making people slow and sluggish, obstructing the thinking process. Hawker put them on a schedule and insisted they stick to it. Every morning, the vigilante ran. He ran on the beach and even hacked a trail through the jungle so he could run there too. He wanted to run in the water, but there were too many sea urchins. Hawker even got Sha to run. She wore a pale-orange French string bikini that made her look as dark as a Negro. Hawker could see her ribs undulate, could see the taut buttocks muscles flex with each stride, could see her round breasts bounce and fall, the nipples sharpening with the rhythmic caress of the thin bikini top.
