Devil's Keep

ACCLAIM FOR PHILLIP FINCH
AND HIS EVOCATIVE,
SUSPENSE-CHARGED BOOKS

“Gripping. … Finch seamlessly weaves together
the various strands of his story … [and] manages to build suspense to fevered intensity.”

—
Publishers Weekly

“Highly recommended for plot, introspection,
location, hero, and most of all, disturbing insight.”

—
Library Journal

“Finch provides a razor-sharp Philippine setting
and a splendidly laconic voice for his disillusioned, desperately hopeful hero.”

—
Kirkus Reviews

“A dramatic and emotional story, vividly told.”

—
Booklist

Devil’s Keep
is also available as an eBook

Also by Phillip Finch

Diving into Darkness: A True Story o
Death and Survival

Fatal Flaw

F2F

Paradise Junction

Sugarland

PHILLIP FINCH

The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”

Pocket Books A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 www.SimonandSchuster.com

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,
and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or
locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2010 by Phillip Finch

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or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information,
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First Pocket Books paperback edition April 2010

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Interior design by Esther Paradelo
Cover design and illustration by Tony Mauro

Manufactured in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

ISBN 978-1-4391-6856-1
ISBN 978-1-4391-6951-3 (ebook)

For Daniel
who was there on Day One

As their outrigger
banca
skimmed across the rolling swells beyond the Sulu Sea, JoJo and Rasul Pangulag came upon the most amazing sight they had ever encountered.

Somebody was feeding the fishes off Berbalang Island.

The brothers were Badjao, water gypsies. They roamed the wild Sulu archipelago that stretches hundreds of miles from Borneo to the southern Philippines. Their families lived in shacks set on stilts above tidal waters, but the brothers spent days at a time in the slim twenty-foot
banca
, occasionally smuggling, usually fishing.

They rarely visited the waters around the island. Few Badjao ever did. The
berbalang
was a dreaded shape-shifting ghoul of Sulu myth, said to feed on the corpses of its victims. Most Badjao didn’t really believe that the island was home to the
berbalang
, but they didn’t exactly disbelieve it, either.

There were more practical reasons to avoid the island. It was beyond the Badjao’s natural territory, the placid shallows of the archipelago where one could travel three hundred miles without losing sight of land. Berbalang Island was a solitary place, with
ferocious tides and wind-driven seas, the last chunk of land before several hundred miles of open water.

But the brothers’ catch had been poor for several days, and they were venturing out in hopes of changing their luck.

The island was a craggy hump of volcanic rock, forested with coconut palms and banana trees. JoJo and Rasul approached it from the west. They headed for a steep bluff that plunged down into the sea, an area where mackerel were known to run. The
banca
’s single-cylinder engine clattered as it labored through high swells. Rasul sat working the tiller. He watched JoJo standing easily at the prow, peering out across the open expanse of water, which blazed under the midday sun. Rasul was twenty-nine years old, JoJo twenty-seven. They were both small and lithe, brown-skinned men, although JoJo was perhaps an inch taller, his skin a tone or two darker from the hours that he spent in the hot glare of the sun, while Rasul sat in the shade of a canvas canopy.

They were about half a mile off the island when JoJo shouted over the engine’s noise and pointed out across the water. Rasul followed the line of his brother’s arm and finger. A speedboat was rounding the rocky point at the far end of the island. This was no hand-built native boat. It rode high, the sharp white bow uplifted, throwing up twin plumes of spray as it banged through the waves.

It was a wonderment. Neither of them had ever seen such a craft in these waters.

The speedboat slowed and stopped, settling into
the water. At the wheel was a pink-skinned man with light hair. A foreigner, Rasul realized. It was stunning. No foreigner ever ventured within a hundred miles of these waters. The man at the stern stood up, and Rasul got another shock. He was huge, the biggest man Rasul had ever seen: tall, wide, and solid. His chest and upper arms bulged against a white T-shirt. To Rasul he looked like a pink bear.

He stood near the stern and lifted a tall white bucket. He tipped the bucket forward, and something spilled out over the side, splashing into the sea.

The
banca
was still pushing across the water, on a course that would take them about one hundred yards from the speedboat. As they closed the distance, the pink-skinned giant picked up another white bucket. Rasul shaded his eyes against the sun, looking through the glare, as the huge foreigner lifted the second bucket over the side and upended it. Solid chunks of something slithered out and down into the water. Food. Meat.
This can’t be true,
Rasul thought.
Nobody throws away food.

The foreigner dumped out a third bucket. Now the
banca
was closer, and Rasul could see the water simmering around the stern of the speedboat. Fish were surging up, dimpling the ocean as they ate at the surface. Gulls were flapping in from perches atop the cliff, circling low over the speedboat and diving toward the water.

JoJo and Rasul shared a glance of bewilderment. The foreigner was actually feeding the fish.

Not just that. From the eager way the fish were rising, they seemed to be expecting food. So this
wasn’t the first time they had been fed this way.

Unbelievable.

The foreigner now picked up a fourth bucket and lifted it. But he didn’t tip it over the side, not right away. He cocked his head and looked toward the
banca
, seeming to notice them for the first time. Rasul sensed that the look was not friendly. Instinctively, Rasul pushed the tiller, turning the
banca
away from the speedboat, and cut the engine down to idle.

He watched with JoJo as the big man dumped out the fourth bucket and put it down. The water was alive now, the fish in a frenzy. Their silvery flanks flashed in the sun as they attacked the food.

The foreigner could have easily scooped up a boatload of fish with a few dips of a hand net. But he didn’t; he just put down the bucket and went forward to the wheel, throttling up the engines. The speedboat made a throaty burbling sound. It pulled away quickly, leaving a broad wake as the foreigner turned the wheel and cut back toward where he had first appeared. In less than a minute he was gone, vanishing around the point.

The patch of sea where he had spilled out the buckets was still alive with the feeding fish, the surface almost boiling now with greedy movement.

And
that
clearly was the most amazing sight JoJo and Rasul had ever seen: a feast of fish left for the taking.

Rasul didn’t hesitate. As soon as the speedboat was out of sight, he gunned the engine, full power. The
banca
began to move forward. Rasul, back at the tiller, couldn’t see the feeding fish from where he sat. But he let JoJo
guide him in, steering by the small motions that JoJo flicked with a hand held behind his back as he stood at the prow. Right. Right again. Easy left. Steady. Easy right. Slow. Stop.

Rasul turned off the engine, and the boat glided to a halt. Up front, JoJo was staring down at the water. Rasul expected him to snap into action—grab a net, something—but for a few seconds JoJo remained fixed on the water.

“Jo?” said Rasul.

JoJo didn’t answer. He crouched on one knee and got low to the water. Still staring.