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Someone long ago had called it the ‘Undertaker’s Wind’ but hardly anyone in Jamaica referred to it by that name anymore. The Undertaker’s Wind was supposed to blow the bad air out of the island at night. In the morning, the ‘Doctor’s Wind’ would come and blow the sweet air in from the sea. The Undertaker’s Wind was certainly at work that night, whipping the long red strands of the Englishwoman’s hair around her head like the flames of a torch.
The woman was dressed in a skin-tight black diving suit and stood on the cliff above the grotto looking out to sea. Forty stone steps cut into the cliff led down to the grotto, in front of which was a small, sandy beach. It was very dark in the grotto, for the cliffs blocked the moonlight. Up above it was just bright enough for every tree, plant and stone to emit an eerie glow.
The woman glanced at her watch and tapped the button to illuminate the time. He would not be late. He never was.
The grotto and its private beach faced the Caribbean, not far from Port Maria on the North Shore of the island. The small community of Oracabessa was just along the coast to the west, and Cuba was a hundred miles to the north. The area was considered Jamaica’s most lovely coastal country. The woman had never been here prior to this evening, but she knew the layout of the place inside out. It was her job to know. The land was
