Going back to her tiny quarters, she fell quickly asleep as the ship ploughed its way through the waters of the Atlantic under sullen skies. She looked a small, vulnerable figure with round features and long, dark brown hair that was very nearly black in the dim light. Her eyes, which were not entirely closed, were a deep liquid black like night itself, in which the same cold stars shone; they were agitated, as though she were searching desperately for something, though she knew neither that she was searching nor what she was searching for.

In the year 1929, it can truly be said that one has never really got the full effect of arriving at New York who has not gone through its harbour and seen the Statue of Liberty and the outline of the city beyond, for New York is first and foremost a port city, a city of docks and warehouses and steamships, of throngs of hopeful immigrants arriving from the Old World to stand on the threshold of the New, bringing with them their hopes and dreams of a new life, however unrealistic.

Among them stood young Kara Savalas, who a few short years before had been astounded by the sights and sounds and smells of the Port of London. There was an excitement in the air she was not immune to, but it was blunted and sobered by the knowledge that her father's reach extended even to this place, and for Kara his shadow seemed to cast a pall over everything about her. She decided immediately to put New York and the North American continent behind her.

That evening found her on a tiny freighter bound for the Bahamas, from where she hoped to catch a plane to Secret Island. Thankfully there was no sign of the man she'd met on the boat, but still she found herself unable to relax as the little freighter chugged through the night.

'We are here, Miss!'

Blinking sleep out of her eyes, Kara grabbed her carpetbag and made her way to where a few other passengers were waiting on the low deck. It was early, the second day since her departure from New York, the day already promising to be warm.

When she asked about air travel, a crewman directed her to a floating dock off the end of the pier where Kara could see the tops of the wings of several aquatic aircraft that rocked and nodded, disturbed by tugs churning up the water as they nosed the small freighter into its place at the dock. She gazed hopefully at a pair of brand-new Catalinas, sturdy passenger flying-boats with lines of round passenger windows reminiscent of portholes. Perhaps one of these would take her to Secret Island?




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