The satellite phone call went to the answering machine that Jen and Steve had jury-rigged. Voicemail was not an ideal option, but an old-fashioned answering machine tape could be played on a hand-cranked cassette player if the solar panel or wind farm failed.

“Hello, this is Steve,” said a pre-recorded voice.

“And this is Jen!” broke in another.

“We’re sorry to say that we’re not within hearing range of the phone, so please leave your message,” Steve’s voice continued.

“But on the bright side, we are probably outside enjoying our atoll and the life of Pacific natural beauty and self-sufficiency that we have built for ourselves here,” Jen’s voice added.

“All the sunburns, and all the isolation, are totally worth it,” Steve’s voice said, returning. “And if this is my old boss, or Jen’s old firm, we’re not interested. We appreciate the money that let us settle here, but we want nothing more to do with you.”

The beep ended the recorded message.

“What is that racket?” A well-armed man, speaking in Sundanese, approached and examined the answering machine.

“It’s nothing,” said another. His assault rifle was slung as he tried to pry a gold bracelet off a limp and rapidly cooling wrist. “The satellite phone is worthless without a carrier plan and the answering machine is a piece of junk. Not worth carrying back to the boat.”

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