"Twas early morning of Christmas, and throughout St. Chris...
...Residents were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of sweet bread and guavaberry danced in their heads.
As the islanders peacefully slumbered, a pickup truck sped westward through the deserted holiday-lit streets of Isabeya.
The passage went generally unnoticed, except by the Anglican priest inside the spired stone church unfastening hurricane shutters in preparation for Christmas sunrise service. He slipped out the back door and ran to the adjoining parsonage to make a brief phone call.
On the truck bed, sitting crosslegged with bowed heads, were a band of silent men. They'd chosen their target with care, an elderly woman living alone in an isolated cottage near the west end rain forest.