JET - Escape: (Volume 9) (21 page)

Adrian spun and returned to the wheel, and Jet squeezed Matt’s hand before stepping toward the stairs. “Thanks.”

“Get some rest. I’ll come get you if there’s any reason to.”

“How’s Hannah? Fever almost gone?”

“Yes. The pills worked.”

“At least that went according to plan.” She looked through the window a final time at the pitch-black sea and shook her head.

“About time something did.”

The coast guard boat reached them just before nine a.m., when the seas had flattened and the wind had died down. The bump of the hulls meeting as the vessel lashed itself to the
Milan
woke Jet, and she reluctantly rose and made her way to the bridge with a sleepy Hannah to watch the rescue at sea play out.

Chapter 37

When Jet reached the bridge, three Haitian officers were standing by the helm, talking in low tones with Captain Adrian. One of the Haitians, a bulldog of a man, looked over at her without breaking the discussion. The hair on Jet’s arms stood up as she overheard the conversation.

“No, we only need a tow. We’re stable here,” Adrian insisted in accented English.

“You are carrying passengers?” the bulldog demanded.

Adrian hesitated. “Yes. It’s not unusual.”

“Of course not. But I’ll need to see passports for everyone aboard. Crew, passengers, the lot.”

Adrian nodded. “That’s not a problem. But why?”

“If you’re going to enter Haiti, it’s standard procedure. We don’t want illegals coming in.”

“I’ll tell the crew.”

Twenty minutes later, everyone was assembled on the bridge. The Haitians checked the crewmen’s papers and then came to Matt and Jet. Jet smiled shyly at the humorless officer and handed over their passports. He flipped them open and then handed them back.

“Very good. And the girl?”

“I can’t find it. I looked everywhere.”

His face clouded. “I’m afraid that’s not good enough. Everyone is required to have travel documents, even children. It’s a violation of international law to travel without them.”

“I understand that. It’s just that I can’t find it. Maybe by the time we make it to port?”

The Haitian’s brow furrowed and he turned from her. “Wait here. I’ll check.” He radioed to the vedette, speaking in French. “Call headquarters. Ask Lamont what to do. We have three passengers, one of them a child, and she doesn’t have her passport.”

Three minutes later a different voice came over the radio and barked in rapid-fire French. “This is Lamont. If the girl doesn’t have papers, bring all three of them in, and we’ll see what we can get out of them in exchange for a visa. Do they look like they have money?”

The officer stole a look at Jet and Matt. “Probably.”

“Bring them in. Sounds like an easy payday. We’ll throw them in the brig until the courts open tomorrow and they can face a magistrate. It’s Paulime on Mondays, and he’ll be generous sharing the fine he levies.”

Jet’s face didn’t change. She wasn’t going to let on that she spoke French, and the Haitian obviously hadn’t considered the possibility. But she realized in an instant they were in deep trouble. Haiti had a reputation as being slightly safer than Somalia, which meant it was run by thieves and crime lords. And because Hannah’s passport had been lost at some point in their travels, the islanders saw an opportunity to extort whatever they could from her parents. The problem being that when they were taken in, they’d be put into a holding cell, and there was no doubt they’d be searched. And she had almost three million in diamonds hanging around her neck in the little pouch. The stones would vanish while they were in custody, she was quite sure. If anything, it would provide a powerful reason for them to die while incarcerated, because the dead rarely complain about missing fortunes.

She waited as though she had no idea what was to come next, and then seemed to have an idea. “You know, there’s one place I didn’t look. If it’s that important, I’ll take another pass at our luggage. I’m sure it’s in there somewhere.”

The officer looked annoyed, but didn’t say no. She could see the heady vision of a slice of the fine evaporate in his expression when he turned to one of his men. “Would you escort her to her room so she can search her bags again?”

Jet handed Hannah off to Matt and made her way down the stairs to the stateroom deck and entered the small room. She made a big show of looking through the built-in desk and the chest of drawers, and shook her head. “No, it’s not here. Damn.”

“Then back to the bridge.”

“Okay. I need to use the bathroom. I’ll only be a second.”

The man nodded, and she ducked into the head and removed the pouch. She opened the cabinet beneath the sink and peered into the space, and then wedged the leather bag between the sink and the wood support frame, out of sight, next to where she’d hidden the pistol. It was unlikely that anyone would perform a thorough search of a bathroom cabinet in their absence, and even if they did, they’d have to shift the plywood to find anything. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best she could think of.

She flushed the toilet, rinsed her hands, and then opened the door. “Thanks.”

“Let’s go.”

Back on the bridge, Matt was doing his best to keep his temper as the officer explained in English that if the child’s passport wasn’t located, they would have to take them in and they’d have to appear before a magistrate. They stopped their discussion when Jet arrived.

“Well?” Matt asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know where it went. Maybe it fell out of the bag in Venezuela? Or was stolen? There are pickpockets everywhere, and a passport…”

The lead officer scowled. “I’m afraid you will need to come with us. The regulations are clear.”

“Why can’t we stay with the boat? We can’t swim to shore, and you can position a guard or something when we arrive to ensure we don’t disembark. It’s not as though we want to enter Haiti,” Jet tried.

“I appreciate you telling me how to do my job, but I’m afraid it’s not my decision. My superior said to bring you in. The matter is out of my hands. A judge will determine how to handle things – they will want to ensure you aren’t kidnapping the little girl.”

“Are you mad? She looks just like me. She’s my daughter.”

“Yes, well, that’s not for me to determine.”

“This is outrageous,” Matt said. “We demand to be taken to the embassy.”

“Please. You come for a boat ride. You see the magistrate tomorrow morning. It’s a formality.”

“She needs her medicine. She’s been sick,” Jet said. “Matt, would you get it for me?”

The officer shook his head. “I can’t allow you to delay us any further. It is a long run back to shore.”

“But the doctor said–”

“Madame, it is of no concern to me what your doctor said. You’re traveling with an undocumented minor. You will be taken into custody, as my boss ordered, and appear before the court when it opens tomorrow.”

“Why not today?” Matt demanded.

“It’s Sunday. So your embassy is also closed.”

Jet tried a final time. “Please. It’ll just take a minute to get her pills.”

The officer’s face darkened. “Enough. Ensign, escort the passengers to the boat. See to it that they’re made comfortable in the holding area,” he snapped, turning to one of his men. “I’ll be along shortly.”

Jet looked to Adrian. “I remember your cell number. I’ll call when I can. Don’t leave without us.”

“By the time a wire transfer arrives, it will be Monday, so don’t worry,” Adrian said, his face grim.

They made their way down the gangplank to the coast guard vessel, its white hull paint worn away in multiple spots, the red and blue insignia not much better, and were shown to an enclosed room built into the steel bow of the forty-foot vessel. The adjacent head reeked, and Jet’s sinking feeling increased. She sat down with Hannah and whispered to her, “Breathe through your mouth, sweetie. This will be over soon.”

Matt moved to the porthole and pried it open, and the odor abated somewhat. “I don’t have to tell you this is bad, do I?” he murmured.

“No. I get it.”

“You stash everything?” he whispered as he sat down beside her.

“Of course.”

She told him about the overheard discussion between the Haitians, and his jaw clenched.

“What a bunch of crooks,” he grumbled.

“We took a risk, and we lost this round. They’ll clip us for some easy money tomorrow and we’ll be free to go. That’s just how things work.”

“It never seems to stop, does it?”

She didn’t answer. There was no need.

Chapter 38

Havana, Cuba

Ramón and Felix sat in uneasy silence as Ramón drove toward Cienfuegos in their rental sedan, the morning glare blinding them as they headed east. They’d arrived the day before and had met with Mosises’ contact in Havana for weapons before checking in to what passed for a top-shelf hotel for the night. Neither of them had ever been to Cuba, and Felix clearly wasn’t impressed.

“It’s a shithole,” he pronounced as they neared the port city, passing through the outlying slums. “I thought Havana was bad, but it’s Paris compared to this.”

Felix had stayed out late in the hotel bar after Ramón had taken his leave of the place, finishing his glass of after-dinner Añejo rum and declining the charming invitation of a blue-eyed blonde of German extraction working the area, who couldn’t have been over eighteen. He would have time enough to celebrate once they’d successfully concluded their business, and he left it to Felix to paint the town red, opting instead for a decent night’s sleep.

That decision had been a wise one, and Ramón secretly enjoyed the look of pain on Felix’s face every time they hit a rough patch of pavement.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s got a certain island charm,” Ramón countered, strictly to be perverse.

“If you find shanties and mosquito-borne diseases charming, you came to the right place.”

The slum transitioned into drab multistory low-income housing projects rising from the surrounding jungle like brick monoliths. Every few kilometers they passed billboards exhorting the citizenry to produce more so everyone could enjoy prosperity, or featuring a revolutionary slogan declaring that Cuba would never surrender to imperialists or colonialists.

“They really believe this crap?” Felix growled. “It’s like we stepped into a time machine.” He eyed a passing military transport vehicle with dozens of soldiers aboard, broiling in the swelter as the sun beat down on them. “And there’s a ton of military around.”

“Cienfuegos is a big port. I’m not surprised.”

A row of red and white smokestacks in the distance belched clouds of gray into the sky, contributing to the toxic haze hanging over the city. Felix shook his head. “We’re in hell.”

“Cheer up. The boat will arrive this afternoon, and then we can get out of here.”

Ramón’s frown deepened. “How do you want to do it?”

“You heard Mosises. He wants it slow and painful. I’d just as soon shoot them when we see them, but he’s the boss. So we’ll follow them to wherever, wait until we see an opportunity, and then off them. You can film it while I do the work. That would fit your style.”

“We’re both going to get a piece of this. You’re not getting all the credit.”

Ramón gave him a sidelong glance. “Got a headache? You look a little green.”

“It’s sitting in this car that’s making me sick. That, and the company.”

“Have I ever told you that you have a winning personality?”

“Just drive.”

They drew near the port and cruised along the waterfront to the commercial dock area, where several older ships were tied along the wharf, being offloaded by ancient cranes. This was the dock the
Milan
was scheduled to arrive at, and they surveyed the surroundings with skepticism.

“Not a lot of cars, are there?” Ramón said.

“No. It’s going to be tough not to stand out.”

“We’ll park over by the little drink shack. We can see the dock from the tables.”

“That?” Felix snorted. “Hello, food poisoning.”

“You’re a ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?”

Ramón found a spot with some shade from the trees ringing the lot and parked. They took in the desolate stretch of boiling asphalt, the only other vehicles rusting from years of salt condensation eating through their paint.

“At least we’re not going to have a problem seeing them. Maybe I’ll take a nap while we wait for our ship to come in,” Felix said.

“What happened to earning part of the credit?”

“I said taking, not earning.” He eyed the shack and the young woman standing, bored, behind the counter. “Wonder if they sell beer there?”

“Most assuredly. Probably icy cold. But we’re on the clock.”

Felix swung the door open and stepped out into the glare. “They’re not going to be here for hours. I’ve got a hangover. A few beers will have burned off by the time they arrive.”

“Not a great idea.”

“Mind your own business.”

Across the lot, Drago pulled back into the shadows of an abandoned concrete building, binoculars clamped to his eyes. He’d been expecting someone else to show up, and wasn’t surprised, after his experience with the woman in the bell tower, when they did.

But these two weren’t professionals. They were thugs. About as much tradecraft as a streetwalker. Completely unlike someone who would have a sniper rifle in an obscure Venezuelan church.

He suspected they were part of Mosises’ cartel. They looked the part and displayed the finesse of Colombian bully boys.

Drago lowered the glasses and shook his head in disapproval as one of the men approached the drink vendor and bought a bottle of beer. This pair took amateur to a new level. Matt and the woman would smell them before they got off the boat.

Which meant he’d have to neutralize them before the ship arrived.

He blotted sweat off his forehead with his sleeve and grinned without being aware he was doing so.

“Not a problem,” he muttered. “Not a problem at all.”

Chapter 39