JET - Escape: (Volume 9) (27 page)

Ramón opened the door at the corner and got out. Clyde glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “You sure you all right here, you? You look a little rough, know what I mean?”

“I’ll fit right in. Just bring me a car. And try to be quick about it.”

“We’re stealing it as we speak. Shouldn’t be that long.” Clyde grinned. “Want some new pants, at least? What size are you? Look to be about a thirty-two waist, you.”

“That would be good. And make it thirty-four.”

“You got it, boss.”

Ramón watched him drive off and patted the pistol in his pocket, its weight not nearly as reassuring as it had been earlier in the day. The main prison doors were forty meters away, and he could easily make out the few visitors entering to commiserate with the inmates. A market with a tattered awning down the block had set three circular plastic tables out on the sidewalk, and he pulled up a chair, resigned to waiting as long as it took for the woman to show or Matt to come out.

He called Renoir. “Do you have anyone inside the main jail who can alert me when the man is scheduled to be released?”

“I do.” Renoir paused. “Clyde tells me that you had some…problems. Sorry to hear that.”

“Appreciate it. Please call when you hear something about the prisoner. Clyde’s getting me a car. Put it on our tab.”

“Yeah, that and the motorcycles.”

“Charge Mosises whatever you think they’re worth.”

Renoir laughed. “Oh, I will, you can be sure of that.”

“Not my concern. But the prisoner is.”

“I understand.”

Chapter 49

Jet walked along the waterfront toward the
Milan
’s ebony hull at the far end of the main jetty. In her hand she had a white plastic bag of take-out food she’d bought at a stand where the taxi had dropped her off, and to anyone watching, she hoped she looked like a delivery person, wearing a cheap baseball cap with an embroidered marlin on it in rainbow colors pulled low over her brow and a pair of sunglasses bought from a street vendor for the equivalent of six dollars shielding her eyes from the sun’s glare.

She moved with an unhurried gait, eyes roving over the area, alert for any watchers. She wanted to believe that the attack on the taxi had been a carjacking gone wrong, but her operational instincts told her it hadn’t been. Somehow their pursuers had tracked them to Haiti, and she had to assume that the boat was compromised.

Jet spotted a figure sitting at a building on the far side of the field as she neared the
Milan
and recognition flooded her. It was the assassin she’d shot to pieces in Chile, whom she’d assumed had died in the river. But she was now committed, and it would look suspicious if she didn’t follow through. Her pace didn’t change as she neared the gangplank, expecting to be challenged by a crew member or Haitian military, and she was surprised when there was nobody guarding it. She looked around, as a delivery person might do, and then proceeded up the ramp.

Once on deck she dared a final peek at the man from the corner of her eye and rushed to her cabin, anxious to retrieve the diamonds and the gun. When she neared the door, she slowed – it was possible the assassin had an accomplice waiting inside. She listened, ears alert for any hint of movement, but didn’t hear anything. Jet stood, frozen, but detected no signs of life – she was alone on the cabin level. A nervous glance at her watch confirmed that too much time had already gone by – the killer could even now be making his approach.

She swung her cabin door open and stepped into the stateroom, looking for any evidence that it had been searched, but saw nothing out of place. She quickly moved into the bathroom, located the gun, and then pulled the leather lanyard with the diamond pouch over her head. Hannah’s pills went into her small bag along with her own few things, and after slipping on Matt’s windbreaker, she was out in the corridor, a round chambered in the pistol.

At the superstructure entry she crept down the length of the ship to where she could see the café. A peek over the edge of the gunwale confirmed her fear – the killer was no longer there, nor was he on the gangplank.

Which meant he was on the ship, having recognized her in spite of her improvised disguise.

Now she had two options: she could make a break for it and hope he didn’t gun her down as she descended the gangplank; or go on the offensive and hunt him down.

She straightened and took soft steps back to the superstructure. If she could wound the assassin, she might be able to learn who had hired him. That would be optimal, although not necessary – in the end, that someone wanted them dead was enough, and any of her or Matt’s enemies were lethal enough to pose an ongoing threat.

Jet continued past the superstructure entry and rounded the stern, doing her best to keep her steps silent on the steel plating. The killer was probably inside the ship, having entered while she’d been retrieving her things. Which meant that he thought he had the upper hand – a slim advantage for her, but hopefully sufficient.

She neared the starboard-side superstructure entry and spotted what she’d remembered – a steel ladder up to the second-level deck, where there was another watertight door. Jet slipped the gun into her windbreaker pocket and clambered up the rungs, keenly aware that while she was doing so, she was exposed. When she reached the upper deck, she stopped. The crew dining area was to her right, and she could hear a radio and good-natured joking about sexual exploits drifting from the galley, including physically impossible suggestions from a crewman with a resonant deep voice.

Jet crept past the galley’s watertight entrance and continued to the opposite side, remaining below the level of the windows. At the next door, she twisted the lever handle and frowned when the hinges protested like a wounded bird.

Committed in spite of the noise, she pulled the door open, stepped silently to the stairwell, and descended again to the cabin level. Her room was at the far end of the corridor, with four crew quarters doors between hers and the stairs. She moved on silent feet, her running shoes soft against the unyielding nonskid of the deck, and spotted one of the crew cabin doors open. She was nearly to the door when a voice hissed from behind her.

“Looking for something?”

She froze, hands in her pockets, and slowly turned to find herself facing the assassin. He held a pistol easily in one hand, a smirk on his face, and…something more frightening in his leaden eyes.

“Who are you?” she demanded, stalling for time.

“My feelings are hurt that you don’t remember me. Chile? A river? Nighttime?” He took a step toward her, reaching up to touch the back of his head with his free hand for a moment before slowly lowering it.

She shrugged. “Oh. But you’re alive. I’ll have to work on my marksmanship.”

“Maybe in your next life. Where’s your little one?”

“Safe. Who are you working for? Whatever they’re paying, I’ll triple it.”

Drago appeared to consider the proposition. “Sorry. Professional ethics prevent me from accepting. I’m sure you understand.”

“That’s a shame. We could both have walked away from this, no harm done.”

“Afraid that’s not how it works, as you well know.” Drago paused and took another step toward her. “Your skills are exceptional. Where were you trained?”

“Moscow.”

He smiled. “Liar.”

She shrugged. “How about you?”

“I’m a citizen of the world. Let’s just say I’ve been through many experiences that have molded me.”

Jet understood that if the man had intended to simply kill her, he’d have already made his move. No, his expression revealed that he wanted something more.

Something worse.

His eyes flicked to the side in sudden awareness. “Remove your hands from your pockets, slowly,” he ordered. The muscles in his gun hand tensed, a telltale sign that the exchange was over.

Three shots exploded through Matt’s windbreaker from Jet’s pistol. All hit Drago squarely in the chest.

The assassin fired wildly and his bullet grazed Jet’s arm. The gun drifted to the side and his mouth worked as though he was trying to speak, but nothing came forth but a burble of bloody froth. She ducked as he struggled again to steady his weapon to shoot her, and she pulled her pistol from the shredded pocket and fired a final shot using a two-handed combat grip. The parabellum slug took most of his skull off, and he dropped like a felled tree.

She moved nearer, her pistol trained on his inert corpse, and kicked his weapon away. “You lost your edge in the river. Should have stayed in whatever hole you crawled into,” she murmured, and then looked at the far stairwell. The crew would be down within moments to see what the racket was – the gunshots wouldn’t be audible outside the ship, but would certainly have been heard above, even with the radio and two stories of dense superstructure between the galley and the cabins.

After a final glance at the dead assassin, Jet sprinted for the stairwell as she heard footsteps clomping down the far stairs. She took the steps three at a time and vanished from the stateroom level before anyone spotted her. Once on deck, she confirmed that nobody was around to see her depart and then made her way down the gangplank. After she’d gone fifty meters along the waterfront without any pursuit, she veered off to the busy street across the field, where she disappeared into the throng of islanders going about their business.

Once the cops arrived, it would mean hours of questioning to establish what had happened, and since nobody had seen anything, all they could ultimately have were suspicions. At the speed the locals worked, it would take the better part of the day and evening.

She hoped that would be long enough.

Chapter 50

Jet sat in front of Frantz with Hannah by her side. The office was quiet except for the soft whirring of the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead. His friend Emmanuel, a local jeweler, inspected the diamond she’d placed on the desk, turning it in the light, then laying it on a sheet of white paper and examining its color. He fished a loupe from his pocket and studied the stone for several minutes before straightening and placing the diamond back on the paper.

“It’s as represented,” he said in French.

Frantz nodded. “
Bon
. Then we have a deal. I’ll arrange for the fine to be paid, and for all the rest of it to be taken care of.”

“How long will it take for him to be released?” Jet asked.

“No more than a few hours, I wouldn’t think. Once they have the money, you’re of no more interest to them.”

“So we could be at the airport by evening?”

“I would think so. Why?”

“I’ve called in a favor for transportation off the island. The sooner we’re rid of the place, the better. No offense,” she said.

“None taken. You haven’t seen our best side, I’ll grant you that.”

“There’s a better one?”

Frantz sighed. “There used to be. Sadly, circumstances have degraded to the point where you now find us. What the future holds, nobody knows, but it likely isn’t good.”

“Why do you stay?” she asked.

“Where else would a broken-down lawyer go? I’m too old to start over someplace else. And my whole family is here. My whole life.” Frantz shook his head. “I was born here, and I’ll die here. On Judgment Day, none of it will matter.”

“I like to think there’s more than that,” Jet said, smoothing Hannah’s hair.

“The wonder of belief is that at the end, one of us will be right. I hope you are, but I’m afraid I am. I’ve seen too much to believe otherwise.”

Jet nodded. “When will you have confirmation that this is done?”

“I’ll call your hotel and alert you. Trust me. Everything is in motion now that Emmanuel here has given your bauble his benediction.” He gave her a shrewd look. “It must pain you to have to give the diamond up.”

“If it gets him out of jail, it’s worth it.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.”

Jet shrugged. “I want to put this behind us and move on.”

Frantz stood, shook hands with Emmanuel, and slid the diamond into his vest pocket. “Thanks, my friend.”

“Any time.”

After Emmanuel left, Frantz knelt unsteadily in front of Hannah. “She has your eyes,” he said to Jet.

“I like to think she got all of the good and none of the bad.”

He offered her a smile and patted Hannah’s shoulder. “And now, allow me to go to work on freeing your husband. Much as I enjoy the company, there’s business to attend to.”

Jet rose and took Hannah’s hand. “One question – can immigration stop us from leaving on some trumped-up charge?”

Frantz looked thoughtful. “Anything’s possible, but I’ll exert my influence with the gentleman working the evening shift at the airport – he’s a fixture there, and we know each other well. I’ve handled some sensitive matters for him, so I think it’s safe to say you’ll make it through without delay.”

“Thank you. I’ll be waiting by the phone.”

“You’ll be the first to hear.”

~ ~ ~

A pair of guards marched down the prison corridor amidst catcalls and hoots and stopped in front of Matt’s cell. He looked up, and one of the men pointed his truncheon at him.

“Stand up, you.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Matt asked.

“Stand up and step away from the door. And the rest of you, anyone move and you get your head cracked open right quick, you hear?”

Matt did as instructed and waited as one of the guards unlocked the door.

“Come with us,” he ordered.

“Where?”

“You’re being processed out, you are. Your fine was paid.”

“Really?”

“Best get moving quick, or they might change their mind,” the guard warned.

Matt didn’t have to be told twice. He followed the two guards out and they made their way to the administrative section, leaving the cells behind in favor of air-conditioned bureaucratic comfort.

Matt took a seat where indicated in a shabby office and signed a sheaf of papers. The woman processing him handed him a manila envelope with his few possessions in it. He took them, counted the money, and grunted acceptance.