Survival (17 page)

“An hour, hour and a half.”

“I thought it was only twenty miles.”

“Maybe as the crow flies. But the road’s a two-lane and winds all around the coast.” He eyed her in the rearview mirror. “And it’s very dangerous at night.”

“Bandits?” she asked.

The driver laughed. “No. Cows and goats. They like to sleep in the road.”

“Oh.”

The drive was harrowing, through jungle, not a star in the sky, no traffic lights, just the old taxi’s dim headlights barely cutting through the gloom. The radio played a string of calypso songs the entire way, and by the time they rolled through the grim town’s outer reaches, she’d heard enough of steel drums to last a lifetime.

The driver dropped her off a block from the bar, near the old fort that was the centerpiece of the town. She was the only person on the street as she neared the watering hole’s entrance, which was about as inviting as an open wound. Within a few feet of the door she could hear inebriated laughter, loud music, and voices raised to be heard over the din. She glanced up at the sign over the entrance, which featured a billfish with its fin around the waist of a stylized woman so pneumatic she looked like a female version of the Michelin man, and shook her head. It was after midnight, she was in a certifiable hellhole, had no place to stay, and was being sought by the police. And her best option was to look for a mysterious captain based on the tip of a bartender she’d known for all of five minutes.

She pushed the door open, stepped inside, and was greeted by a scene that confirmed her worst fears: five or six tables of rough-looking men sat smoking and drinking with obviously paid company, the women harder than the men, used up and running out the clock. She didn’t allow her gaze to linger on any of them as she approached the bar, ignoring the stink of tobacco and rot and unwashed bodies, the single overhead fan inadequate to do anything but blow the clouds of smoke from one side of the room to the other.

Jet had changed back into her heels in the taxi and so looked right at home with the other hoochie mamas working the room, although there was no comparison in either age or beauty. She ignored the stares and walked to the bar, where a thick man with a shaved head and skin the color of tree bark eyed her impassively.

“Panama,” she said. He gave no indication of having heard her, merely slid a drawer open, pulled a beer out, and set it in front of her. She nodded to him and he gave her a blank stare. Any hope that Portobelo was a friendly place evaporated. If the bartender was any indication, she was in for a rough time of it.

She took a pull of the beer, which was so cold it made her teeth ache, and leaned forward. “Is Juan Diego here?”

The man’s eyes flitted to a table in the corner before he turned away, ignoring her. She took a slow sip before twisting and looking where he’d glanced. A scruffy man in his fifties was sitting alone at one of the little tables, a cigar smoldering in the ashtray and a three-quarters empty bottle of Seco Herrerano in front of him, its white label gleaming in the gloom.

Jet rose from the bar and crossed the room. When she reached the table, she gave the man her best disarming smile. “Juan Diego?” she asked.

He looked up at her with bloodshot eyes. “Go away. I don’t want any.”

She pulled the chair out across from him and sat down. “I was given your name by Paco.”

He studied her. “Yeah? What’s that thief doing handing my name out?”

“He said you might be able to help me.”

Juan Diego appraised her, then refocused his attention to the scarred tabletop. “Help you with what?”

“I have a problem. I have a friend who needs to get to Colombia in a hurry. But he doesn’t want to have to deal with immigration.”

Juan Diego grinned morosely. “Who’d he kill?”

She forced herself to laugh. “It’s nothing like that.”

He drained the rest of the tumbler of seco and poured another two fingers. “It never is.”

“There’s some urgency to it, though.”

“I figured that, since you’re in this armpit after midnight and you’re not selling your ass.”

She sat back. “Can you help?”

He tossed back half the glass in a swallow and looked at her hard. “I’m kind of busy right now.”

“You don’t look busy.”

Juan Diego grunted and eyed the bottle. “I am.”

“I can pay.”

He sighed and took a puff of his cigar, frowned, and then set it back in the ashtray. “You got cash?”

“Yes.”

“On you?”

Jet parried. “How much is it going to take?”

“Five grand, no negotiations. Payment in advance.”

“How will you get my friend across the border?”

“I have a boat.”

She absorbed that. “Can you leave tonight?”

He shook his head. “Too drunk. Tomorrow night. Got to fuel up, change some filters, get my crew onboard and prepare. You don’t make that run alone, or without full tanks, or not checking the weather. That’s one of the most dangerous stretches of water around. Get too close to shore in the wrong spots and you’ll get shot at. Go too far offshore and you’ll pick up a patrol. It’s not something you do after a bottle of seco with no planning. Sorry.”

Jet eyed the inebriated captain’s unshaven face, bleary gaze, and sun-damaged skin. She’d done similar deals in the Middle East, in Africa, on every continent. Those whose business it was to skirt the law tended to burn the candle at both ends. Occupational hazard.

“When do I have to pay you?”

“Before the boat sails. Not here. I don’t want to get killed on my way home.” He looked her up and down. “Assuming you have the money with you.”

“Do I look stupid?”

Juan Diego shook his head again, slowly and deliberately. “You look a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

“How do I get in touch with you?”

“I’ll sleep this off and reach out to you tomorrow. Where are you staying?”

“I haven’t decided.”

“There’s a bed and breakfast two blocks from here. Let’s assume you’re going to be there. I’ll leave a message at the desk.”

“You want to know my name?”

“Sweetheart, there won’t be a lot of young women checking in at two in the morning. My guess is the message will find you just fine.”

Jet pushed back from the table. “Five grand. Tomorrow night.” She eyed the nearly empty bottle. “Don’t forget.”

He laughed, which turned into a phlegmy cough. His callused hand gripped the smoky cigar and he closed his eyes. “You got it.”

Jet couldn’t get out of the dump fast enough. She threw her bag over her shoulder, ready to whip out the Glock if any threats appeared. She made her way toward the fort down the narrow cobblestone streets until she came to a gaudy red and yellow two-story building with a sign out front advertising rooms for rent.

The front door was locked, but after a few minutes of pounding, a sleepy-looking young man materialized and peered at her through the glass at the side of the doorframe.

“What?” he growled, clearly not happy about having been awakened.

“I want a room.”

He looked at his watch and then regarded her suspiciously. “Just you?”

“That’s right.”

A bolt slid open on the heavy wooden door and he pulled it open. “Come in. Room’s thirty dollars. Check out’s at 1:00.”

The transaction took less than a minute, no request for a passport or even her name. The room was spartan but clean, with a fan by the window for ventilation, and she hurriedly brushed her teeth and prepared for bed. She turned off the light and lay down, still dressed, the Glock on the bedside table, and slept fitfully until dawn streamed through the cloudy glass, bringing with it a cloudburst replete with thunder and lightning.

Chapter 25

Antonio Salguero, Colombia

Voices sounded from outside his window, and Matt rolled over on the lumpy mattress and then came fully awake. Hannah was snoring softly beside him, oblivious to the noise. He slipped on his clothes and shoes, and then moved through the silent house like a ghost.

At the front windows he looked outside. Luis was facing two men, and it sounded like they were arguing about something. Luis backed up when one of them stepped forward, obviously inebriated.

Matt opened the front door and stepped out onto the plank porch. The sound of the door closing caused the two men facing Luis to look over at Matt as he approached.

“Luis, is everything okay?” Matt asked, his eyes never leaving the two men. The one on the right seemed angry; his face was dark, and an ugly expression twisted his lips into a scowl.

“This is none of your business, gringo. Go back inside,” the angry man growled.

Matt ignored him. “Luis, come on. Time to hit the sack.”

“I told you, stay out of it,” the angry man warned, taking another step toward Luis.

Matt shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Let’s resolve whatever this is in the morning after everyone’s sobered up.”

The man’s companion spit at Matt’s feet. “You’re telling us what to do in our town?” he demanded.

“I’m telling you that this is over, and Luis is coming inside with me.”

Moonlight flashed off the blade of a knife that appeared in the angry man’s hand. “You want to make this your problem? I’ll gut you like a fish.”

“I don’t want to fight,” Matt said, gauging how drunk the man was. Pretty drunk, judging by how he was swaying. Even so, a drunk with a knife was nothing to underestimate. The man’s companion stepped back, seeming to have second thoughts.

“Then get out of here. My business is with this shit grub,” the knife wielder snarled.

Matt shook his head, waiting for the man to make the move he was telegraphing with his body language. “I told you. That’s not going to happen.”

Some kernel of reason battled against drunken rage in the belligerent man’s brain as he regarded Matt. The gringo hadn’t reacted to the threat as expected, so now he had to either attack or back off. After a few moments, anger won out and he lunged forward without warning, trying to stab Matt. Matt easily avoided the thrust and brought his cast down hard on the man’s wrist, snapping its bones. The knife dropped into the mud as the man howled in pain and fell to his knees, clutching his hand.

Matt bent down and retrieved the knife, wiped it off, and folded it closed. A cheap switchblade, he noted, probably ten dollars, but deadly. He slipped it into his back pocket and glanced at the moaning man’s friend. “Get him out of here. Or do you want to try your luck?”

The friend eyed Matt, obviously trying to assess whether he could take him. Matt returned the favor of spitting at his feet. “Hurry up. I’ve lost enough sleep as it is. You want the same treatment, or are you going to get him up and move on? It’s all the same to me.”

Luis came to life behind him. “Go on. This is over.” His words were slurred.

The friend hauled his companion to his feet, who held his wrist, grunting with each exhalation. A string of curses trailed the pair as they stumbled off, along with promises to exact revenge on Luis and the gringo coward.

Matt turned to Luis. “What was that all about?”

“It’s personal. The one with the knife, Pedro, hates me. Always has. He was trying to date Carlita before I married her, and she rejected him for me. He’s never forgotten it. The man’s a bully, and a dangerous one. You should have let me handle it.”

“If I had, you’d be holding your guts in right now.”

“I can take care of myself,” Luis insisted.

“You’re drunk. Anything can happen when you’re drunk, Luis. Besides, what’s done is done.”

“He’s not going to let you get away with breaking his hand.”

“That’s his problem, not mine. I didn’t come at him with a knife. Maybe he’ll learn to avoid trying to kill people he’s just met.” Matt sighed. “Come on. Let’s go to bed. Unless you think he’ll be back.”

“No, not tonight. He knows I have a shotgun in the house. Even he’s not that stupid. Although I wish he’d try it, so we could get this over with once and for all.”

“Then let’s get some sleep.” Matt glanced at his watch. “It’s really late.”

Carlita’s voice called from inside the house. “Luis?”

Matt eyed him. “Now you’re in real trouble.”

Luis smiled ruefully. “I deserve it.”

Matt followed him into the house and pulled the door closed behind him, taking care to lock it. He watched Luis move to where Carlita was standing by the bedroom, hands on her hips, Oscar and Sammy wagging their tails sleepily, and left the tipsy fisherman to his fate, hoping to get at least a few more hours of sleep before the new day arrived.

Chapter 26

Panama City, Panama

Igor weaved down the hall of the Veneto hotel, the night’s cocktails having finally caught up with him. Two Colombian girls, no more than eighteen or nineteen, smiled professionally at him as he got out of the elevator. The hotel was crawling with attractive working girls, so much so that the casino appeared to be less about wagering and more like a sexual amusement park for the almost exclusively male guests. He’d toyed with the idea of an hour of slap and tickle with the young beauty he’d been drinking with, but decided to call it a night rather than invest the hundred dollars in what would probably prove to be an unhappy encounter after as many rum and cokes as he’d had.

The search for the woman had so far proved fruitless; she’d disappeared from the harbor without a trace. The police, for all their reach, had come up dry, and with every hour that passed the likelihood of her being caught dropped significantly.

There was nothing for him to do but wait, and he didn’t do well on the sidelines. He was all about action, not hoping something would come up. The waiting was like Chinese water torture, and he’d finally succumbed to the hotel’s charms and spent a few hours whiling away the time downstairs at the slot machines; and later, the card tables; and still later, at a quiet booth with Carmella, who was twenty, wanted to be a dentist, and was just in town to make money for three months before returning to school in Cartagena, where she was in college.