by Wes Lowe
Jean was a quick study, and even if he wasn’t initially familiar with driving the Jeep, he was now handling the new four wheel drive vehicle like the seasoned off road driver he was.
That is, rather than try to keep slow and steady to keep the momentum going, he tried to speed up during the less wet portions of the road.
With this jerky driving under horrible conditions, they traveled less than two miles in almost two hours. Even though she hated driving, Rayna figured she would have gone twice or three times as far as the numbskull at the wheel.
Rayna felt for sure that Jean had no intention of driving her back to Malpasse. No one’s word was worth anything in this situation, especially in Haiti. As soon as Jean could be certain that Steve could not see them or hear the sound of gunshot, she knew that’s when her life would be over.
That is so not going to happen. What her captor did not fathom was the depth of Rayna’s commitment to life. Confronting insurmountable danger is what she had trained for and lived through during her time with Canada’s elite Special Forces. Yes, incredible physical training was necessary to succeed, but more than that there was the mental preparation. No matter how big the giant she was facing was, she had absolute certainty that winning was a possibility before she stepped into the arena.
In her present situation, she knew that she couldn’t act immediately. Not with a gun pointed at her skull by a trigger happy teenager. She had to wait for the right moment.
They continued in silence for ten minutes before Rayna felt an opportunity arising and asked, “Where are you taking me? You’re not really going to take me to Malpasse.”
“Of course not. I am going to sell you in Port au Prince. I can get big money,” snickered Jean.
Right. Jean’s was no idle threat. Tourists, politicians, gang members, and wealthy locals would pay top dollar for Rayna. Wherever she went or was stationed, there was never an end to her being propositioned. She was also disease free -for now- a fact that at least for a few days was going to increase her value on the ‘sex for sale’ market.
“Maybe you’d like to try me out first. See what you’re selling. Here, let me show you.”
Rayna exaggerated the movement of her arms to unbutton the top buttons of her top. Jean glanced toward her, and then the Jeep hit the small jutting tree root that Rayna had spotted moments earlier. The sudden jolt into the air caused Jean to drop his weapon as he moved to stabilize the steering wheel by gripping it firmly with both hands.
But no luck. The Jeep was stuck again.
Like a cobra, Rayna lashed out her right arm and landed a fist on Jean’s Adams Apple. With her other hand, she reached into her back bum cheek pocket and pulled out the small Swiss Army knife that was in Steve’s medical kit, or what Steve had enigmatically referred to as the “cantilever.”
Her thumb sprung open a blade, and less than half a second later Rayna skewered two inches of steel into human thigh meat.
“Ow!” howled Jean as he clutched the bleeding wound on his leg. He whimpered, “Please don’t kill me.”
Rayna ignored him. If she let him live, he would only take advantage of someone else in the future.
She got out of the passenger seat, trudged through the muck to the driver’s door, and pulled Jean out, dropping him into the quagmire. She then ran the blade over his arms, cheeks and forehead, allowing the crimson to flow—he’d live, but he wouldn’t be terrorizing anybody for the foreseeable future.
Rayna turned the key in the ignition. The engine started but the Jeep wouldn’t be going anywhere-it was stuck even worse than when Steve hit the accelerator earlier.
Rayna evaluated the situation. It was about a two mile trek back to where Steve and the gang were. If she waited until conditions improved before heading back to Steve, he would likely be dead or en route to death. Either the bandits would kill him after his usefulness was over, or a tropical disease would have set in. She quickly made the decision to return to the shanty town by foot.
Rummaging through her pockets, Rayna discovered Steve had also managed to slip in a package of twenty-five waterproof matches during their embrace. That and the small Swiss Army knife were all she had. No clean water, no medicines. Heat was rising and mosquitoes were increasing. Her cargo shorts and short-sleeved blouse would not be adequate protection against the swarming, buzzing insects and potential malaria. There was one small mercy; the twenty-some-odd snakes that were native to Haiti were not venomously dangerous to humans.
But she had to get back and fast. Not only was there the danger of Steve’s execution if the leader’s son didn’t survive, his cheeks were also burning when she put her hands and face to his. Cholera? Malaria? Kout Lair?
Rayna figured her best chance at survival while she made her way back to Steve was to have a torch of some kind, whose smoke would drive away the mosquitoes.
First thing was to find a rock about the size of her hand. That was the easiest part of the job. There were several on the ground close to where she was standing. Rayna chose one that allowed her to wrap her hand around.
She then gingerly pushed away the foliage of a tree until she found a couple of branches that had been sheltered from the storm and were almost completely dry. She broke them off and carried them with her to the rear of the Jeep.
She stooped down and used the rock to bang against the plastic gas tank. After a dozen swings, the tank cracked. As the fuel leaked out, Rayna took the branches and allowed them to soak in the gas for a few minutes.
Now she had her torches.
She was about to take the matches from her pocket when it started to rain. Hard.
So much for the torches, but there was a silver lining. As long as it rained, the mosquitoes would not attack her.
With branches clawing at her bare arms, Rayna cautiously retraced her steps along the path back to the tent where Steve was.
After an hour, her ears perked up; there was shouting in the distance.
So focused was she on trying to hear whether Steve’s was one of the voices, she was unable to remain upright when her foot hit a rock, hidden by six inches of mud.
Rayna lurched forward and threw both hands in front of her to cushion her descent, but then her legs buckled and she fell face first into the muck.
Gasping for air as sharp pain shot through her, she turned herself over to see a two-foot long piece of branch with a half-inch diameter sticking out of her leg, with blood seeping out from its sides.
26
Tripped
In another life, Barry might have been a juggler. During the three hours he had been at work, he had finalized a twenty-five million dollar investment in a basket of crypto-currency startups, convinced a casino owner to provide health care to its employees by threatening to expose the casino’s laundering of overseas drug money, had his arm twisted to be part of his minister’s golf foursome in the annual Presbyterian Church golf tournament, and sold Fidelitas’ stake in an electric car company at a three hundred percent profit in less than two years.
And it was barely ten o’clock. His phone rang for the forty-seventh time this morning. He picked up. “Barry Rogers.”
A familiar voice was at the other end of the line. “Barry, it’s Diana.”
His wife’s tone had an uneasy edge. There was concern in Barry’s voice. “What’s the matter, darling?”
“I think I have twisted an ankle or at least I hope that’s all it was. I was chasing after little Conrad and tripped up on the edge between the lawn and the sidewalk. It hurts like the dickens.”
Conrad was their grandson, the child of their late son, Jonathan, a former Navy SEAL who had introduced Rayna to his father.
“I’ll come home and take you to the emergency room.”
“Don’t be foolish. Nancy is bringing me to Dr. Oscar now.”
Nancy was the late Jonathan’s wife.
“Are you sure? I can be on my way in five minutes.”
“Of course I’m sure. Stop worrying, Barry. I normal
ly wouldn’t have bothered you, but I was thinking about Harold’s invitation for his son’s announcement. I’m not going to be in a position to go.”
“Don’t worry about that. I can easily go on my own,” said a much relieved Barry.
“No, I know Harold and he’s going to want a big turnout. You should take Rayna. She will charm everybody and be able to find out anything you want to know from anybody.”
You know me too well. Barry replied with the two words that every husband knew by heart and used thousands of times. “Yes dear. Get well soon and let me know if you need anything. Anything.”
“Stop being a mother hen Barry.” Diana disconnected.
Barry’s lips tightened as he considered Diana’s suggestion. While he hated interrupting any of his staff that were on vacation, Diana, as always, was right. Rayna would be the ideal person to take Diana’s place and was scheduled to be back the day after tomorrow, but he had to confirm now that she would be available to accompany him. There was no need to apologize about his disturbing her holiday. In this business, everyone was always a phone call from being back on the job.
He dialed Rayna’s secure sat phone number. After a dozen rings, there was no answer. It was not a big deal that she didn’t pick up. Sat phones were notoriously finicky.
When she didn’t pick up fifteen minutes later, he tried Steve’s cell phone with the same result—no answer.
Now this was a worry. Everybody at Fidelitas was always on call and expected to be available. Barry ran his hand down his face and called Julio.
“What’s up, boss?”
“Houston, we have a problem,” Barry quipped. Rayna’s not picking up my calls and neither is Steve. I know the weather’s still miserable as hell, but the hurricanes are over. They should be reachable by sat phone or cell by now.”
“That’s so not good. I designed the mods on our phones myself. They’re better than any military or government organization has.”
“Exactly,” said Barry.
There were a few moments of furious clicking before Julio came back on. “The last direct communication was at the Casa Mia, a resort in Barahona in the Dominican Republic. Steve spoke to Giorgio Battali from the Red Cross.”
“Text me his number.”
“Will do.”
Two seconds later, the familiar ding of an arriving text chimed. Barry called the number.
“Hi Giorgio, it’s Barry Rogers. I need a favor. One of my employees, Rayna Tan, is with your friend, Dr. Steven Yang. I need to speak to Rayna but can’t get a hold of her or Steve. Our specially modified satellite phones can usually get through even in the worst of weather. Do you know what’s going on?”
“Hello, Barry. No, I don’t. Last night Steve called me during the storm and asked where he could help. I told him about an unnamed slum two miles east of the Haitian border town of Malpasse. We got cut off before we could confirm him going or us getting any supplies to him. That’s all I know but knowing Steve, if there was any way he could get there, that’s where he’d be.”
“And there’s no way, Rayna would let him go by himself,” said Barry. “Thanks Giorgio. I’ll figure it out and let you get back to it.”
As Giorgio left the conversation, Barry bit on his lower lip. He didn’t want to reach out to this person but given the circumstances, he had no choice. He made another phone call.
“Hello, Barry,” answered a statesmanlike male voice with a Hispanic accent.
“Senator Cleri, I need a favor. Quickly.”
Senator Ronald Cleri from Haiti was a no-nonsense cut-to-the-chase kind of person who had been a client for a decade. The previous week, Barry had put him in touch with a Florida-based telco to do a deal. He knew Cleri’s phone would work because he was not in Port au Prince, but in Miami where he was discussing arrangements.
“Of course, Barry. What is it?”
“I need a team to go to Haiti to check up on one of my associates, Rayna Tan, and her doctor boyfriend, Dr. Steven Yang. One rule I have for all my employees is that when I call, they answer, no matter how busy they are or and no matter what they are doing. I pay them very well, and there is no such thing as a holiday where you can be incommunicado. I’m worried because I can’t get a hold of them. While it might just be a temporary outage because of Ophelia, I want verification that they’re okay. Their last confirmed contact was in Barahona, but they might have headed to a bidonville east of Malpasse. He’s a doctor and a boy scout. I’m sure that the two of them would go and help out the locals.”
“People get killed trying to save the world. Yes, I will get on it right away. Please get pictures of both of them to me and any other information you think is important. I will go back to Haiti myself to personally supervise.”
“Thank you Senator. Oh, and by the way, your portfolio with us is up two points so far this month and we still have a week to go.”
“Excellent. I promise your people will get back safely.” Cleri hung up.
Barry steepled his fingertips and exhaled. Cleri had no idea that by doing this for him, he had saved his own skin. The real reason Barry had invited the senator to Miami was not to do the deal with the telco, but to have him assassinated. For a decade, the politician had used Barry and Fidelitas’s services to launder money into the United States. The good senator used his authority to allow Colombian cartels to ship their cocaine to the United States, employing both Haiti’s police and private gang leaders to control and enforce while receiving kickbacks from Haitian and American telephone companies.
Much as Barry would have liked to eliminate him, he could not in good conscience carry through with the execution if he rescued Rayna. That was one of the contradictions that Fidelitas had to deal with constantly.
Sometimes the enemy of my enemy was my friend.
Sometimes the enemy of my enemy was my enemy.
27
For My Brother
Willie really enjoyed driving the Explorer. It was spacious, the ride was smooth yet powerful, and with Davy pushing his earplugs in, Willie could crank the level up on John Fogerty’s gritty lead vocals on Creedence Clearwater Revival’s hits to the max. Other than to catch a few zz’s every so often or to make the occasional pit stop to load up on caffeine, Willie drove non-stop from Kansas City on Interstate 70. It was about 8 pm and they were approaching Palm Springs.
Ding! A text arrived and Davy took a quick look at it. “We’re going a little past Palm Springs. Take the exit for the Joshua Tree National Park,” said Davy.
“You want to start playing tourist now?” asked an incredulous Willie.
The park was a natural wonder with its surreal geologic features and fascinating plant and animal life, but Willie couldn’t believe that this was the time to sightsee.
“No, we’ve got a pick up to make. Diego.”
“Oh.” Willie’s tone echoed Davy’s feelings. Neither of them had ever met or talked to the Mexican assassin but Carter had told them enough that they both knew that whatever Diego wanted, Diego would get. There would be no discussion, no argument.
After another half an hour of driving to get there, Davy spotted the Chiriaco Summit off the highway. He pointed to the next exit. “Get off there.”
Davy had prepaid for the entrance and guided Willie to the Cottonwood Visitor Center’s parking lot.
“Stay here for a moment,” said Davy to Willie as he exited the vehicle. A remote location, the center had closed a few hours earlier and he could see no one around. He walked to the rear of the building but there was still no sign of the person he was to meet.
He was about to call Carter to give him hell when he felt the barrel of a gun digging into his back. “Diego?” asked Davy nervously.
“Si. You have something for me?” asked the Mexican assassin in strongly accented English.
“I do.” Davy reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a thick wad of bills.
He turned around to see Diego’s dark eyes probing his very being. Wordlessly swallowing
a gulp Davy saw a man who looked every bit the stereotypical Mexican gangster. Handlebar mustache; sleeveless T-shirt; dark-hued skin; scarred muscular arms; five-point crown tattoos.
He handed the bills to Diego, who pocketed them without counting. “Aren’t you going to check?”
Diego shook his head. “Carter is not stupid. He would never cheat me. Let’s go.”
“Right,” nodded Davy vigorously and led Diego back to the Explorer.
“I drive,” announced Diego.
Willie was happy to oblige and hopped out of the driver’s seat and into the back.
“Don’t you want to see the stuff?” asked Davy.
“No need,” said Diego gruffly. “It is you doing the job, not me. If you fail, you die, not me.”
“Right.”
Davy was strangely reassured by the undercurrent of violence that Diego exuded. Carter was the one who had had most of the interaction with Diego and told Davy not to worry. Diego was a professional, and there was no doubt that he would deliver as long as Davy upheld his side of the bargain— and on that front, Davy had absolute confidence.
From Joshua Tree, Diego drove two hours to Riverside to a lightly populated suburban area and pulled to the side of the road. He then pulled out his cell and made a call on speakerphone. “Is Manuel there?”
“Si. Si. El gran hombre esta ahí.” Despite the lousy Mexican accent, Davy recognized Carter’s voice. Yes. Yes. The big man is there.
“Good.” Diego disconnected the call, and then glanced at Davy. “You know what to do.”
Davy nodded and barked at Willie, “Let’s get prepped.”
There were few streetlights and because of the darkness, visibility was poor.
Willie got out, opened the trunk, and lifted the tarp up. He took out three knapsacks, six 40mm grenades, a multiple grenade launcher, and a remote detonator. Diego took the grenade launcher and loaded the six bulbous projectiles into it, then placed it into a garbage bag.