by Roddy Wix
The flight from Italy to Bermuda proved difficult for all of them. Katya remained with Edwin, sequestered in the plane’s private cabin, as Katya tended to his wounds. Though conscious, Joey continued to suffer the aftereffects of heavy sedation. She had a splitting headache and the general feeling of severe jet lag. Fragments of memories began to surface in a disconnected way: the result of times she drifted in semi-consciousness during her ordeal.
Jorge Aguierra hovered attentively over her throughout the flight bringing her bottled water and food as she asked for them and, more importantly, offering her reassurance and company.
Joey was turned toward the window with her eyes focused a thousand miles away, though she spoke to Jorge.
“So I have you to thank for my rescue?”
“I helped,” he said modestly.
“Sounds like something Frank would say. He’s modest, too. I think he’s a hero. Are you a hero as well?” She faced him, now fully awake, and for the first time Jorge got the full impact of her devastating ice green eyes.
Jorge smiled and shook his head “no”. He looked nothing like Frank, but his dark features and kind face reminded her of him in a way, perhaps because he was so much on her mind. No, there was something else. She tried in near desperation to connect the dots.
“He must be quite a man.” Jorge reminded himself to be careful to not reveal how well he did know Frank Beretta, at least for now.
“I can't begin to tell you.” Joey turned back to the window and added, “Somehow you remind me of him.” Wish I knew exactly why.
“I am flattered, Mrs. Beretta.”
Joey, exhausted, dozed for the remainder of the trip leaving Jorge to check on Katya and Edwin in the small aft cabin. His injury turned out to be more severe than first thought, but the bullet had passed through and Katya expertly cleaned and dressed it. Edwin medicated himself with expensive scotch and, like the others, dozed comfortably for the rest of the flight.
Mac Larsen was waiting on Bermuda with a Citation X ready to take off for Palm Beach. They transferred Joey from the Gulfstream to the Cessna where she looked on as Jorge helped a shaky Edwin to a black Range Rover. She wanted to thank them again in person, but for reasons best known to themselves the odd duet had asked to keep an anonymous distance.
To Joey's surprise Jorge insisted on accompanying the S3 team back to Florida and, after a moment with Edwin and Katya, he jogged over and came aboard their sleek jet. Seeing Mac and Joey in the aft seats and obviously in serious conversation he strapped into a seat near the galley to give them some privacy.
“How bad, Mac?” Joey was asking about Frank, but Mac, unprepared for the subject steered a different direction.
He shook his head. “The kidnappers set fire to your house. It's close to a total loss, Joey. I’m sorry.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Billy?”
“He’s fine. They drugged him with a dart gun. The garage apartments and pool house survived and Billy's been living on the boat since this all happened."
Joey smiled for a moment then her face turned cold as she laid out the question Mac Larsen dreaded.
“Mac, where’s Frank?”
“I have no idea.” He made eye contact with her though he seemed to be floating someplace far away.
“You don’t know or you can’t tell.” Her voice trembled but still had a determined edge to it.
Mac shook his head. He had never seen fear in her eyes and the sight chilled him to his core.
"I do not know. As things are, I would tell you anything, classified or not, but I just don’t know where he is.”
“Is he alright?” Joey grasped at yet another straw, sounding uncharacteristically desperate. She bit hard on her lip to stave off the hysteria damming up in her.
“Joey, for the first time since I started working at S3 I’m totally out of contact with Frank. I wish I could tell you more.” The strong man’s voice quivered with pain and frustration.
“Jesus, Mac. My husband is gone, my house is destroyed and I still don’t begin to understand where I’ve been or why. Nearly three days are missing from my life. I feel like I’m loosing my mind.”
Mac's copious professional training vanished beneath his own grief. Not naturally gifted at providing comfort he sat in silence as Joey began to cry. Without warning Joey’s anger crested and she slammed her fists into the armrests.
As if on queue Jorge appeared with a cup of ice in one hand and a wet cloth napkin in the other. He had two Grey Goose miniatures stuffed into his shirt pocket along with more tissues.
“Sorry, but cabin service was delayed due to weather.”
Joey managed the faintest of smiles and wanly quipped, “I didn’t notice any turbulence.”
“Heavy rain.” Jorge pointed at her tears and handed her a couple of Kleenex.
She smiled and even tried to laugh hoarsely. Mac Larsen exhaled for the first time in five minutes. He used the interlude as an excuse to “stretch his legs” and visit the lavatory. Jorge slid into the seat across the aisle from Joey. He pulled the vodka out of his pocket.
“I thought something a little stronger might be good.”
“OK, but first I need to stretch myself.”
Joey held out a hand for Jorge to help her. As she stood up the blanket dropped and she remembered too late that she still wore the silk pajamas from the spa. The top, barely fastened, fell open and exposed most of her torso to an embarrassed Mr. Aguierra who instantly diverted his eyes.
Joey squealed and yanked the cloth around her as she worked to fasten the buttons.
“I’m so sorry, but we didn’t have any clothes for you to change into and because of Edwin’s injuries we were in a hell of a hurry when we left Italy. You were barely awake and I carried you onto the plane, but I assure you…”
Mario! Mario, what are you doing? Shut up, Rene. Hands on my body. Rough. Just like the dream. Then a crashing noise. Another memory fragment floated to the surface and took Joey’s breath away. She had to sit back down. He is a hero.
“Are you alright?” The intense look of concern on Jorge’s face migrated to Mac’s as he returned to his seat carrying a plate of sandwiches and a cold beer.
“No, but I will be as soon as I get some clothes.”
Mac jumped in, “I can help with that. Jill packed a bag for you. It’s in the back.”
Joey turned toward the small door in the aft bulkhead and said with much relief, “Thanks, Mac. Thanks very much.”
As soon as she ducked into the compact lavatory Mac leaned over and spoke to Jorge in a hushed tone.
“Does she know?”
“Not yet. I wanted to develop a rapport before telling her.”
Mac sort of chuckled at that. “I don’t think you have to worry. Besides, it’s the boss’s orders. Anything happens to him and S3 assigns its best agent to Mrs. “B”. That’s you, Jorge. Period.”
“Sure, but when we tell her it will raise more questions about Frank. Are you ready to answer them?”
Joey returned to her seat interrupting the conversation. She’d dressed faster than Houdini opened handcuffs, run a brush through her hair, and managed to look good in clothes as simple as jeans and a University of Florida sweatshirt.
She looked at Jorge and said, “So, bartender, may I have that drink now?"
“Of course.” He went to the bar for more ice and returned with drinks for everyone. Joey nibbled on a cold ham sandwich. A good sign.
“Gentlemen, I feel like shit, but it’s a step up from how I felt hours ago.”
Without thinking Jorge said, “To shit!” and made a toast.
“To shit,” they all said in somber tones. Joey thought, and this is the best I’ll feel until I see Frank again.
Mac had some sense of Joey's inner strength but her eyes were full of the weary sadness of a deeply wounded warrior. Jorge saw it too and felt protective, knowing he could take a bullet for his mentor
's wife.
70.