by Diane Capri
She hoped the answer was the latter. During the drive home, she’d come up with a couple points about what she would say. Maybe the adrenaline pumping through her system would help make her pitch enthusiastic enough to convince him. She was in her dad’s office just off the front porch. She had pen and paper, just in case notes were required.
She dialed his number.
He picked up on the first ring. “Richard Grady.”
“It’s Jordan Fox. I’m so sorry to call you at home this late.”
She paused for a brief moment, expecting a response. Something along the lines of, “No problem,” would have been reassuring. Instead, total silence.
Jordan cleared her throat. “Patricia texted me. Did you know she wants me to go to Instant Pop Star early? Tomorrow?”
“I asked her to tell you. The first audition event is tomorrow, not Friday like we thought.”
“About that,” Jordan swallowed a lump in her throat. “I ran into a friend tonight. Dr. Chelsey Ross. You’ve probably heard of her. She’s a well-known doctor in Tampa and a part-time missionary. She’s going to Haiti tomorrow for five days. To a village called Sabatier. One of her mission teammates just dropped out, and she wants me to replace her.”
“For…tomorrow?” Jordan could almost see Richard wrinkling his nose in skepticism. “We got an early interview set up for you for tomorrow. You’ve got dozens of contestants to consider. You’ll need every minute for that project.”
“Well, I was thinking, maybe our sister station in Jacksonville could cover it for us? I’m sure they’ll be there anyway, right? Because the thing about the Haiti trip is, they want a photographer to come along.” She realized her approach was too tentative. She cleared her throat again and stood on her feet to feel more powerful, ready to set him straight if Richard brought up what had happened to the first camera he’d given her.
“What does this trip have to do with us? Haiti isn’t exactly in our viewing area.”
Fight now, Jordan. Or pack for Jacksonville. What’s it gonna be? “This Haiti opportunity is at least as local as Instant Pop Star. Local missionaries are going. One of the group is a doctor at Plant University’s Health Clinic. So, this is the angle I was thinking of. You know how Tampa Southern Hospital has started putting 3D printers on every floor?”
“Surgeons are using them to make models, right?” It was a cool program. “Totally experimental, though.” He sounded slightly interested. Maybe.
“It’s possible to make hearing aids and knee implants with a 3D printer, too. And other medical things. So, just think of the applications a 3D printer could have at a clinic in an impoverished section of the middle of nowhere in Haiti.” She stopped pacing and stood as tall as she could. “This could be life changing for those people. And our docs are doing it here.”
“Do you feel qualified to report on this topic? Have you talked to a doctor about this at all?” He was softening. She could tell. He didn’t sound like he was about to hang up any second, for one thing.
She paced the room. “Not yet. I just found out about this an hour ago. But I can go down there, and look at all the ways a 3D printer would be helpful. And I could talk to the doctors and nurses on the trip with me about it, interview them in the surgery rooms and stuff, and do the story on that. The headline would be something like, Tampa Southern Hospital as a model for advancing medical technology in Haiti.”
Jordan fist-pumped the air. She’d just come up with that on the spot. Genius. “And there’s a possible Instant Pop Star connection, too. One of the local contestants was born in Haiti. I’m not sure if she’s a viable story yet. But extra video could help if she turns out to be one of our choices.”
Richard paused for what seemed like too long. Jordan imagined he was agitated, pacing, maybe thinking things through. Should she say something more? Or keep quiet? Or ask something? Or—
“Here’s the thing.” He blew out a deep stream of air, like he was weary or something. “If you get down there and find that there is no medical application for 3D printers in Haiti, you’re screwed. I can’t authorize this trip for Instant Pop Star. And I can’t have you coming back with no story at all. So you’d have to come up with some other angle really fast. And you won’t have much time. That makes me nervous.”
Makes me nervous, too.
Abruptly, he said, “What about airfare and other expenses?”
At least this was a question she’d thought through. The station was on a very tight budget, which is how she ended up being a very lowly paid intern instead of a multimedia journalist in the first place. He’d never let her go if it required an entirely new set of expenses. “I was hoping we could apply the Jacksonville budget to this trip and, whatever the difference is, Dr. Ross is willing to cover.”
Richard sighed. He sounded tired, weaker. He might be giving in. “Tell you what. Five full days?”
“Almost. I’d be back in time for work Sunday afternoon.” Yes! She jumped up and down and pumped her fist again. Silently.
“Okay. Go to Haiti. Grab a still camera from the photographer lockers, and take that in addition to a video camera. Take tons of notes. On everything.” Richard’s tone changed to hard and unyielding. “Don’t screw this up, Jordan. We’ll want a series of good pieces for the internet using still pictures. And at least three 2-minute packages for TV.”
Outstanding! Jordan closed her eyes and inhaled bliss, afraid to say anything lest he changed his mind. Take that, Drew Hodges!
Richard kept talking, almost a stream of consciousness to organize everything required to make the trip happen. Jordan wrote furiously. She wouldn’t forget anything. “Text Patricia. Tell her we’re taking you off the Jacksonville assignment. But you still have to put that story together. When you get back, we need Haiti for web, Haiti for TV, and Instant Pop Star for TV. And we’ll need Instant Pop Star done in time for air Monday night. Not even one minute late, Jordan. Do you hear me?”
“I can do that,” Jordan said, knowing full well she should negotiate the workload because nobody could get all of that done on the timetable he laid out. But she was walking a line here and she figured she could adjust the schedule later, once she collected the material. He wasn’t going to reject the story just because it might be a little bit late.
“And Jordan,” he added. “Make everything from Haiti hard news. No fluff. Not even a little bit. If the 3D story doesn’t work out, you’ll need a different hard angle. No religious missionary stuff. No fluffy slice-of-life-in-poverty stuff, either. You follow a hard news angle, okay?”
“You got it.” She heard the conviction in her voice. Good.
Richard drew a deep breath and when he spoke again, his tone was weary. “You screw this up, you’re done. You know that, right? Drew’s ahead of you in every arena as it is. If we give you this chance and you don’t pull through, I won’t be allowed to keep you employed. Understand?”
Her knees were wobbly all of a sudden. She sat down before they gave way. “I think so.”
“Not good enough, Jordan. No excuses. Hard news. Nothing but. For example, the recent kidnappings would work. If you need more ideas, call me.”
Recent kidnappings? She couldn’t hear anything else he said because of the roaring ocean in her ears. What had she gotten herself into?
CHAPTER 14
Every single afternoon when Jordan left for work, she worried about her dad. She hadn’t left him alone for so much as a single twenty-four-hour period since his stroke. This time she was leaving for five days, making her five times as worried. Multiply that by being not only out of the country but in a remote place with very limited connectivity, and Jordan’s worries multiplied way beyond five.
There was a good chance Jordan wouldn’t have cell phone service in Sabatier at all. She couldn’t let herself think about that or she knew she wouldn’t leave.
But Amy was here and Claire was just one phone call away. Nelson loved Amy almost like another daughter. Amy had all the contact number
s and she had Rosemary. Amy would stay in the guest bedroom. She’d make sure Nelson got three meals a day and they’d play chess and nothing even one degree of bad would happen to him.
He would be fine.
He had to be.
No other option was even remotely acceptable.
Jordan dropped her duffle bag by the door and went back to squeeze her dad’s hands and kiss his rough cheek one last time, reluctant to let go. “I’ll be back Sunday.”
“We’ll be great, Freckles. The only problem we might have is if Amy tries to let me win at chess. She tries that and there will be bloodshed.” His words were stern, but he was joking and that made Jordan feel better, too, as he’d known it would.
She gave him one last loving grin, grabbed her duffel bag, blew him a kiss, and closed the door. She said a quick prayer that he was stronger than she believed him to be. Jordan had pretty much given up on prayer after her mom was murdered and her dad’s stroke. But for this trip, she started again. Prayer might not help, but it couldn’t possibly hurt.
Jordan traveled straight to the airport where she met the six members of the medical mission team at the food court, as planned. She wasn’t hungry. And even if she had been, she wouldn’t have been able to eat. She spent the time getting to know the team.
The leader was internist Dr. Chelsey Ross, of course. The other five members were Dr. Eric Lee, Dentist. Lauren Diaz, R.N. Dr. Janet Cline, Optometrist. Yvonne Cherry, Nutritionist. And Jordan’s personal favorite, based on the bios Dr. Ross provided, Bob Vetter, also known as “the Silver Fox,” the recovery room assistant.
They were a friendly bunch. Right away, Jordan felt welcomed, which made her relax a bit.
Jordan’s stomach was full of two things, butterflies and the sandwich she’d shared with her dad at home. The butterflies were probably caused by equal parts excitement and anxiety. She hadn’t flown anywhere, or even traveled overnight since she was seventeen. Today, she’d take three flights to reach her destination.
She’d grab her next meal in Miami. After that, her stomach would be settled down and she’d survive on almonds and whatever the local Haitians were willing to serve.
Jordan stood in line to board the first plane when her phone rang. Claire. Jordan picked up. “What’s up?”
She heard nothing but crying on the other end.
“Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”
Claire’s voice was small and quiet and hard to hear. “Sal. He’s gone.”
“What do you mean, he’s gone?”
“Never coming back. Forever.” Claire’s quiet sobs were more heartbreaking than loud wailing, somehow.
Jordan moved slowly through the line into the jet way, and walked toward her seat. “Claire, I’m on my way to Haiti. I’ll be back on Sunday. Will you be okay? Is there anything I can do?”
Jordan found her seat and slid in toward the window.
Claire said, “I’ll be fine. Really. We knew it was coming. We’ve known for a while. That’s why he’s been so edgy.”
“Knew what was coming?” The flight attendant stood in the aisle, staring at Jordan with a look that said hang up the phone. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you on Sunday. I’ll call if I can.”
Claire sniffed. “There’s nothing you can do. It’s over. I’ll check on your dad while you’re gone. Don’t worry.” The call disconnected.
Don’t worry about what?
The first leg of the Haiti trip was a smooth and on time one-hour flight to Miami in a fully loaded Airbus A319 commercial airliner with 129 passengers. From there, they flew to Haiti’s capital, Port-au-Prince, in two hours aboard a half-full Airbus A320. The Port-au-Prince airport was small and in fine condition, but it was a far cry from Miami’s overcrowded chaos. Still, flying was a piece of cake. No problems at all.
Until the third leg of the trip.
Jordan watched the plane that would take them from Port-au-Prince to Sabatier roll onto the tarmac near the gate. The Cessna 206 Stationair looked no larger than an SUV. The peeling and missing paint looked like it had weathered more than a few storms. Whether that was the good news or the bad news was yet to be determined.
Inside the cabin, Jordan found eight passenger seats set into two columns of four seats, with one aisle in between. Bags went down into the cargo hold below. Bob Vetter pulled the door closed when everyone was seated. Jordan heard the door snug into place and prayed he’d closed it correctly.
Ten minutes into the flight, Jordan felt her body getting uncomfortably warm. She pulled off her sweater. If her dad had a severe reaction to his medication could Amy take care of him? Jordan would never forgive herself if something happened to her dad while she was away.
Twenty minutes in, she was sweating. She grabbed a paper napkin to wipe the sweat from her upper lip. Her stomach started to turn. She breathed deep and forced her lips together, just in case.
And then she flipped out.
She was a long way from home. Her cell phone wouldn’t work. What the hell had she been thinking when she persuaded Richard to send her on this trip? She could be in Jacksonville right now. Great hotel. Clean sheets. Modern communication.
Stop it!
Focus. Think about gravity. Soon, the ground will be parallel with life again.
Hold on. She hugged her stomach with both arms across her body and clenched her teeth. Don’t vomit. Whatever you do, don’t do that.
Jordan’s head throbbed. It hurt so much she could barely open her eyes. She released her stomach and held her head in her hands instead.
“You okay?” the man seated across the aisle asked her, touching his hand to her back. It was Dr. Eric Lee, the team dentist. She turned her head slightly to the left and opened her eyes enough to see his concern staring back at her.
“I’ll be okay. Headache. And nausea. Do you know—” Jordan stopped to swallow a dry heave “—where our waters are?”
She couldn’t breathe and dry mouth caused her words to stick together.
She closed her eyes and focused on lengthening her breaths as she waited for an answer. How embarrassing.
“Water’s down in the baggage hold. Below us.” Her eyes were still closed, but his bedside manner felt reassuring. Good skills for a missionary dentist.
“I’d ask a flight attendant for a cold cloth for you but…” he trailed off.
She started to speak again and gagged.
“Yeah. There are no flight attendants,” Eric said. “You’ll be all right. We’re almost there. Promise.”
Jordan held her head in her hands for the remainder of the flight until the plane thumped the ground. Then thumped again. And again.
The plane bounced along, slowing with each hard thump. Jordan looked out the window to her right. It was no runway. It was an overgrown, grassy field. She looked at Dr. Eric Lee. “We’re here?”
“This is it,” he said. “Welcome to Sabatier, Haiti.”
They rolled to a stop. The Silver Fox, who had closed the door in Port-au-Prince, performed the reverse as handily as before. Everyone filed out onto the best feeling solid ground Jordan had ever walked upon.
As soon as their luggage made it out of the hold, Dr. Lee handed her a water bottle. “Sip slowly.”
She sipped and felt better with every swallow. Her headache receded and she managed to open her eyes behind the dark sunglasses she’d donned before she deplaned.
To her left, she saw grass. To her right, more grass for about 100 yards, and then woods. Where was the city?
Jordan glanced around the grassy airstrip. She noticed seven passengers waiting to board the Cessna for the return flight to Port-au-Prince. Dr. Ross stood talking to a tall black man wearing a pale grey sport coat, which made him seem overdressed. His skin was the color of dark caramel. He was attractive enough. He might have been an actor or a model.
She looked at the mountains in the distance, feeling almost normal again. A big dune buggy came bouncing along the grassy terrain, rushing up to the arri
ving plane. In addition to the driver and passenger, she saw two people hanging off the sides of the dune buggy and a third person hanging off the back. All five wore straw hats, black t-shirts, jeans, and black sunglasses. Almost like a uniform. Or gang colors, maybe. They had machetes hanging from their belts. The two in the back held guns loosely across their laps.
The dune buggy motored up to the plane and stopped. Three passengers got out. One large, black man with deep scars on both cheeks stood aside while two others transferred two big packages from the dune buggy onto the plane. They took two packages that had been offloaded from the plane and hoisted them into the dune buggy. The scarred man might have been their leader. He glanced around at the passengers. Jordan thought he nodded toward Dr. Ross’s handsome companion who nodded in return, but she might have misinterpreted the exchange. The two package lifters returned to their seats. The leader also went back to the dune buggy and they motored back the way they’d come. No words were exchanged during the entire process. No one made any effort to help or hinder the men, either.
Jordan quickly pulled her still camera from her sling bag and raised it to take a picture before the dune buggy disappeared into the woods. As the shutter clicked, a wrinkled black hand moved into the frame. Jordan pulled back.
A sturdy black man dressed in khaki slacks, work boots, and a red plaid shirt stared at her with almost palpable disapproval.
Jean Saint Louis, the profile she’d received from Dr. Ross had said, was the local Haitian handler. He routinely handled teams at the clinic. He was a combination driver, guard, guide, friend, interpreter and concierge, as near as Jordan could figure out from the sketchy profile.
His job right now was to get the Americans from the rustic airstrip to the little clinic in Sabatier safely, which was still about forty minutes away by van.
Saint Louis also had some sort of basic field medical skills training because he manned the clinic when American doctors weren’t there. The way he carried himself and his self-assured manner suggested military service at some point, too.