He looked over at François, whose head was turned his way. “Josh managed to trace her phone to Boutillier’s place. It’s now been deactivated, but before it was, she texted the word ‘Help’ out to one of her friends. That at least gives us the hope that she was alive when she got there, and they may have discovered her phone and deactivated it then.”
François nodded. “We’re meeting a friend of mine. I trust him completely. He knows what is happening, has arranged a boat, and given me the location. We will take this road, make sure the boat is ready, and he will meet us there.”
They had developed the plan of escaping by boat after rescuing Sara by heading north up the Lawa River. By then, Mace would have sent someone from LSI to pick them up. They would determine the rendezvous at a time when he had Sara safely with him.
“Do you think Boutillier has the police in his back pocket?”
François heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. Money talks, and that is why I don’t want us driving straight through Maripasoula. It is also why this mission is only known to you, me, Superintendent Moreau, and my friend, Antoine.” He glanced to the side at Blake’s face and said, “I know you don’t know them. Therefore, you can’t possibly trust them. But I do…with my life.”
With a sharp nod, he settled back in his seat, ducking the occasional tree branch as it slapped against the side of the Jeep on the narrow road.
Finally, François pulled off the road and parked where the lower branches of several trees had been cut away. Blake could hear the sound of the river close by. He grabbed their equipment and followed François as they walked.
“This river forms the boundary between my country and Suriname,” François explained. “It comes from the mountains near Brazil and ends in the Atlantic Ocean. Further north, it’s known as Itany, but here in the gold-mining region, it has the name Lawa. You will find traversing the river to be much easier than using our roads. Once they discover Sara is gone, they will look to the roads first.”
Blake knew that near the town there would be docks where the forest would have been stripped away from the edge of the river. But where they were, the trees of the rainforest came right to the river’s edge. A small boat was tied above the waterline, just at the edge of the trees.
“Good,” François declared. “I was uncertain what kind of vessel Antoine would be able to get on the short notice.” He glanced over his shoulder and said, “I know it does not look like much, but this is a native pirogue. It is the boat most people on the water will have, so you will blend in with everyone. With a motor, you’ll be able to make good time. The boat may look old, but I promise it is rugged.”
Blake heard a noise and turned quickly, drawing his weapon. A man in a tan uniform stepped forward, his hands raised.
”Antoine!” François called out, stepping forward to greet his friend.
Wisely, Antoine did not lower his arms until Blake lowered his weapon. Then he grasped François in a backslapping hug, the two greeting each other in French. François let Antoine go, but kept his arm around his friend’s shoulders, turning him toward Blake. “Here’s the man I told you I trust with my life.”
Stepping forward, Blake shook Antoine’s hand. “It’s good to meet you. I can’t thank you enough for your assistance.”
Antoine grinned and replied in English, “I am glad I can help.” Sobering, he added, “I cannot imagine what you must think of my country’s police force that we have to do this in such secrecy.”
Not willing to let the other man feel guilty about something that was not under his control, Blake interrupted him. “No worries. I was in the military and understand the need for secrecy.”
Antoine and François seemed to relax at his brushing aside their embarrassment. Antoine continued, “I want to offer the boat as a way for you to maneuver quickly. As you saw coming down from Grand Santi, the roads this far south are greatly lacking. For an escape that has a better chance of success, the water will be far superior and offer you more protection than the roads. If René is holding Ms. Lancaster and discovers her missing, he could very easily alert those in the police and military on his payroll. Their first assumption will be that you are escaping by road or by plane.”
“And by the time they discover we are on neither, we should be far away up the river,” Blake finished.
“Just so,” Antoine agreed with a firm nod of his head. He turned to walk back toward his vehicle and called over his shoulder, “I’ve got some supplies here for you.”
The three men walked back over to the second Jeep parked near François’ and unloaded several rucksacks. “I have food and water in this one,” Antoine said, opening the top, allowing Blake to look in. “It is packed in a water-tight container to keep out insects, animals, and water. I was able to obtain two revolvers along with ammunition.” He handed those to Blake and François. “And in this one, maps, directional guidance, high beam light so that you can see on the river at night.”
Blake was grateful for the assistance. “Thank you, Antoine. Same to you, François. When I came here, it was not for a rescue mission, so I was unprepared. What you’ve given me should make this go much smoother.”
Antoine looked down at his boots for a moment, rubbing his chin before glancing back up at Blake. “I know you consider this to be a rescue mission, but…”
His heart stuttered, something he was not used to when on a mission. Sara’s smile filled his mind. Her bright eyes. Excitement over trying the soup. Her desire to buy a simple scarf. Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, he let it out slowly. “I hope to focus on a rescue, but if not, then I’ll consider it to be a recovery mission.” The idea that Sara was no longer alive was a punch to his gut, but he had to know. One way or the other, he could not leave the country without knowing. Her family back home would deserve that. She deserved that.
Antoine pulled a sheaf of papers from his cargo pants pocket and placed them on the hood of his Jeep. Blake and François moved closer as Antoine unfolded them and began pointing.
“Maripasoula is here, just North of René’s residence. He doesn’t allow many to get close, keeping his guards and staff on the compound. Because we have to patrol some of the areas, I’ve pulled this together from what I have seen and been told. He has a concrete wall about eight feet high from an area that has been cut out of the jungle. He has guards that patrol the top of the wall, but I have never heard of anyone getting in. He pays his guards and his staff more than what they could get in town, so they are loyal.”
“Gates?”
“From what I know, there is one gate that leads from the main road, and another one toward the back. Both guarded.”
“I assume there’s more than just the villa there?” François asked.
Nodding, Antoine said, “It has been described as a small village. The staff that works at the house live in the servants' area of the villa. The guards have their own barracks. The villa is large, the family living in the main area and one wing and the staff near the kitchens.”
Blake stared at the map, rubbing his chin, his mind working through all the possibilities. “From what you know of this man, what can you tell me that he might have done with Sara?”
Antoine held his gaze, then replied, “I know he has a family. A wife and two sons. He also has a brother and sister-in-law who live there as well.”
Turning this information over in his mind, Blake grimaced as he asked, “So do you see him killing...or worse, abusing an American woman as soon as she gets here?”
Glancing at François, Antoine shook his head slowly. “I hate to assume anything, Blake. His organization runs drugs and is not opposed to killing or torturing anyone who gets in his way. But I have a contact on the inside. So far, they have not gotten in touch with me today, so I do not know anything, but I am going to meet with them. I promise to give you whatever I can.”
“How can you trust them?”
“I once saved the man’s son, and he vowed loyalty to me. I have never ha
d to call upon him, but I trust that he will give me the truth. His honor will give me that.”
Blake nodded, holding the other man’s gaze. “Understood.”
“Okay,” François said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get the boat prepared.”
The sun was lowering behind the trees, the long shadows creeping through the jungle at the river’s edge. Blake pushed the agonizing thoughts of Sara to the back of his mind so that he could focus as he diligently went to work.
The dining room, like the other family rooms she had seen in the villa, was elegant. The furniture was heavy, hewn wood with ornate carvings. There were paintings hung on the whitewashed walls, and the tiled floor was covered with a large, Oriental rug. The table was set with china. Folded cloth napkins were placed by each plate. The silverware felt heavy in her hands, and Sara wondered if it was real silver. The table had been covered with an ivory tablecloth, and a low centerpiece of flowers sat in the center.
Other than several platters containing bread and small bowls of butter, there was no food on the table. Before she had a chance to ponder how the meal would be served, two men walked through the door leading from the kitchen, both carrying heavy trays. As they moved around and served each person, she could see that the meal’s protein included smoked fish and spicy baked chicken.
Behind them, several women walked in, their hands full of bowls that they served from before leaving them on the sideboard table. There was a dish made of sweet potatoes as well as rice, beans, and squash.
The situation was surreal, but Sara forced herself to pretend all was normal. The events of the day had exhausted her, terrified her, and the nightmare had no end in sight. But she was alive, and it seemed that for the foreseeable future she was going to stay alive. Grasping onto that thought, holding it tightly in her mind, she looked down at the food on her plate.
Milo spoke softly to her in broken English and she replied, wondering if he usually ate dinner with the family. As the others spoke mostly French, she continued to pretend not to know what they were saying, instead focusing on her food.
While the food was delicious, she felt as though each bite was being choked down. Tiring quickly, she was certain there was no way she would be able to leave the table before the end of the meal but was uncertain how she was going to manage.
Martinique continued to glare at her, but after another comment about having to share the meal with a putain, she received a sharp reprimand by René for using inappropriate language in front of his sons. Sara struggled to not emit an incredulous snort at the way he did not want his young sons to be tainted by their aunt’s language but had no compunction ordering the death of three men earlier and the virtual enslavement of herself.
Milo continued to talk with her, and she could not help but wonder about his own situation. Is he here voluntarily? It’s possible. There was no desperation about his mannerisms other than wanting to practice his English. She answered his questions in a soft voice in an attempt to not draw attention to herself, desperate for the meal to end.
While they were eating, two of the serving women would continue to eye their plates, move around with the dishes to serve again, and they finally brought out the desert of candied coconut and small cakes. Sara thought she would weep with thanks when the children were finished and another woman came to take them away.
She looked at Milo, hoping to take her cue from him. After several more minutes of stilted conversation with him, she was grateful when Martinique and Louisa pushed their chairs back from the table and stood. The men followed suit, and since it appeared the dinner was over, she quickly took to her feet.
Louisa and Martinique walked arm in arm toward the living room with René and Jean following behind at a slight distance. Martinique continued to grumble, and Louisa finally shushed her, saying René had wanted to keep an eye on the new teacher. Martinique barked out a laugh, commenting that she was sure René wanted to keep an eye on the young teacher. Louisa pinched her lips, but Sara observed that when the women shared a look, Jean and René laughed.
Looking over at Milo, he blushed and said, “We take leave now.” He lifted his hand toward the door leading toward the kitchen, indicating for her to lead the way.
Nodding her thanks, she was grateful to escape to her room. Just before going into the servants' area, she overheard Jean tell René that he was thrilled with his brother’s newest acquisition. She would have ignored his statement, assuming they were talking of business when Jean continued, “Je veux le nouveau professeur dans mon lit.”
Ducking quickly into the servants’ dining room, glad that it was empty, she grabbed the table to hold her legs steady. Hearing Jean say that he wanted the new teacher in his bed and René’s laughter in return chilled her already frozen body. I have to escape. I have to get out of here. But how?
Barely saying goodnight to Milo, she stumbled up the stairs. Hurrying into the bedroom, she looked around, her gaze landing on the rocking chair. Lifting it in her hands, she shoved the small rocking chair under the doorknob. It would give her little security, but she was willing to take whatever she could get at the moment.
Walking to the window, she looked out but could see no way for her to escape from that route. No nearby tree, no ledge, not even a gutter spout to shimmy down like in the movies. She closed her eyes and willed her mind to slow. Too exhausted to consider her escape options, she realized she would need to obtain the lay of the land before she could develop a plan. She just hoped Martinique kept a close rein on Jean. What am I thinking? In this male-dominated villa, she doubted that would happen. I have a feeling Jean and René do exactly what they want to do.
Walking to the bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Staring into the small mirror, she viewed the dark circles underneath her eyes and the bruising on her upper arm. Sucking her lips in to stifle the quelling, she turned and pulled the chain on the overhead light. She moved to the bed and slid under the covers, pulling the sheet and light bedspread tightly up to her chin.
As she lay on her side, staring at the moonlight barely shining into the room, she heard every noise. She had never been able to sleep in an unfamiliar place without using the noisemaker app on her phone or a small fan in the bedroom at her apartment.
Except for last night. Last night, she had slept perfectly in Blake’s arms. Her bravado fled as tears rolled down her cheeks.
10
Antoine had been gone for hours, and Blake was impatient to get to Boutillier’s compound. He looked at François, who appeared calm. “Can we go on now? What if Antoine’s contact isn’t able to get information to him? We’re just wasting time.”
“Patience,” François cautioned. “That information could mean the difference between our success and failure.”
“It’s after midnight.” He was sure that François did not need a reminder of the time but was frustrated. Normally, he was able to execute a mission with completely rational, methodical thought, but the desire to get to Sara was overriding all his training. Although, he knew he had the skills to get to her and get her out on his own.
Pulling out his phone, François stepped near the boat. “Let me see what Antoine says.” Suddenly, François jumped, cursing loudly, quickly followed by a cry of pain. Blake whirled around, his light beaming toward him, and saw François holding his hand as a snake slithered away.
“Merde! Une vipère de palme!”
Blake did not have to understand French to discern the word viper, and he ascertained from François’ concern that the snake was poisonous. He moved immediately to François, ready to assist but uncertain what to do about that particular snake bite.
“How bad is this?” he asked, carefully watching François’ arm for swelling.
“It was a Palm Viper,” François groaned. “Poisonous, but not fatal. I’m going to need to get to a doctor.” Still holding his arm, François cursed, grimacing against the pain while turning his gaze to Blake. “I’m so sorry.”
�
�Let me call Antoine. He can get back here and get you to a hospital.”
Nodding, François agreed. “He can get someone to fly me from Maripasoula to Cayenne. There are small planes for hire, and with us both being police, no questions will be asked. But, my friend…that leaves you on your own tonight.”
He grasped François on the shoulder and held his gaze. “You’ve done all you can. I’ve run many missions by myself. I’ll be fine.”
He placed the call to Antoine and gained his assurance that he would come directly to them. He then helped François to the Jeep so he could lie down. Having to drive in the dark in the middle of the jungle, it took another hour for Antoine to make it back. He jumped from his vehicle and rushed over.
He and Antoine got François loaded into the other Jeep, and he clasped his friend on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself, and I’ll see you back in Cayenne.”
Antoine said, “You’ve lost tonight. You won’t have enough time to get to her, find her, and get her out.”
Angry at the situation, he clamped down on his teeth and was surprised they did not crack under the pressure. Moving his neck back and forth, he felt it pop. Breathing out, he looked at Antoine and said, “Go. Get him to a doctor. I’ll scope the place out during the day and be ready to go at dusk tomorrow.” Stepping back from the Jeep, he offered a chin lift and called out a sincere, “Thank you.”
He watched the Jeep’s red taillights disappear and stood for a moment in the middle of the Amazon rainforest with his hands on his hips and slowly shook his head. Praying nothing else went wrong, he pulled out his phone and called Mace, explaining the situation.
At least Mace had good news. “Drew is on his way to Cayenne, bringing Tate. As soon as they get there, which should be sometime late tomorrow, I’ll let you know. The rest of us are here and will stay as long as you need us.”
Blake (Lighthouse Security Investigations Book 5) Page 8