Standish approached an eight-foot-tall door at the end of the hall and knocked softly, then twisted the antique brass knob and swung it open. Sloan followed him into the room and closed the door quietly behind.
The air was warm and moist – a tall humidifier sat in a corner of the spacious room – more a suite, easily twenty-five by eighteen, with an attached bathroom. The windows were covered with heavy curtains, and the lighting was barely sufficient to illuminate the furniture. A ventilator and sundry medical machines sat in a bank at the far end, next to a custom king-sized bed with a reclining section that was raised so that the occupant could sit up comfortably. Oxygen tanks rested near the night table on the other side of the bed, and tubes and a hose for the mask that covered the occupant’s face stretched to the machines.
“You wanted to talk to me?” Sloan asked, ignoring the gloom and the odd circumstances.
Standish cleared his throat. “He wanted to compliment you on a successful operation in Papua,” Standish began. “He wants to make sure there are no loose ends, and that you have full faith in your men’s discretion.”
“Maybe he can tell me that?” Sloan suggested.
“Talking any more than necessary causes...complications. He asked me to speak for him, but he’s anxious to hear your answers.”
“I see.” Sloan turned to the figure in the bed. “Everything went well. We had one wounded man, but he was tended to. The team’s now in Australia, lying low, awaiting their next assignment. It might be difficult to use them again in Papua, but if we absolutely had to, we could probably find a way to insert them without raising eyebrows. The border between New Guinea and Indonesia is a joke, as is most everything there, from what I hear.”
“There are no plans to use them again in Indonesia, but we’ll want to keep that card in case we need to. There will be more to follow as we see how the situation develops,” Standish said.
“Fair enough. They’re at your disposal.”
The figure in the bed motioned with one hand, a tentative gesture. Sloan came two steps closer, but Standish stood his ground.
“He wants to know about the other matter,” Standish said.
“Yes. I suspect he does. There’s nothing new to report. I have a group on the ground, waiting. But so far there’s nothing going on. They have their instructions, though, and the men are the best. I’ll get in touch with you the second I have something more.”
The figure in the bed seemed to deflate, and waved weakly before stabbing at a button. The bed back reclined to a slightly less-than-flat position.
“Very well, then. We have a meeting in the next few days that will determine the next step in the Indonesian matter. The island is in chaos, and the Indonesians screwed the pooch on their response. The separatist movement is gaining traction even as the usual suspects are condemning the violence. But shutting down the mine was a masterstroke. They don’t even have an estimate of when it could re-open,” Standish said.
“Based on the damage we inflicted, not any time soon.” Sloan wiped away a bead of sweat that was working its way down the side of his paunchy face from his hairline.
A croak emanated from the bed, which Standish seemed able to interpret.
“We need to keep the momentum up. The locals seem ill-prepared to do the minimum to keep the ball in the air.”
“No surprise there.”
Standish cleared his throat. “He wants to thank you for coming, and apologizes for not using the phone. You know how he feels about phones,” Standish explained, as much for the figure’s sake as for Sloan’s.
“No problem. I’m not a big fan of them either.”
Standish held out a hand, signaling that the meeting was over. Sloan nodded and walked to the door, careful to make as little noise as possible, sensitive to the precarious condition of the invalid to whom he’d just reported. Standish stepped around him and opened the door, and then they were out in the hall, the cool air refreshing after the jungle-like humidity in the bedroom. The door closed with a whisper, and they retraced their steps back downstairs.
“Try not to waste my time like that anymore, would you?” Sloan hissed, annoyed at having interrupted his day to give a three-minute summary.
“Shall I pass that sentiment along?” Standish asked, his tone conveying nothing.
Sloan thought better of it. “No. I’m just blowing off steam. A lot of crap on my plate.”
“And a lot of money in your bank account. Let’s not forget that.”
Sloan’s eyes narrowed. “Speaking of what we shouldn’t forget, don’t you think you’re getting a little arch for a personal assistant? I don’t work for you. You’re just the go-between,” he cautioned.
Standish smiled to himself. “My apologies. Sorry if I came off as…what was the word you used…arch? I didn’t mean to. We’re all under a lot of pressure, and I can assure you that I have my challenges to deal with attending to our friend, just as you have yours carrying out his…wishes. But I’d suggest you remember that I’m the closest person to him in the world, and he places a lot of weight on my views. You don’t want me as an enemy. I’m not your adversary. Let’s not go down that road, shall we?”
Sloan considered pushing the little shit down the stairs and jumping on his back and snapping his spine like a twig – but remembered the stakes and affected a neutral tone.
“And you don’t want me as one, either, Standish. I think you know why.”
“We’re all aware of your position, Sloan. So let’s play nice with each other, make the best of this situation, and press on to better days, okay? I don’t need any more shit in my life than I already have. I’m just following orders. Don’t make it any more than what it is.”
They reached the ground floor and Standish led him to the front door.
“You want anything for the road? Soda? Water? Scotch?” Standish was aware of Sloan’s decade of sobriety, but feigned innocence in the guise of hospitality. Sloan let it go. Screw him. He’d get his eventually.
“No, I’m good. Is it just my imagination, or is he getting worse?”
Standish stared at the scowling face of a naval officer in one of the dark oil paintings in the foyer and considered his words carefully. “I think he’s about the same. Stable. Taking one day at a time. No worse, no better.”
“Kind of a purgatory, then.”
“Very much so. But we all have our crosses to bear.”
Standish swung the door open and Sloan moved out onto the porch.
“I’ll touch base as soon as I have something for you,” Sloan said.
“That’s all we can ask. Safe travels.”
The door shut with a solid thunk, and Sloan frowned as he descended the stairs and approached his car, the driver waiting by its side. He turned and saw two of the security men watching him, the bulges of their shoulder holsters obvious under their windbreakers. He knew that hidden cameras tracked his every move, and somewhere an operator sat watching screens that captured almost every corner of the property.
All par for the course; but still, the place gave him the creeps, and the invalid was even creepier now than he had been before – which was hard to believe given his circumstances. But somehow, hooked up to machines, he still radiated a quiet menace that was palpable.
If Sloan had been in the same position, he would have swallowed his Glock and finished it. There was no way he would want to go through whatever remained of his life like that. Sloan knew enough of the story to get a chill whenever he thought about it, and he exhaled with relief when he settled back into the cushy leather of the back seat and took a final look at the mansion.
Be careful, old boy, he thought. There are worse things than dying.
Far worse.
As he knew all too well.
Chapter 6
Morning light streamed through the thin motel curtains, forcing Jet awake the hour after dawn. For a brief moment she didn’t know where she was, and then the sound of a heavy truck driving by on the road br
ought her into the present. Everything came rushing back at her – the trip to reunite with Hannah, the uncertainty over the phone not answering, and…Alan, dead in the ferry explosion.
Jet switched on the ancient television and found a news station, where the ferry was the main story. The authorities now had no doubt that it was a terrorist attack, with the only uncertainty being which terrorist group had perpetrated the unspeakable act of savagery. Speculations abounded, but nobody had claimed responsibility, so there was nothing to fill the airways but possibilities and fanciful notions.
She quickly tired of the vacuous coverage and switched the TV off, then took a fast shower before hitting the road. Breakfast would be something grabbed from a market on the way out of town, and then, with any luck, she’d be with Hannah by lunchtime.
Jet tried Magdalena’s cell number again before setting off, but only got the now familiar endless ringing followed by the line going dead. Nothing had changed. She switched off the phone to conserve battery power, shouldered her bag, and made her way out to the car.
A cup of strong, rich coffee and a breakfast pastry later, she was rolling across the bridge that spanned the Rio San José, and then found herself on a two-lane rural highway lined with palm trees, incongruous with the surrounding farmland but somehow fitting with the quirky nation, a confluence of conflicting influences that came together harmoniously. Jet smiled as she pulled past an old man and woman in a horse-drawn wagon, on their way to market with their crops loaded in the back. For some, life was filled with consistency – planting, sowing, reaping. They worked the land the same way their forefathers had, and would go to their graves without experiencing the stresses of modern life.
Part of Jet felt a pull to that simplicity, for herself and for her daughter. She knew that the world she had inhabited was an ugly reality that most were unaware of, and she longed to escape it once and for all. When she’d faked her own death she had thought she’d put that all behind her, but it wasn’t meant to be. But now that she had eliminated the final threat from her past – the Russian’s son, Grigenko – she could finally imagine a new future, a better one where she and Hannah could live in peace and tranquility, the ugliness left buried in a past she would spend the rest of her life trying to forget.
And it would definitely be better to leave the dead buried. David, with his betrayals and their incredible connection; Matt, his magnetic pull unexplored beyond a few kisses; Alan, and the promise of a different future in the company of a kindred spirit…so many dead, cut short by the brutality that was her old stock in trade.
A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, and she brushed it away. She was no stranger to death, had invited it along on countless missions and opened the door for it in more instances than she could count. But those she’d sent into the afterlife had been professionals who knew the risks of the game they were in, or had been cancers of humanity – terrorists, criminals, threats to her country. The loss of the only three men she’d ever cared about seemed unfair. As the landscape raced by, though, she reasoned that life wasn’t fair, which was why it was important to enjoy the good when it came – there were no guarantees it would last.
The roads were marginal as she wound her way through the flat farmland. Then, as she turned onto a highway that would bypass the capital of Montevideo and take her to Maldonado, they suddenly improved, and she was able to increase her speed. Calculating the remaining distance, she figured she’d be at Magdalena’s condo by half past twelve. Jet’s desire to see Hannah was like a physical pain, and as she drew closer her sense of restlessness grew stronger with each mile of pavement.
She made better time than she’d hoped, and at noon she was on the outskirts of Maldonado. She reached the condo a few minutes later and did a cursory circuit around the building before parking across the street. Glancing at the back seat, she decided to leave her bag in the car – she had no idea what she would find at the condo, and didn’t want to get bogged down carrying luggage if she needed to move quickly.
When she reached the lobby, the security man recognized her from her previous visit to look over the place on the day she’d dropped Hannah off and Magdalena had moved in.
“Buenastardes. Could you please ring condo 2D?” Jet asked the man.
“Si. Of course. Go on up. I remember you,” he said with a wave, in a typically informal South American manner.
“Thank you. Nice to see you again.” Jet beamed a brilliant smile at him, and she caught him blushing. No question he remembered her – probably had for many days after she’d last visited, judging by his response.
She ascended the stairs to the second floor and knocked on the door, then pushed the doorbell. After a few moments, she heard footsteps inside and Magdalena opened the door, a look of delight on her face.
“Señora! You’re back! Welcome. What a wonderful surprise!”
As she stepped through the door, a small bundle of frantic energy raced down the hall and threw herself at Jet, giving her just enough time to drop down to one knee and spread her arms wide. Hannah’s wet hair rubbed against Jet’s chest as they embraced, the springtime smell of her floral shampoo the most satisfying odor Jet had ever encountered.
“Mama! You home!” Hannah exclaimed.
“Yes, sweetie. I am.”
They held each other for a small eternity, and then Jet leaned Hannah’s head back and studied her face.
“So did you miss me?”
“Yes. Hannah miss you!”
“Have you been good?” Jet shifted her gaze to Magdalena. “Has she been good?”
Magdalena smiled. “Of course she has. She’s a little angel, sent straight down from heaven.”
Jet regarded her daughter, who smiled innocently. “Is that right?”
“Yes, Mama.”
Jet hugged her close again, and then Hannah pulled away and went running back into the living room, where a battery of toys were scattered across the floor. Jet stood and faced Magdalena.
“I’ve been calling for a couple of days…”
“Oh, Señora, I’m so sorry. The phone…well, Hannah decided she was going to see if it floats. So when I was doing the dishes, she did an experiment in the bathroom.”
“Ah. I suspect they don’t make them with full immersion in mind.”
“No. But I’ll get another one tomorrow. I just didn’t see any point if you didn’t have the new number.”
“You know there’s a chip inside the old one I could remove and you could put into the new phone, so you still have the same number.”
“Really? Mierda. After it wouldn’t work for the second day in a row, I threw it away. I’m sorry.”
Jet sighed, and moved into the living room. “It’s no problem. As you said, we can get a new one for you tomorrow.”
Magdalena followed her and busied herself in the kitchen. “So, did everything…are you back for good now? Did you sort out your…problem?” Magdalena was trying to be tactful. Jet had told her a concocted story about a violent ex-boyfriend who was threatening their safety.
“Yes, I did. I don’t think there’s any more danger.”
“Well, that’s wonderful news!” Magdalena’s tone was excited and happy, but Jet could sense an undercurrent of unease.
Jet smiled in what she imagined was a comforting way. “I was hoping I could stay the night, and then I’ll figure things out tomorrow. I don’t think I want to stay in Uruguay after this scare, though…”
“I completely understand. Don’t worry about anything. I have the apartment for as long as you need me to be here, and of course, what’s mine is yours. Stay as long as you like. Hannah has already made friends, but at this age, she’ll make new ones in a day. What’s important is that you’re fine, and safe, and the danger is past.”
“That’s sort of how I feel.” Jet eyed Hannah, now completely transfixed by her toys. “I’m going to get my stuff out of the car. If I remember, there was a twin-size bed in Hannah’s room. That should work for one night.”<
br />
“Yes, there is, but if you want to switch, the master has a queen in it. It’s up to you, Señora.”
Jet walked down the hall, and when Hannah looked up, waved to her. “I’ll be right back, honey.”
“Okay, Mama. I be good.”
Jet’s heart melted at her daughter’s assurance. She was so upbeat and sweet. Hannah deserved better than to be left alone with Magdalena. A pang of guilt stabbed through her, but she stifled it – she’d only done what she had to do, to keep everyone safe. If it could have been helped, she would have played it completely differently. But that was the past. It was the future that was important. A future that was both bright and bleak – and until yesterday, filled with new possibility, with Alan by her side. But like so much else in her life, that bright light had been abruptly extinguished.
She descended the stairs and nodded to the security guard, who returned the gesture as she drifted through the glass and steel front door. The sun was warm on her face as she made her way down the block to her car, and she inhaled the salty sea air with relish, invigorated by the reunion with her daughter. She stared at the suitcase in the back seat with a sense of melancholy – that was about everything she possessed in the whole world, in that bag. A few clothes. Some basic hygiene products. It didn’t seem like much, but then her hand instinctively went to her neck, where the small leather satchel with three million dollars in diamonds still hung. Things could have been considerably worse.
She locked the vehicle and returned to the condo, lost in thought, and hoisted the bag over her shoulder as she stepped through the entrance door, her ribs still tender from her battle with the Russian only a few short days before.
Two blocks away, a black van eased from the curb, the men in it grim-faced as they pulled around the block, its position quickly replaced by an SUV with dark-tinted windows.
Chapter 7
An old pick-up truck, easily forty years past its prime, sputtered to a halt at a stoplight on one of the main boulevards leading into Maldonado. A man jumped out of the bed, waving to the driver in thanks as the old conveyance creaked forward, loaded with precariously balanced crates, on its way to the organic market. Alan stretched and looked around. The buildings to his left looked vaguely familiar – he thought he recognized them from the last time he’d been in town. If he was correct, the condo was closer to the ocean as he approached Punta del Este. Glancing up at the sun, he decided that there was only one way to know for sure. He began walking.
Jet 04: Reckoning Page 5