Jet 04: Reckoning

by Russell Blake

  For both their sakes.

  Chapter 21

  “So, big boy, what do you want to do tonight?” Jet asked, swinging one leg as she reclined in a chair watching the news, her bronze skin shimmering in the soft light.

  “Food sounds like a good option, don’t you think?” Alan said from the bed.

  Jet looked at him, his hair matted on one side and sticking up straight on the other, a two-day growth of beard darkening his jaw line.

  “I was online earlier and checked out some restaurants. And also…a tango show.”

  Alan gave her a neutral look. “A tango show,” he repeated.

  “Yes. It’s one of the must-see things in Buenos Aires. And since we’re tourists for a few days…”

  He considered her request and then smiled. “As long as you don’t drag me to the ballet or opera, how bad could a tango show be?”

  “That’s very courageous of you. Being willing to try new things, and all.”

  He sat up and his eyes flitted over her long legs and smooth abdomen, her panties and tank top leaving little hidden.

  “This has been one of my favorite new-thing-trying periods of my life. I mean that. Other than the midnight swimming, of course.”

  “Well, I’m glad you found something you like. All work makes Alan a dull boy. So I take it that’s a yes on the show? I’ll book it for tonight.”

  She reached over and lifted the telephone handset and turned down the television volume.

  The concierge had recommendations for both the show and restaurants, even though by Argentine standards they were eating unreasonably early, having dinner at eight-thirty.

  When they arrived at Rio Alba, in the Palermo district, the restaurant was only half full due to the early hour. They got a table near the rear of the restaurant, and a vested waiter with slicked-back hair approached them and took their order, suggesting a bottle of Argentine Malbec to accompany their steaks. Alan looked at Jet, shrugged, and took the man’s suggestion – a La Flor Reserve.

  “I know you aren’t a big drinker,” Alan started.

  “I might just change my reputation tonight. When in BA, do as the locals do.” She gestured at the other diners, all of whom had bottles of red wine on their tables. “Besides, this is the red meat capital of the world, and I’ve been warned that you can’t have an Argentine steak without some vino.”

  “It smells delicious,” Alan said, turning to the wood-fired grill, where the chefs were throwing huge strips of beef on the brander plates.

  “And it’s good for you. Did you know that all the beef in Argentina is grass fed – what they call free range?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Because the fat in the cows is different. Eating grass-fed beef is like eating salmon. All good fat, no bad. What makes red meat toxic in a lot of countries is the grain feeding. You feed a cow grain, it gets fat a lot faster, but it also converts into what they call bad fat. It’s great if you’re in the cow business, because you can get a cow to the point where it’s ready for slaughter much sooner, especially if you throw in a bunch of hormones, but it’s terrible for anyone eating it. The Argentines don’t subscribe to that. They drink gallons of red wine, eat beef three times a day, and are generally healthier than people in the U.S., who are fed a diet of hormone-enhanced, corn-syrup-fortified crap while agonizing over every calorie.”

  The waiter arrived with their wine, and Alan nodded as he poured some for him to taste.

  “Mmm. Delicious.”

  Once their glasses were filled, Alan held his aloft and toasted Jet, who clinked her goblet against his and took a sip.

  “Wow. That’s good. I don’t drink a lot of wine, but if I stayed here, I might start,” she said, then had another taste.

  “You seem to know a lot about cows,” Alan observed.

  “I spend a lot of time on the web when I’m not flying all over the world to kill bad guys.” She smiled sweetly. “Which is getting old, by the way.”

  “I can imagine. You must miss Hannah.”

  She nodded. “More than you know.”

  Their salads arrived with a flourish, and they dug in.

  “So, tell me about this tango thing. What have I gotten myself into?” Alan asked between mouthfuls.

  “We’re going to the late show – normally it’s a combination dinner and performance, but two nights a week they do just a cocktail show. This one is down in the San Telmo district, which is south of here, by the water. All the best shows are there, according to the concierge – and he hasn’t lied to us yet.”

  “How long does it last?”

  “About an hour and a half. Don’t worry. They’ll serve alcohol.”

  “As you know, I’m not a big boozer, either, but seeing as I’m newly retired, I could always learn. Especially if all the wines tastes like this one.”

  After a suitable wait, their steaks came: huge servings of mouth-watering meat cooked to perfection.

  “This is enough for three meals,” Jet commented, and took a bite. “Oh my God. I mean, really. You have to taste this.” She cut a piece and handed her fork across the table to Alan.

  He popped it into his mouth and chewed with relish. “Wow. What is that again?”

  “Entrana. It says on the menu that it’s a flank steak, but I’ve never had one like this, not even in Uruguay, which is also known for its beef.”

  “Here. Try a bite of mine. Filet.”

  They lingered over their meal, savoring the moment, and when the last of the wine splashed into their glasses Jet was feeling a little lightheaded – but in a good way. She looked at her watch and shook her head at the waiter’s offering of dessert. As it was, she had left almost half her steak, although Alan found room for all of his and a few more bites of hers.

  They paid the bill and took a taxi to the club, where they stood in line with a gathering of tourists from all over the world, the musical sounds of Italian mixing with English and German in the crisp night air. Ten minutes later the doors opened, the facility having been cleaned from the dinner show, and everyone filed into the large banquet room and took seats facing the stage.

  Once everyone was inside and settled, the lights dimmed as a waitress brought carafes of wine to the tables. A couple moved into the spotlight, the man dressed in a 1930s-era black suit and his young female partner wearing a red velvet dress that clung to her like a second skin, with slits up either side that reached her hips.

  Music followed a smattering of applause, and then the dancers began to move, slowly at first, he leading her in an intricate circle around the stage, their legs coming together and parting in an elaborate pattern known only to them. The swell of the tango pulsed as they meshed, she leaning into him, he maintaining an arrogant stance, chin up, the pomade in his severely-cut black hair glistening in the light. On and on it went, the steps increasing in complexity to the music’s hypnotic throb until Jet felt dizzy just watching it, the dance unlike anything she’d ever seen – sultry, sexy, elaborate but effortless, the moves impossible to remember other than as a complex impression of the whole.

  When the song ended, the audience burst into applause, and even Alan appeared transfixed by the performance, clapping heartily as the pair bowed and another couple took their place – this one an older man and a teenage girl, also in the garb of a bygone era.

  An accordion started the next song, its plaintive stridency cutting off the last of the applause at the couple’s appearance, and then a crooning male voice joined the pulse of the bass and the sweep of the piano and violin, crafting a melody that stopped Jet’s breath in her throat at the tragic beauty of the heartbreaking ballad. The couple glided back and forth, a perfect expression of love lost and the futility of life’s inevitable struggles, and when the song ended Jet felt on the verge of tears.

  The applause this time was a roar, and when it died down, Jet took Alan’s hand in hers. If there was such a thing as a perfect evening, this was shaping up to be one; and as they watched the end
less parade of incredibly talented performers demonstrate the myriad different nuances of Argentina’s famed dance, she felt a stirring and a closeness to him that had been fleeting earlier.

  The wine disappeared and eventually the lights came back on, the performance finished, the magic of the mood broken as the tipsy tourists milled towards the exit. Jet waited until most had left before standing, and when she gazed up at Alan, her eyes were moist.

  “Thank you for taking me to this, Alan. It means a lot to me. It was so…so beautiful.”

  He leaned down and kissed her softly on the mouth. “Maybe those Argentines know a thing or two about romance, eh? I’ve never seen anything like that,” he conceded.

  They held hands as they moved to the doors, and Jet had a comfortable feeling of closeness, of safety. Her doubts about Alan from earlier had vanished with the wine, and when they hailed a taxi she kissed him again.

  “I could get used to Buenos Aires,” he said when the car drew up.

  “It does have its charm,” she agreed.

  They sat in silence while they returned to the hotel. She leaned against his shoulder as the cab swayed down the boulevards, her worries seemingly a million miles away, her awareness limited to the here and now, with Alan, and nowhere else.

  Chapter 22

  When Alan checked in at the Four Seasons the following day, he didn’t go to the room, electing to just pay for two days before going up one elevator and down the other. He didn’t detect anything suspicious in the lobby, but he was taking no chances, and he took the long way back to the Alvear Palace, watching for any telltale signs as he ambled along the streets of the Recoleta.

  His attorney friend had emailed Alan the tracking number, and the next day at three, the website indicated the package had been delivered. Alan and Jet set out on foot to the hotel – the plan was to pick up the envelope and then leave, with Jet watching Alan’s back to ensure he was still clean.

  At the hotel, there was a small amount of confusion locating the package, but after a few minutes it materialized and he signed for it. As agreed, he sauntered to the restrooms off the lobby and opened the envelope in one of the stalls, disposing of the packaging in the wastepaper basket before exiting and meeting Jet outside.

  “You’re okay. Nothing obvious in the lobby. But I would suggest going over the documents with a fine-toothed comb to ensure there are no tracking chips hidden in one of them. As you know, nowadays–”

  Alan finished the thought for her. “Yes, nowadays they can fit one almost anywhere.”

  She looked sheepish. “I’m sorry. You know as much about this as I do. I’m not trying to be patronizing.”

  “No worries. I don’t take it as such. It’s good to be reminded of the little things. Let’s go get a cup of coffee somewhere and I’ll go through both passports as well as the credit cards. There would have to be a power source, though, so the likelihood is pretty small. If there’s one in either of the passports it would have to be in the cover. And the credit cards are even more unlikely – I signed them, so they’re the originals I left with him. Both still have a year or so before they expire, by the way, so we have some more resources if we need them.”

  “I’d shy away from using anything that could be traced. Call me superstitious…”

  “I know what you mean. Hey, let’s stop in there. It looks as good as any.”

  He pointed to a café on the far corner, and they crossed the street and entered, taking a seat where they could see the sidewalk.

  Jet ordered for both of them as Alan went to the bathroom, and when he returned five minutes later he sat down with a grin. “They’re fine. Clean as a newborn.”

  “That’s good. At least you can trust him.”

  “I never doubted it. Now, what’s the plan from here?”

  “There’s an Aeromexico flight tonight at eleven-thirty,” Jet said. “Gets in around six tomorrow morning in Mexico City, and then there’s a flight a few hours later to Tijuana. I say we’re on it, now that you have your passport.”

  “And then?”

  “I call my contact once we’re on the ground in TJ, and he gives me further instructions. But he guaranteed he could get us into the U.S., no problem, so my guess is that by tomorrow night we should be in California. From there, we can either rent a car, or buy or steal one, and hit the road. It should take us a couple of days, no more, to get to Washington, if we drive around the clock. The U.S. airport security is too tight to fly, and the trains and buses are also monitored. So it’s a long haul cross-country, driving the speed limit.”

  “Can’t we get in somewhere else closer to Washington? Canada? Florida?”

  “I don’t have anyone that can do that. I’m sure it’s possible, but we’d waste more time trying to find someone than we would just driving. Besides which, Florida is a thousand miles from Washington, whereas California is about two. Basically, California adds a day of drive time to the schlep, but it’s a lock that we make it in.”

  “Sounds good. What do they need to see if we rent a car?”

  “Passport, driver’s license, and credit card. I don’t like that option as much as I do buying or stealing a car. Buying would be best.”

  “Maybe your contact can arrange for a vehicle?”

  “I’ll ask. I wouldn’t imagine it would be too hard. And we don’t need a Rolls. Just something dependable enough to get us to Washington. I’ll give him another call and see if he can line something up.”

  “Any chance he would sell you out?”

  “To who? We don’t even know who’s after me. If he could figure that out before we do, we should hire him.” Jet tasted her coffee and sighed. “They do have great coffee here, don’t they?”

  “Too bad they don’t give you a steak to munch on with the java.”

  “You can’t be hungry again. We had a late breakfast.”

  “I’m a growing boy.”

  They laughed easily, Jet’s eyes prowling the street out of habit. When they were finished, they paid and walked back to the hotel, arms around each other, a happy couple out for an afternoon stroll.

  Back in the room, Jet went to work, first booking the flights and then talking to her contact. He assured her that he could get them a car by the following evening, and guessed that it would cost another fifteen grand for an older one, twenty for a newer – sanitized, with plates, a private party sale where she could put whatever name she liked on the pink slip once she was on her way. Jet was liking the man’s professionalism more and more, and agreed to go for the newer option. When she hung up, she felt better about the next phase of their journey.

  “What about guns?” Alan asked.

  “Probably the easiest thing to do in the U.S. is get a gun – America is the most armed country in the world. We can get guns from private parties, gun shows…and if we need something specialized, there are a lot of criminals selling them. It’s probably easier to get a submachine gun on the street than it is most places, other than maybe Yemen or Afghanistan.”

  “It sounds like you’ve done your research.”

  “No, I still need to check for gun shows in the vicinity once we’re around Washington. And I need to map our route, and figure out where I can sell a few diamonds in case we need cash. I’ve actually got a decent amount to do before we leave for the airport.”

  Alan took the hint and went to clean up. “You want to grab dinner before we head out?” he called from the bathroom.

  “Absolutely. We don’t have to be there until around ten since we’re only taking carry-ons, so we can go wherever you want.”

  He poked his head out of the door and eyed her. “How about that place down on the water we heard about? Puerto Madero?”

  “You’re on. Give me a few hours to get this stuff sewn up.”

  ~ ~ ~

  They were the only ones in the restaurant at eight o’clock, and they were in and out in an hour. Their experience at the airport was equally expedient, and they made their flight with forty-five
minutes to spare, sitting around the departure lounge, the airport nearly empty at the late hour.

  Unlike Alan’s flight south from Mexico City, the trip north was smooth, and they were able to sleep most of the way. When the stewardess came by to offer them an early breakfast, Alan started awake, and Jet could see him stiffen for a few seconds until he registered where he was. She knew the feeling, and wondered if they would ever be able to put that survival instinct aside and become normal. She wanted to believe it could happen, but her gut said that wasn’t possible, given their histories.

  The Mexico City airport was quiet when they landed, and customs took a third of the time she would have expected, their passports waved through after barely a glance by a sleepy agent with a hound dog face and a Pancho Villa mustache, who looked like he had just woken up. They had more than a few hours to kill before their flight to Tijuana, so they found a restaurant and dallied over their coffee, Jet using her phone to connect to the wireless and surf the web.

  “I got an email back from a jeweler in Washington who said he’d be very interested in looking at a couple of my stones, so it looks like we’ll have some mad money if we need it,” she reported, peering intently at the screen.

  “Oh, good. Because after we’re done with the smuggler and the car and the flights, we’ll only have…sixty thousand U.S.?”

  “A little more than that, but I figure it can’t hurt to be loaded with cash. My experience is that it can get you out of a lot of jams.”

  “What will the stones bring?”

  “Pretty close to a couple of hundred.”

  “Thousand?”

  “Yup. They’re nearly flawless, and at the top of the color class. There’s tremendous variation in cost, but for a VVSI stone with a B or C color in the three to four carat range – that’s a very valuable diamond.”