JET - Escape: (Volume 9)

by Russell Blake

  “Airport,” she answered, then crinkled her nose. “I’m guessing you didn’t shower with the fellas while you were locked up?” She tilted his head away from her and eyed the bump on his head. “Ow. That looks like it hurt.”

  “You should have seen the other guy.” He tried a grin. “How are we getting off the island?”

  “Your friend pulled a rabbit out of his hat. A big one.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Frantz negotiated the winding streets and they sat in silence watching the ruined buildings glide by, many of them half demolished, casualties of the earthquake and pervasive poverty. Jet gave Matt a bottle of water and he drank greedily, draining most of it before handing the bottle back to her with an apologetic shrug.

  “Did they feed you anything while you were locked up?” Frantz asked.

  “No. But truthfully, I wasn’t hungry. Something about sleep deprivation and then having your head bashed in dampens the appetite.”

  Jet took his good hand. “That and being in close proximity to a few dozen hardened felons, I’ll bet.”

  Matt nodded. “Let’s just say it’s an experience I hope to never repeat.” He studied her profile. “How about you? How’s Hannah’s fever?”

  “We’re fine. And back together. That’s the most important thing.”

  “Anything happen while I was indisposed?” Matt asked.

  Jet gave the back of Frantz’s head a glance and shook hers. “Nothing important. I’ll tell you later.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Fair enough. Thanks for coming up with whatever the fine was.”

  “You owe me big now. I plan to have you make it up to me for some time.”

  He smiled. “Fair’s fair.”

  The sun was setting as they reached the prop plane terminal. Frantz parked at the end of the nearly deserted lot and they got out together. Jet had disassembled her pistol and disposed of it in trash cans around the hotel, so all that remained was to go through immigration and board the plane.

  Frantz escorted them into the terminal and to the door leading out to the tarmac. An older man with hunched shoulders and a dour expression eyeballed them and then perked up when he spotted Frantz. The two men shook hands, and Jet saw a few bills, carefully folded, change hands. “Alban, these are my friends. They’re in a frightful hurry. Could you see to it that they make it to their plane undisturbed?”

  “Of course, Mr. Frantz. My pleasure.” Alban turned to Jet. “You going out on the military transport, right?”

  She nodded, and Matt struggled to keep the surprise off his face. “That’s right. It’s here, isn’t it?”

  “Can’t miss it, you can’t. Right out there with the engines running. Been on the ground for half an hour. Just finished refueling.” He shook his head. “Don’t get a lot of Cuban Air Force planes here, we don’t. That’s a first for me. An Antonov AN-32. Seen one from Mexico, but never from Cuba.”

  Alban directed them to the waiting plane, a white twin prop sitting on the tarmac with its fuselage door open and the unmistakable Cuban colors on its tail. A uniformed Cuban officer stood at the bottom of the stairs and, when they reached the plane, helped them aboard. After they were seated, he closed the door and tapped on the cockpit wall and called out in Spanish, “Take us up.”

  The plane rolled down the runway and lifted into the sky. The interior of the plane was bare except for overhead netting and some primitive seating. The officer turned to them once they were soaring above the Caribbean and introduced himself. “I’m Lieutenant Costa. We’ll be landing at a base outside Havana. I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you, but we have some water and nuts, if you want them.”

  Jet gave Matt’s hand a squeeze and smiled. “We do. And thank you for the ride.”

  Once they were at cruising altitude, Costa went forward, and Jet told Matt about the motorcycle incident and Drago. When she finished, his face was lined with worry. “That had to be about me, not you. An American, you say? I knew it. First Tara, then this guy…”

  “Who we don’t need to worry about anymore. But what’s still troubling is that he wasn’t working alone. The car chase from the jail proves that.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “Bastards. They’ll never give up.”

  “Oh, I think the ones who were chasing you will. Frantz arranged for the police to detain them. Whoever they are will have to tip their hand to get out. If it’s your old gang, we’ll know. Frantz said he’d let me know. I’m to call him in a day or two.”

  “Frantz seems like a godsend.”

  “I think he feels guilty about the stone I traded him. It was almost three carats. Worth an easy fifty anywhere in the world. Maybe more.”

  “So it’s not because you entranced him with your womanly charm?”

  She smiled and looked at Hannah, who had dozed off from the monotonous drone of the engines, and then took his hand in hers. “Let’s get you a shower and we’ll see how that’s working.”

  Matt leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a better offer in my life.”

  “I expect a lot for my fifty.”

  His eyes opened before fluttering closed again. “You’re on.”

  Chapter 52

  Ramón looked up when the guards arrived to free him. He’d only been behind bars for twelve hours, but it was twelve more than he’d ever wanted to be, and his head hurt almost as much as his bruised thigh. He endured the cuffing and escorting without saying a word, and when he was released with only his watch, phone, and passport, he resisted the impulse to spit in the clerk’s face and instead made his way to the discharge area.

  The tall youth who’d dropped the car off was waiting, and led him silently to an idling vehicle. Clyde sat behind the wheel, a knockoff Louis Vuitton baseball cap on his head at a precarious angle.

  “Hey, boss. Sorry it took so long. They wanted to hold on to you like nobody’s bidness, they did,” Clyde said as Ramón climbed aboard.

  “Let’s go see Renoir.”

  “He expecting you, boss. We on our way, tout de suite.”

  The drive took fifteen agonizing minutes, and Ramón noted that his phone was dead, the battery having drained while he was incarcerated. The eastern sky was blushed with streaks of salmon and tangerine as dawn broke over the sea, and he wished he could appreciate the sight with anything but simmering hate.

  When they arrived at Renoir’s compound, the big man was sitting behind his desk, drinking coffee, obviously awake before his usual time, looking disgruntled and groggy. Renoir motioned to an empty chair and Ramón lowered himself cautiously into it, pain flaring through his hip before it faded into a background throb.

  “Coffee?” Renoir asked, and pointed to a cup. Clyde filled it without waiting to hear Ramón’s answer and brought him a china cup on a saucer, and then quietly slipped out of the room. Ramón drank half the cup before he spoke, relishing the taste of the rich brew.

  “We know it was a setup. Everything. The cab, the cops, the whole thing.”

  Renoir nodded. “Seems that way.”

  “They had to have inside information,” Ramón said, looking Renoir straight in the eyes.

  Renoir leaned forward, and when he spoke, his tone was dangerous. “No, they just had to be smarter than you. They figured someone was gunning for them, so they laid a trap. It worked. No inside job required to explain it.”

  “I need to find out where they went.”

  “We’re working on that, but it’ll take time, you know? Nobody saw anything. The trail, it ends at the taxi depot, and the driver took a week’s vacation to go fishing. So have the cops who arrested you.”

  “That’s convenient. One of them robbed me. Lifted three grand.”

  Renoir shrugged. “A couple of your men are waiting for you at a hotel near the town center. I can have Clyde take you there. Get some rest. We’ll know more when we do.”

  “That’s not good enough. Mosises is going to be livid.
I need to pick up their scent, and quick.”

  “Yes, well, Mosises isn’t happy, that’s true enough. I had to call when I got word about your…situation.”

  Ramón blanched. “You spoke to him?”

  “Yes, and I explained things. I think you’d better call him sooner than later.”

  “My phone’s dead,” Ramón spat, anger dripping from every syllable.

  “You can use mine. I’ll step out.”

  “No, I can call from the hotel.”

  Renoir shrugged. “Fine by me.”

  “What steps have you taken to locate them?”

  “My people are talking with the harbor patrol and at the airport. They don’t show up on any logs, so they haven’t left the country.”

  “How reliable is that?”

  Renoir laughed and his whole frame shook. “Look around you. How reliable do you think it is?”

  “So it’s meaningless.”

  “Well, let’s just say I haven’t stopped there.” Renoir locked eyes with him. “Ramón, you’re a guest, and Mosises is like a brother to me, so I’ll say this once to you, and once only. Don’t you ever come into my home, my territory, and throw around talk about me selling you out, or you’ll leave the island in a box. No hard feelings, but you don’t disrespect me. Comprende?”

  Ramón held his stare and then looked away. This wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on. “I apologize. It was a long night with no sleep, and I took a hard spill on the motorcycle. And I’m still shaken from Felix’s death. I meant no offense.”

  Renoir nodded, mollified. “We all had some long days. Apology accepted. Now go with Clyde, and hopefully by the time you wake, we’ll know more.” He paused. “But I’d definitely call Mosises before you sleep.”

  “I understand. Thank you for all your help.”

  Renoir waved a hand the size of a ping-pong paddle. “We’ll talk soon.” He tilted his head back and called out at the top of his considerable voice. “Clyde? Come on in here.”

  Clyde hurried into the room, trailing cigarette smoke, and Renoir sat back like a medieval king. “Take Ramón here to the hotel right quick.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “And then pick up some spicy eggs and plantains, would you? I’m wasting away to nothing here. Got an appetite today.”

  Clyde’s face didn’t even twitch as he surveyed Renoir’s corpulent form.

  “You got it, boss.”

  Chapter 53

  Havana, Cuba

  The big prop plane banked on final approach to the military airfield on the outskirts of Havana, the lights of the city a glimmering tapestry stretching to the sea. Costa had warned Jet and Matt that they would be landing shortly, and everyone was strapped in, Hannah now awake as the aircraft bounced toward the airstrip.

  Once the plane touched down, it slowed and taxied to a collection of hangars, where Jet could see through her small window that a military SUV was waiting, along with a dark green army van and a recent-model white Honda Accord. The airplane braked to a halt and the turbines shut down, and then Costa was opening the fuselage door and lowering the stairs.

  A row of palms ringing the airfield swayed in the trade wind as Jet carried Hannah down the stairs. Matt led them toward the vehicles, where an army officer stood beside a white-haired man in a pastel blue seersucker suit, a cigar the size of a baguette clamped between his teeth. Matt grinned as he approached, and shook hands with the cigar smoker.

  Matt turned to Jet. “This is Carl. Carl, meet Victoria and Hannah.”

  Carl took Jet’s hand and kissed it lightly, his eyes twinkling in the moonlight. “Pleased to meet you.” He straightened and turned to the officer. “This is Major Luis Fuentes. You have him to thank for your flight. He will also be facilitating your paperwork.”

  “Charmed,” Fuentes said, clicking his heels together and offering a small bow.

  “And now for the formalities. I believe you have something for me?” Carl asked Jet, who nodded and placed three diamonds in his hand.

  “The down payment, as agreed,” Matt said. “Your expert will find nothing to complain about. They’re flawless, and worth easily double what you’re giving us in credit.”

  Carl gazed down at the stones and dropped them into his jacket pocket. “I would expect nothing less. I’ll have them verified, but we can proceed as though they already have been. For now, I’ve arranged lodging for you at a very private bed and breakfast located in the Miramar district. Tomorrow morning we’ll have photographs taken, and then the major here will work his magic while you take in the sights of Havana.”

  “That’s very kind,” Jet said, pulling Hannah near. “Hopefully there’s a restaurant nearby?”

  “Several of the best in town,” Carl confirmed with a flamboyant hand wave and a smile to Fuentes. “Which, no offense, Major, isn’t saying much.”

  “None taken,” Fuentes said, clearly accustomed to Carl’s digs. “I’m painfully aware of our island paradise’s shortcomings. I’d recommend plentiful mojitos to mitigate any disappointment.”

  “We brought a van for you, unless you’d prefer to ride in my car,” Carl said, indicating the Honda.

  “Whichever is easiest,” Matt said.

  “If you can all squeeze into the rear seat, mine’s more comfortable. My driver is excellent. I, on the other hand, can’t be trusted after dark,” Carl joked, and winked at Jet.

  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” she responded.

  “You want anything for the trip into town? I picked up this excellent cigar in one of the stands just outside the grounds. They also sell food, alcohol, sodas,” Carl asked as they climbed into the Accord.

  “No, thanks. We’ll be fine. I think right now a shower at the hotel’s the most pressing thing,” Jet said with a look at Matt, who nodded in agreement.

  The ride from the airfield took an hour, during which time Carl regaled them with tidbits of information about Cuban culture and everyday life. As they traversed the hodgepodge of streets leading to the city center, his account turned to history.

  “Havana was the most important Spanish hub in the New World for centuries. The fort you’ll see as we near the water was built to protect the harbor. A massive iron chain still runs from Havana to the fort across the harbor mouth, and every evening a cannon’s fired in a ceremony, which used to signal the closing of the harbor by the chain drawing tight. An effective, if crude, barrier, it worked for hundreds of years.”

  “How long have you lived here?” Jet asked.

  “Oh, what, now, going on…fifteen years? When I chucked my old life and went walkabout, I didn’t have to look far. I wanted someplace that wasn’t in the U.S.’s pocket, and it was either Iran, North Korea, Myanmar, Venezuela, or Cuba. I’m not a Sharia law kind of guy, couldn’t warm up to starvation conditions in the Far East, nor did I like what I saw developing in Venezuela…so that left Cuba. On balance, I’m happy with the choice, although the sanctions have obviously taken their toll on the country.”

  “But overall, you like it?” Matt asked.

  “Yes, but you have to understand that I’m in a very different position from most Cubans. On the positive side, they have an excellent educational system, and it’s free for everyone, so if you want to become a doctor or a lawyer or a professor, there are no limitations. The problem is that once they graduate, there are no opportunities, which is why any jobs dealing with tourists are prized positions. You’ll find young women with specialized physician’s degrees working as cocktail waitresses or escorts, because they can’t make a decent living as doctors. It’s sad, but the country’s a train wreck economically, as are all communist regimes. Note I don’t count China among those, because it’s really a capitalist oligarchy, with only some loose trappings of socialism still in place.” He paused. “But I, because I was fortunate enough to sock away money for a rainy day, can live like a king on a fraction of what it would cost elsewhere. And of course, my little hobby brings in an occasional dollar.”
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br />   Carl’s voice drifted off and the car was silent.

  “Tell us about the passport process,” Matt said.

  “Nothing to it. We get photos taken, and you’ll have legally issued Cuban passports within forty-eight hours in the names of your choosing. Birth certificates for you will appear in the system, and never be questioned.”

  “And those are safe to travel on?” Jet asked.

  “Of course. That’s the entire point, isn’t it? Depending on where you want to go, you might need to get visas, but that’s the only hassle, and it’s really no big deal. Because of the way the passports will be coded, you won’t be subject to any of the exit constraints the less fortunate here have to contend with.”

  “We haven’t decided where we’re off to next,” Matt said, his glance darting to Jet for an instant.

  “No problem. I don’t need or want to know. My role is that of a conduit. The major is the one who makes it all happen. I’m just a small cog in a big machine.”

  “Why do I get the sense that you’re being too modest?” Jet asked.

  Carl laughed and twisted in the passenger seat to look back at her. “My dear, if I were about fifty years younger and you weren’t frittering your time away with this no-goodnick, you could have had your way with me and I’d have been the luckiest man alive for it.”

  She reached across Hannah and took Matt’s hand. “No accounting for taste, is there?”

  “I’m rarely envious, but in this case, Victor here has the honor of having awakened the green-eyed monster in me.”

  The inn turned out to be an old mansion two blocks from the shore, in a neighborhood of stately homes, many in disrepair, but most in some form of rehabilitation.

  Carl pointed to the black wrought-iron fence that ran along the street. “Built in the 1880s by a wealthy plantation owner, it fell on hard times after the revolution. The current owner bought it a decade ago and refurbished it. Be sure to let me know what you think of the service and the furnishings.”

  “Why? Are you friends with him?” Matt asked.