“In a manner of speaking. I own it.”
Jet smiled. “I see. You’re a man of many surprises, aren’t you, Carl?”
“You’ve seen my best ones. It’s all downhill from here.”
“Why do I think that might be an exaggeration?”
“You have excellent intuition. If you rethink your commitment to this scoundrel, we might have a short but glorious future together. At least for me it will be.”
“I’ll take that under advisement in case he doesn’t behave,” Jet said as she opened her door. “On that note, thank you for everything. You mentioned there were restaurants nearby?”
“Yes. Ask Gloria, the manager. She’ll arrange transportation. It’s not recommended that you walk around after dark, even in this neighborhood.”
“I see. Thanks again,” Matt said.
“I’ll be by at nine tomorrow, sharp, to get your photos done. We’re a bit old-fashioned here, so everything takes twice as long as it should. But I know a shop that does decent work.” He paused. “I own it as well.”
Jet leaned into Matt as Carl’s car drove off.
“Your friend’s a peacock, isn’t he?” she whispered.
“He’s gotten worse in his winter years, obviously. Apparently he enjoys the attention. I imagine he’s an enfant terrible on the social scene.”
“He certainly isn’t shy.”
“No, he makes an impression wherever he goes. That’s his style.”
They mounted the stairs and approached the ornately carved mahogany entry door, which glided open as if by magic. A handsome woman with her hair pulled back in a tight bun stood with a small bouquet of flowers and a beaming smile of welcome.
“Good evening. I’m so glad you made it,” she said. “I’m Gloria.” She stooped down and handed Hannah the bouquet. Hannah’s face broke into a happy grin. “Aren’t you gorgeous?” Gloria said, studying the little girl.
“Thank you,” Jet said.
Gloria stood and motioned for them to enter. “I’ll show you to your rooms – Carl said you’re to have the honeymoon suite, which is two large rooms with a sliver view of the sea. Your little one should be comfortable in the sitting area – there’s a daybed in it for her use.”
“Lead the way,” Matt said, his voice tired, and Jet nodded approval.
Gloria gave them an orientation and, after promising to book dinner at a nearby restaurant in an hour, left them to freshen up. Jet stood on her tiptoes and kissed Matt before detaching from him and giving Hannah’s shoulder a squeeze. “This will do just fine, Mr. Victor.”
“You know what they say. To the victor go the spoils…”
“We can negotiate the truce over dinner.”
“I can’t wait.”
Chapter 54
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
“Cuba? On a military transport?” Ramón repeated, incredulous.
Jon Renoir nodded his massive head. “That’s what I said.”
“How?” Ramón was trying to digest the information. Suddenly his desperate fugitives, on the run and nearly cornered, could commandeer military flights? What was he missing? He had the same sense of dislocation he’d had when he’d found Fernanda’s body in the bell tower, the feeling that the situation was more complex than Mosises understood – and that he was in way over his head.
“Simple. The pilot filed a flight plan and gained approval to refuel here. He wasn’t authorized to, but apparently he took on three passengers – none of which made it into the books, of course.” Renoir shrugged. “It happens, you know. This is Haiti,” he said, as though that explained everything.
Ramón had spent a difficult night after talking to Mosises and meeting with the two killers he’d sent, one of whom he knew from Colombia. Mosises had been seething at Ramón’s failure, but had eventually calmed down and authorized Ramón to do whatever it took to continue the pursuit.
That morning he’d seen a doctor about his injuries, and the man had done a quick inspection of his wounds and pronounced him fit, if badly bruised. As Ramón had suspected, he had a hematoma on his thigh that would require months of physical therapy to treat, so the clot would eventually dissolve and be absorbed into the surrounding tissue, but it wouldn’t incapacitate him – it was just painful. The doctor also said he showed all the signs of a minor concussion from the blow to his head, but with rest that would also pass.
Ramón nodded and rose from his chair. “The flight was eighteen – no, nineteen hours ago. By now, they could be anywhere.”
“Maybe. But I wonder why Cuba?”
“It’s nearby, and that’s where the boat they were on was headed when it ran out of fuel.”
“So there’s something there that’s drawing them.”
“Or someone.”
Clyde took him back to the hotel, and he called Mosises and reported the new development. Mosises didn’t hesitate. “I want you on the first flight to Havana.”
“Mosises, with all due respect, the military transport changes things, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s starting to look like the situation is more complicated than we originally assumed.”
“Complicated in what way? These people killed my son. I want them dead. That seems simple to me.”
“Yes, of course. I’m just saying that the involvement of a government, rather than private individuals, means that Jaime could have stepped into something far bigger than he was expecting…and that’s why he died. I never liked or trusted Fernanda. Seems like she might have left out some important information in order to gain your cooperation.”
“Such as?”
“We don’t know who she was working for, do we? What if it was a government agency?”
“So what? They still killed Jaime.”
“True. And they should pay. But if this is one government battling another, it could be a war we want to stay out of, or at least know more about before we rush in. That’s all I’m saying.”
Mosises voice grew quiet. “I want you to fly to Havana and do whatever it takes to kill them. Leave the strategizing to me. Is that clear?”
“Of course. I was just–”
“Your concerns are noted. Let me make a call or two. I’ll be in touch.”
Ramón found himself listening to a dial tone. He hadn’t expected Mosises to back down, but wanted to go on record with his concerns. Throughout this nightmare he’d had misgivings, and they’d grown as the trio had escaped time and time again from impossible situations.
Whatever, or whoever, these people were, they were definitely not the typical nuclear family caught in something ugly. Which Mosises didn’t appear to care about, but Ramón had to if he was to succeed.
And survive.
He pulled up a travel site on his phone and scanned the flights. There was one in the late afternoon. He booked a reservation for himself and turned to more practical matters. The men Mosises had sent to help wouldn’t be able to breeze through Cuban immigration, he knew from his prior visit, so they’d be of no use. But he’d wait until hearing back from Mosises to break the news to them.
In the meantime, there was nothing he could do but be patient and hope that Mosises’ contact in Cuba could pick up the scent. Ramón would have had a lot more confidence if it had been anywhere else – he’d seen firsthand that the Cubans were secretive, paranoid, and highly centralized, the system far harder to game than a wide-open regime like Haiti. Securing meaningful information might be all but impossible. It would depend on how high up Mosises’ source was, and of course, the amount of money he was willing to spread around.
Which right now was limitless, Ramón guessed, based on the resolve in the drug lord’s voice.
He popped a pain pill, lowered himself onto the bed, and set the phone beside him, his eyes half closed as he waited for instructions on what to do next.
It seemed like only moments had passed when his phone jarred him from a light narcotic slumber. He fumbled for it with fingers numbed by the medicine and answered it on the third ring.
“I spoke with our contact,” Mosises said. “He’s turning over rocks. He hopes to have more by tonight. But he says there aren’t that many private parties who could arrange for a military transport. He also warned that if it’s not a private party, there’s little he can do, because the administration rules the island with an iron fist. And if it’s some sort of an intelligence operation, we’re out of luck.”
“I have a flight booked. I should be there this evening.”
“Good.”
Ramón shared his concerns about the two hired guns, and Mosises understood. “Then it’s just you, with some local support in Havana. Don’t let me down.” He didn’t have to say “again.”
“I won’t. If they’re still in Cuba, they’re as good as dead…or I will be.”
“Let’s hope it’s the former.”
“I’ll let you know when I arrive. I’m booked on the Air Caraïbes flight from Port-au-Prince.”
“He’ll have someone get in touch once you’re in Havana. He has your number.”
Chapter 55
Havana, Cuba
Ramón looked around the spacious lobby of the Meliá hotel as the reservation clerk checked him in, and he did his best to shake off the grogginess from the pain medication. The doctor had told him that he might experience blurred vision and light-headedness, but he’d hoped to avoid the worst of it. Unfortunately, the waves of nausea he had been feeling since getting off the plane were severe, and if he didn’t get better by the following morning, he was afraid he might not be up to his task.
His room was hot and stuffy when he opened the door, which didn’t help, and he lay in misery on the bed as the air conditioner groaned to life. As far as he was concerned, the next day couldn’t come soon enough, and he dismissed any idea of having a medicinal rum in the bar in favor of a glass of water, another pain pill, and a night of uneasy, pained sleep.
Ramón’s phone jangled the next morning as the sun was barely beginning its ascent. It was Mosises.
“Yes?” Ramón answered, hoping he didn’t sound too out of it.
“Our man has been working all night, but nothing yet. Renoir learned that the plane’s flight plan called for it to return to its base – a military outpost in the middle of the country.”
“That’s what I was afraid of when I heard it was an army plane.”
“Revolutionary Air Force,” Mosises corrected.
“Of course.”
“Your weapons are waiting for you.”
“Perfect. When do I pick them up?”
“Later. When he has news. He’s pulling out all the stops for me, but he didn’t sound hopeful.”
“Maybe he can bribe someone at the airfield?”
Mosises grunted. “That occurred to us.”
“Ah. All right, then.”
Ramón signed off and rolled over, willing away the sunlight seeping beneath the blinds. When that didn’t work, he rose slowly, closed the blackout curtains, and felt his way to the bathroom, where he washed down another pain pill and staggered back to bed.
Three hours later, another call woke him. The Cuban.
“We have made some progress. A description of a car and of one of the passengers, from last night. We’re trying to put a name to a face. Should have something by this evening.”
“I don’t understand. Why would that be relevant?”
“It’s a remote airfield. There’s nothing there but a military encampment. But this was a civilian. One of the vendors nearby remarked on it when we questioned them. He bought a cigar.”
“That’s why you’re calling? Because a man bought a cigar in Cuba?”
“It’s our only lead. Nobody on the base will talk. We tried. Whoever their commanding officer is, they’re terrified of him, and nobody wanted to risk his wrath for any amount of money. But this cigar buyer was there when the vendor heard a plane land. Find the man with the cigar, and you’ve likely found the people you seek,” the Cuban finished, sounding annoyed at Ramón’s question.
Ramón digested the information and nodded to himself, then winced at the pain the movement caused. “I got it. Fine. When would you like to get together to hand over the weapons?”
“At the end of the day. There aren’t that many relatively new Honda sedans on the island, and that’s what our cigar buyer got out of. Once we have a list, we’ll look for someone matching his description, and there’s your first stop.”
“Sounds reasonable. I’ll leave my phone on.”
~ ~ ~
Carl, true to his word, was waiting for Jet and Matt in the downstairs lobby at nine, wearing another lightweight tropical suit, this one mustard-colored, with a blue shirt and bright yellow tie. He’d topped the ensemble with a Panama hat and carried an ebony walking stick.
“Good morning. I trust you slept comfortably?” he boomed as they came down the stairs.
“Yes, thanks. It was marvelous,” Jet assured him.
“Glad to hear it. Are you ready, or do you want to get something to eat?”
“We already had a light breakfast,” Matt said.
“Very well, then. Let’s get this over with.” He peered down at Hannah, who stood shyly by Jet’s side, holding her hand. “Ready for your modeling audition?”
Hannah blinked at him in puzzled confusion. He straightened and smiled at Jet. “Breathtaking child, really. She’ll stop hearts when she’s older. Takes after her mother in that regard.”
“Thank you. Hannah’s a wonderful little girl. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”
Hannah smiled, unsure of what was expected of her.
“How far to the shop?” Matt asked.
“Oh. Ten minutes. Over by the university,” Carl said, leading them outside to where his car waited.
“No driver?” Matt asked.
“Don’t worry. I’m not much of a menace during the day.”
“That’s reassuring,” Matt said doubtfully.
“Hush up, young man, and open the door for the ladies.”
The drive took twice as long due to flooding of the waterfront road and congestion on the approach from a tunnel that ran below the Rio Almendares. As they rolled to the curb in front of a brightly colored building, Matt eyed the sign.
“Yankee Pride? Not particularly subtle, is it?” he said.
“I abandoned subtlety lifetimes ago. Way overrated. Besides, the locals are enraptured by anything American. The government says they’re to hate it, but that’s worn thin over the years, and now more want an iPhone and a big-screen television than revolutionary solidarity.”
“How much of the town do you own, Carl?” Jet asked.
“Oh, just this and that, my dear, this and that. I try to keep my fingers in a number of pies. Someone must do the devil’s work, after all,” he said with another wink.
Jet offered him a dazzling white smile. She was getting used to Carl’s odd charm, a sort of cross between Santa Claus and Truman Capote that she found strangely endearing.
“Idle hands,” she agreed.
“Let’s go see if the shiftless thieves I overpay to run the place have shown up for work yet, shall we?” he said, opening the driver’s door and, without waiting for an answer, slammed it and marched to the shop entrance, toting his cane like a rifle.
The photographs were finished in fifteen minutes. Matt eyed the street out of habit as they left the studio. Urchins were kicking a battered soccer ball at the far end of the block, their thin frames and baggy shorts moving in a blur as they vied for a goal. “What now?”
Carl waved his cane at nothing in particular. “I had my expert appraise the stones, and they are as you represented. Not that I for a moment doubted your veracity. But it’s official. And may I say that they are of remarkable quality.”
“I’m glad you think so, Carl,” Matt said.
“From here I’ll leave you to wander the town; or if you like, I can drop you off at the inn. I have a meeting with Fuentes at ten, and I don’t want to be any later than usual.”
“We can walk, if you think it’s safe,” Jet said.
“During the day, no question. At night’s a different story.”
“You really believe the passports will only take forty-eight hours?” Matt asked.
“I do. Fuentes is a good lad. Rock solid, although he shares my sin: the love of money. But he can work magic, and will, for me. We have intertwined holdings, so I get special consideration. And I’ve made it very clear you’re a priority.” Carl patted his pocket, where he had the forms they’d filled out in the photo shop with their new names and ages written on it. “Victor and Alicia Campeno. And their little marvel, Ana. Oh, and if you’re in the mood, tomorrow is my weekly dinner at the best restaurant in all Cuba, with breathtaking views of the water. Another restored home in a lovely location. I’d be delighted if you’d be my guest.”
“That sounds wonderful, Carl,” Jet said.
“See if you can talk this cheapskate into buying you something suitable to wear. It’s not formal but, well, those clothes look like they’ve seen some duty.”
“I will,” Jet assured him.
“What about me?” Matt asked.
“With her on your arm, nobody will be looking at you,” Carl said. “You can wear a towel if you like.”
Everyone laughed, and Carl bid them goodbye as he returned to the car. Matt motioned to the waterfront a few blocks away and glanced at Jet.
“Up for a walk?”
“I’d follow you anywhere. But he’s probably right about finding some decent clothes.”
“Something tells me Cuba’s not going to have a lot of choices.”
“We’re only looking for one outfit. And of course, something for Hannah.”
“Perhaps we should see about having Gloria look after her during dinner? One of Carl’s affairs doesn’t sound like her kind of thing.”
“We’ll see. Lead the way, oh great white hunter.”
“I thought I was the victor.”
“That was last night. Today we’re on the hunt for something to wear.”
JET - Escape: (Volume 9) Page 24