by Ian Hamilton
She wanted to leave Jeff an extra tip but there was no sign of him. The doorman was still on duty, and she debated leaving it with him. She decided not to and instead asked the desk clerk for an envelope and discreetly put a hundred-dollar bill into it. She sealed it, wrote Jeff’s name on the front, and passed it back.
It was just getting dark when she and Patrick left the Phoenix. “Pothole time,” she said.
“It gives the city some character, don’t you think?” Patrick said. “Rome has the Vatican, London has Buckingham Palace, New York has the Statue of Liberty, and we have the world’s largest and most vicious potholes.”
“They are memorable.”
“You see what I mean.”
The Captain’s men, Anna, and Seto were sitting at the kitchen table when they got to the house.
“Where’s the suitcase?” Ava asked.
The woman pointed to a corner of the kitchen.
Ava collected the bag and put it on the table. She opened it and went through the contents. It contained everything she had requested, and nothing more.
“I assume you know where we’re going,” she said to Seto. “You can say goodbye to your girlfriend now.”
Anna gave Seto a passionate hug. He received it without much enthusiasm. She is the last thing on his mind, Ava thought. But what comes first, money or survival?
“I need the men to stay with her for another twenty-four hours,” Ava said to Patrick. “No phone calls, no Internet. Nothing.”
“You heard her,” he said.
They bundled Seto into the back of the truck. “I haven’t taped your mouth or eyes this time, but one wrong word out of you and I will,” she said to him.
For the first time since they had picked him out of Eckie’s, she saw something other than fear and compliance in his eyes. He was getting over the shock. He was beginning to think maybe there was a way out for him. She would have to fix that.
It took them more than an hour to get to Cheddi Jagan Airport. The only light was from a crescent moon and the roadway was almost pitch black, forcing Patrick to creep along at thirty kilometres an hour.
She kept looking at her watch. Derek should have landed at six. She called every fifteen minutes until, at seven thirty, he finally answered.
“You good?” she asked.
“Not a problem. The plane was a bit late, but I’m already in a taxi and headed for the apartment. I’ll be back at the airport by ten.”
“I’m on schedule.”
“See you there.”
Just before they reached the terminal, Patrick turned away from it. Ava shot a quick glance at him; he looked calm. She waited. He took the road marked FREIGHT, and she relaxed a touch. On the tarmac, under floodlights, she saw a turboprop with GOVERNMENT OF GUYANA stencilled on the side. Parked next to it was a white Cadillac Eldorado that was at least ten years old. She could think of only one person who would drive a car like that.
Patrick stopped his truck directly in front of the plane. As he did so, the driver’s door of the Cadillac opened and Captain Robbins got out. Ava could see inside the car — the Captain was alone. She quickly scanned the area around the plane. No one else was visible.
“Let’s get out,” Patrick said.
She jumped down from the cab and took a few steps in the Captain’s direction while Patrick emptied the truck of Seto and their bags.
Robbins lumbered towards them, his size even more imposing in motion than it was sitting or standing. He didn’t look flexible or fast, but the power he emanated was overwhelming. Patrick, tall and muscular as he was, looked like a boy by comparison.
“I came to say goodbye,” Robbins said.
“Thanks.”
The Captain gazed upwards towards the plane’s windscreen. The pilot looked down at them and Robbins motioned to him. The pilot joined them on the tarmac.
“This is Ms. Lee,” Robbins said to him. “You are taking her and this piece of shit to the British Virgin Islands. She is the boss when it comes to anything to do with him. Stay out of her business. Just land them there safely, drop them off, and get back here tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Who is your co-pilot?”
“Hughes.”
“Make sure he understands as well.”
Robbins looked at Seto. “As for you, I think you’d be wise to cooperate.”
He turned back to Ava. “Do whatever you want with him when you’re finished. I can’t imagine we’d miss him,” he said with a smile.
She glanced at Seto. His eyes were locked on the Captain. She saw a touch of anger in them and wished Robbins hadn’t taunted him.
“Thanks again for all your help,” she said.
He shrugged. “Patrick, take him on board. I want to speak to Ms. Lee privately.”
Now what? she thought. This could not be good.
Robbins waited until the tarmac was clear before he handed her a slip of paper. “These are the names and cellphone numbers of my daughters in Toronto. Their names are Ellie and Lizzie. I would appreciate it if you could contact them when you get back. I’ve already told them you’re a friend and that if they ever get into any trouble they can call on you for help. I think they would like to hear that from you in person. We do worry about them.”
She was surprised by his assumption, and by the level of trust he was displaying. “I would be happy to. We Havergal girls have to stick together.”
“Glad to hear it. Now off with you. Good hunting, and say hello to my brother for me.”
The plane had been built as part of a commuter fleet; it was designed to seat thirty-six people in twelve rows of three. It had been converted into an eight-seater, with two rows of four seats facing each other across a table. Patrick had put Seto in a window seat. Ava sat on the aisle, kitty-corner from him.
“Good luck,” Patrick said as he left.
“See you around,” she said.
The pilot stuck his head into the passenger cabin. “The flight is about two and a half hours long. I’ll turn off the seatbelt sign ten minutes after takeoff. There’s a galley up front with drinks and snacks. Help yourself.”
She had put two bottles of water and two Cokes in her bag just in case. “Any liquor?” she asked.
“A variety.”
“That will be just fine,” she said.
Seto leaned against the window, his eyes closed. The plane revved its engines and moved onto the runway. Ava braced herself as they taxied, then drew an extra breath when they left the ground, the soft lights of Georgetown twinkling in the distance. After all the crap she had gone through, the departure seemed anticlimactic.
She waited until they had been in the air about an hour before disturbing Seto. He was still slumped against the window with his eyes closed. She didn’t know if he was sleeping and didn’t care. She stretched a leg towards him and gave him a kick.
His eyes crawled open. It looked forced — he had been awake.
“I need you to listen to me,” she said. “Sit up and pay attention.”
“Jesus,” he said, twisting his neck and shaking the leg she had kicked.
“When we land, I’m going to take off the handcuffs before we leave the plane. We’ll be met on the tarmac by a friend of mine. He’s tough, mean, and completely loyal to me. One word out of line from you, any bad body language, and he’ll lay you out. Our intention is to walk calmly through Customs and Immigration. I’d like you to walk with us, but if we have to carry you, we will. Do you understand?”
“I get it.”
“Now, tomorrow will be more of the same. You and I have an appointment with Jeremy Bates at the bank. We’re going to wire Andrew Tam the money you stole from him. I’ll go over the details with you in the morning. All you have to do is cooperate, and by tomorrow night you’ll be on a plane back to Guyana or wherever else you choose to go.”
“I get that too. I already told you I was going to give it back anyway,” he said.
“Yes, I heard you, and mayb
e I believe you.”
“These cuffs, can you take them off now? What the hell can I do up here?”
“Don’t rush,” she said. “Tell you what, though, how about I buy you a drink? You want a drink?”
“Sure.”
“What do you want?”
“See if they have any Scotch.”
Ava walked into the galley. The bar was better stocked than the lounge at the Phoenix. There were three Scotches: Johnnie Walker Red, Black, and Blue — the premium one. “They have Johnnie Walker Blue,” she told him.
“I’ll take it neat,” he said.
She came back into the cabin. “I’ll get it in a minute. I have to go to the bathroom first.” She took her kitbag from under her seat and went to the washroom. On the way back she stopped in the galley, leaving on the counter two hundred-millilitre shampoo bottles filled with chloral hydrate.
Ava poured herself a modest shot of cognac, a Remy Martin VSOP, and then filled a quarter of a glass with Blue Label for Seto.
She walked back with the drinks and held the whisky to his lips. He slurped rather than sipped. “Give me a break with these cuffs,” he said.
“Too soon.”
“C’mon.”
“Look, I’m sorry it has to be this way. I can’t take any chances.”
She put the glass to his mouth again. The Scotch disappeared. “You want another?” she asked.
“Why not?”
In the galley she tipped half the contents of one shampoo bottle into the glass and then added the Scotch. The colour was all Scotch. She sniffed. The smell was all Scotch.
Seto was sitting up straight now. The liquor seemed to have revitalized him.
“Slow down,” she said. “I don’t want you falling-down drunk.”
“I can handle my booze,” he said.
He followed her advice anyway, and it took him about ten minutes to finish his drink.
She went into the galley and refilled his glass with more chloral hydrate and Scotch. When she brought the refill back into the cabin, he looked up at her a with stupid grin. His eyes were beginning to glaze over, and she realized that the second dose might not be necessary. What the hell, she thought. Why waste it? To her shock he managed to finish the entire glass before collapsing forward. Ava pushed him back against the seat. She figured he’d be out for at least five or six hours.
So far, so good, Ava thought, looking down at the comatose Seto. Another hour and a half and they’d be on the ground, and she’d have Derek to help. Any worries about getting Seto through Customs and keeping him under control were starting to ebb, only to be replaced by anxiety about the next day and the bank. Regardless of how docile Seto was, she knew it was going to come down to Barrett’s and her ability to handle Jeremy Bates. She opened her notebook and took the bank files from her bag. The email she had sent in Seto’s name had established the framework for the meeting; now she just had to be calm, controlled, and credible. The problem was, she knew that wasn’t going to be enough. Somehow, some way, she had to convince Bates to take a leap of faith. Not a blind one entirely, but for a serious banker a leap with a risk, however you cut it.
Ava reviewed the story she intended to spin, making notes as she did. Where were the holes? What questions would Bates ask? The basic premise seems plausible enough, she thought, and she had no trouble answering the questions she imagined Bates would ask. Then Seto snorted, and for an instant Ava thought he was having trouble breathing. She watched him until his body eased and he was quiet. She looked at her notebook again, but her concentration had been broken. She was tired, she knew, and the next hour might best be spent giving her mind a break rather than playing out endless scenarios with Jeremy Bates.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat. One more day, she thought, that’s all I have to get through.
( 32 )
THE PLANE’S DESCENT TOWARDS BEEF ISLAND AIRPORT was rough, and Ava woke with a start, unaware that she had nodded off. She took a hurried glance at Seto. He was dead to the world.
The landing was smooth, the taxi longer than she would have thought necessary for a plane that size. When the engines were turned off, she looked out the window and saw that the terminal was still a hundred metres away. She reached over and unlocked Seto’s handcuffs.
The pilot opened the door to the cockpit and came into the cabin. “I called in and they were expecting us. But you can’t leave the plane until they get here and give you clearance.” He looked at Seto. “Is he okay?”
“He slept most of the way. I think he’s worn out.”
The pilot went to the exit door and pulled the security handle, then swung the door open and lowered the steps onto the tarmac. Ava felt the warm air rush in, the smell a curious mixture of oils and gases rising from the runway. She put her notebook in her bag, straightened her shirt, pulled back her hair, and reset the ivory chignon pin.
The pilot peered out into the darkness. Ava didn’t know what to expect from Customs; she just hoped Derek had acquired a wheelchair and that they’d let him bring it to the plane. She didn’t fancy carrying Seto to the terminal. She checked her watch. They had been on the ground for five minutes. What was causing the delay? The pilot must have been thinking the same thing, because he turned to look at her and gave a shrug.
Another couple of minutes passed, and Ava was about to join the pilot at the door when he said, “I see them. They’re coming.”
She stood and stretched. “Is there a wheelchair?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
They were still going to have to carry Seto to the stairs and down onto the tarmac. Ava said to the pilot, “My friend may need help to get him into it.” She reached into her bag, looked for her money stash, and counted out four hundred-dollar bills. “Here, this is for you and your co-pilot. Split it any way you think is fair,” she said, handing him the cash.
The pilot moved back into the doorway. Ava stood behind, looking around him into the darkness.
Three men were walking towards them. None of them was Derek.
Two of the men were in uniform, one of them pushing the wheelchair. The third man trailed behind, lumbering, the walk an effort. He was massive, a head taller than the others and twice as broad. Ava turned away from the door and leaned against the wall. Where the hell was Derek? Probably inside the terminal, she thought, fighting to suppress far more negative thoughts.
“Hello,” she heard a voice call. It had a distinct Bajan accent.
“We need some help with one of the passengers,” the pilot said. “You’ll have to carry him from the plane.”
“Not a problem,” the same voice boomed.
The pilot moved back and Ava found herself looking into a huge face that was all too familiar. The man had Captain Robbins’s bright blue eyes and large, fleshy lips. He lacked the Captain’s near-translucent skin, but his dark tan was accentuated by deep furrows that looked like white trenches etched into his brown scalp. The blue eyes flickered around the cabin before they rested on Ava. “You must be Ava Lee,” he said. “I’m Jack Robbins.”
“Hello,” she said.
“You’re right on time,” said Robbins, pulling himself up the stairs. His head just cleared the doorway, and when he stood inside, it skimmed the ceiling. His frame seemed to fill the front end of the plane. Maybe it was his proximity to her or the close quarters, but to Ava he seemed even more physically imposing than his brother. Maybe not quite as fit, not quite as agile, but certainly just as impressive. His plain white short-sleeved cotton shirt draped like a tent over his gargantuan belly and baggy blue jeans, and his feet were spilling out of unbuckled leather sandals. He glanced at Seto. “Is that the cargo?”
“Yes,” Ava said, her eyes now drawn to Robbins’s hands, which were covered by clear latex gloves drawn tight around his wrists.
Robbins had to turn sideways to get down the aisle. Ava stepped back, keeping out of his way. He reached down, grabbed Seto under the armpits, and lifted him in the air as i
f he were a small child. Ava half expected him to carry the man on his hip or over his shoulder. Instead he held him out at arm’s length, Seto’s head level with Robbins’s chest and his feet dangling just above the ground. “Let’s get him out of here,” he said, turning and walking towards the door.
Ava reached for her bags and for Seto’s. She didn’t know what else to do. She had no idea what to think. Her confusion was so obvious that the pilot said, “Is everything okay, Ms. Lee? Because if it isn’t . . .”
If it isn’t, then what? she thought. You’ll take me back to Guyana? “Just fine,” she said.
As she started down the stairs, Robbins was putting Seto none too gently into the wheelchair. The other two men, who were wearing uniforms with the insignia of Customs and Immigration, looked up at her without much interest. “I’m Ava Lee,” she said to them. “Is one of you Morris Thomas?”
“Thomas sent them to help. He’s in his office. That’s where we’re heading,” Robbins said.
They walked across the tarmac. One of the men pushed the wheelchair while the other chatted to him quietly. Ava was next to Robbins. His face was passive and he was completely silent.
When they neared the terminal, the wheelchair was swung to the left, away from the main entrance. About twenty metres along they came to double glass doors that read CUSTOMS AND IMMIGRATION. EMPLOYEES ONLY. Ava felt her spirits lift slightly.
They walked into a large open office that was deserted and then past a row of desks to the back. MORRIS THOMAS was stencilled on a grey steel door. “Leave the wheelchair outside. One of you stay with it,” Robbins said to the men. He reached for the handle, twisted, and swung the door open. “After you,” he said to Ava.
A thin black man in a blue shirt sat behind a desk that further diminished his size. He has to be sixty, Ava thought, taking in his wiry grey hair, a face lined with worry, and red-tinged eyes with pouches the size of tea bags. “This is Ava Lee,” Robbins said to him.
Thomas glanced up at her, his eyes filled with pity, or at best some form of weary resignation. Ava knew immediately that things would not go as planned. “A pleasure,” she said.