by L. T. Ryan
“Got a Beretta M9 for you.” He reached into the brown bag and pulled out the pistol and set it next to my plate, muzzle facing the wall.
I picked up the weapon and inspected it. Ejected the magazine. Racked the slide. It felt cool against my hand. Smelled freshly oiled.
“Good?” Alik said.
“It’ll do,” I said. “He come up with something for you?”
“Same weapon.”
“Good enough, I suppose.” I stood, tucked the pistol in my waistband, grabbed my mug and my plate and carried them over to the sink and set them there. “Anything else?”
“A cell phone.”
“You keep it. Write down the number so I can memorize it.”
Keys jingled. “Have to use his car.”
“He get the spare replaced?”
“No.”
“Hope I don’t have to drive too far.”
“Do what you got to do, Jack.”
I turned and met his gaze. “I am.”
Alik walked to the window. The wind lifted his hair and tugged at his clothing. “I suppose we should head downstairs now.”
“Guess so.”
He led the way through the apartment, down the hallway and stairs, into the cafe. There were a dozen or so patrons there. The old guys had retreated. Families now sat around the tables. Moms and dads and kids. Were they oblivious to what had happened in there?
Esau stood behind the counter. His drawn face didn’t move as I approached. No smile, no hello, no wink or lift of the eyebrow or dip of the chin. His eyes looked sunken, surrounded by black circles.
I approached and stopped in front of him. He still didn’t acknowledge me. “Anything yet?”
Esau spent a long moment staring over my shoulder, ignoring my presence. Then he blinked and his gaze swept slowly and met mine.
“No,” he said.
I took a seat next to Alik in the midway through the room against the back wall. We both leaned against it, giving us a view of the front and back of the cafe. No one could come in from the terrace unless they fought the breakers and the rocks and scaled the ten-foot high wall. But perhaps they had already planted the courier and he waited outside.
At five to seven, a family of five rose from their table and headed toward the door. The dad looked back at us, focused on me. He furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes. Had I seen him before? I scanned the recesses of my mind trying to find a match for the guy. There were plenty that looked like him. Average height. Dark hair. A little spare tire around the waist. Permanent shadow on his face. Maybe he had heard what had happened. Presumably, he blamed the stranger for it.
A few feet from the door he turned to his wife and led her through the opening. Then the family was gone and we were down to seven other diners in the cafe.
“What was that?” Alik asked.
“Hell if I know,” I said.
We sat in silence for a few minutes. I looked at my watch. Two minutes to go. Glanced at the clock on the wall. A minute and a half left. My watch again. The second hand swept past twelve. I counted the seconds as they passed. I looked at Alik. He was doing the same thing.
With fifteen seconds left, the glass to the right of the front door imploded. The few people left in the cafe jumped and screamed and fell back in their chairs. A brick bounced off a table and hit the floor with a thud, chipping the tile. The brick slid a few more feet and came to a stop. Alik and I were both out of our seats, rushing toward it. He reached first. Picked it up. Held it in front of me. Two lengths of cord were wrapped around it. On the bottom, or the top, I guess, was a folded piece of paper.
Alik used a steak knife to cut the rope, then removed and unfolded the paper.
“What’s it say?” I asked.
Alik motioned for Esau, who had already stepped out from behind the counter. He took the paper. It trembled in his hands.
“Step outside. Turn right. Walk one hundred meters. Get in the red car. Keys are in the glove box.”
“Shit,” Alik said.
“What?” Esau said.
“No destination,” I said.
“What’s it matter?” Esau said.
“I don’t know where he’s going,” Alik said.
“What’s it matter?” Esau said again.
“I can’t be seen following him,” Alik said.
“You’re not going to follow,” Esau said. “You’re not doing a damn thing. They said alone. He has to go alone.”
“Why don’t you trade places with him then? Huh? You damned old fool, this is your fault anyway.”
I put an arm between the men. “Alik.”
“Whatever, Jack. Why are you doing this? We should call the authorities. Do this the right way. Why risk your life for this old man?” His eyes burned at Esau. “Those were nice stories about your involvement in the war, but it sounds more like you made those up or recounted someone else’s experience. Nothing to live for and you still can’t drag your ass out of here.”
“I’m not doing it for him,” I said. “I’m doing it because he’s too much of a coward to risk his own life to save his niece.” I turned to Esau and held up the canvas bag. “I can only get so far with this. You understand? So you’d better be ready, because I don’t plan on dying.”
Chapter 18
THE WIND CLIMBED THE CAFE walls and swirled around the sides, whipping through the alleys. Stepping outside, it felt hot and still and humid on the sidewalk in the wash of the sunset. I heard the sound of falling raindrops and glanced back. Esau was sweeping the glass on the floor. I looked right and saw the red car parked next to a streetlight. People exited the cafe speaking in hushed tones and stepping wide of me. They headed the other direction. Seven sets of footsteps pounded the sidewalk.
I studied the windows of buildings as I made my approach. Someone had to be watching. But from where? Impossible to tell, and unless they did something stupid, like move, I might never know.
I kept my pace steady, even when passing an alley. No time to stop and enjoy the cool breeze. I was halfway to the car when headlights appeared from the end of town. They were still for a moment. The engine revved and the vehicle approached. I continued forward. The driver slowed as he passed, staring at me from behind the window. I didn’t recognize the face. But that meant nothing. I had no idea how many people I was dealing with here.
The red car’s muffler ticked. The scent of burned oil hung in the air. There was no condensation drip on the road. Whoever had driven it over had left the air conditioning off. Or the car didn’t come equipped with it. I walked around front. Ducked down to check underneath. Kicked the tires. After opening the driver’s side door, I popped the hood and the trunk and checked both. I was far from a mechanic, but it would have been obvious if someone had wired a bomb in the engine block.
At least, I hoped it would be obvious.
Everything looked normal, so I got in and shut the door. First thing I noticed was no AC. I leaned over, rolled down the passenger window, then opened the glove box and grabbed the keys. With one hand I inserted them into the ignition while rolling down my window with the other. The small engine choked and sputtered then caught and whined. I pressed the gas a couple times. The little car shook, but didn’t move with the emergency brake in place.
A phone rang. Sounded like an old Greek song. I looked over and back and found the cell on the rear seat.
“Hello?”
“Underneath your seat is a GPS device. It is already powered. The destination is set. Follow it.”
“OK.”
“And know that we will be following you. If anyone else does the same, you will both die. So if you are in contact with your friend, be sure to tell him.”
“OK.”
“Don’t even think about using this phone. We are monitoring it. If you so much as make a call to your mother we’ll cut your hand off.”
“No worries. My mother’s dead.”
The guy on the other end terminated the call. I tucked the phone under my
left leg and reached underneath the seat. Found the GPS. It was a handheld unit. I pressed the top of the rocker button and the screen came to life. It was in navigation mode. A purple line led out of town. The device slid into a mount already fixed on the dash.
I disengaged the emergency brake and shifted into first. Pain fired through my left leg as I eased off the clutch. The car rolled forward. It lurched when I shifted into second, then smoothed out in third. The edge of town slipped past. Then Esau’s neighborhood. The sun dipped behind the trees by the time I reached the small town we had passed through the night before. The kids weren’t out yet. Smoke stacks rose from a couple buildings. The scent of seared meat filled the car.
Continuing along the road, I reached another familiar spot. Part of me hoped and thought this would be the destination. The abandoned house where they had taken Isadora. I knew it existed. They thought I didn’t. Unless they had found out we had been there. Maybe they were watching. Maybe it was them that slashed the tire last night.
But the purple line led on, so I drove on past the dirt road, past the thicket we had parked next to, into unchartered territory. For me, at least.
The sun slipped past the horizon. Only a faint trace of orange remained near the bottom of the sky. Above and ahead it was a deepening shade of dark blue.
At the next intersection, the GPS had me turn left. Two miles later, right. Four miles after that, left. I had no idea there were so many roads here. This side of the island had few towns. None you’d call a city. How many ways did people need to get from point A to B?
A few turns later and I was heading back the way I had come, albeit closer to the north side of the island. Perhaps there was no direct way there from town. That, or they wanted to screw with me. They wanted to watch and see what Alik would do.
The sky glowed softly orange ahead. I headed toward the artificial light. Another town? I reached the GPS and panned out a bit. It didn’t show anything in that direction.
I reached the corner of a metal fence topped with barbed wire. It stretched into the darkness. The fence was on higher ground and I couldn’t see what was behind it. A half mile later, lights on the ground stretched along the other side of the fence. Then a few buildings appeared. The road rose higher than the embankment and there were small planes scattered along a runway. A Gulfstream sat at the end. Lights blinked. There was activity on the ground.
I had the feeling I was going for a ride.
Chapter 19
THE GPS TOLD ME TO turn into the parking lot. Then it stopped navigating. “You have reached your destination.”
Gasoline saturated the still air. A couple guys dressed in black cargo pants and matching t-shirts stepped out of the shadows. They were armed with assault rifles. They blocked the gate. A third stepped up to the side of the car. I saw him coming but still winced when he slapped the roof.
“You’re him?”
I shrugged. “Guess so.”
“Got the money?”
I patted the canvas bag.
“Open it,” he said.
“Not until I see the girl.”
“She’s not here.”
“Then you’re not seeing the money.”
The guy stepped back and said something in Greek. The guard on the left jogged over and took his spot and jammed the muzzle of his rifle against my head. The third guy, still standing at the gate, aimed his weapon in my direction. I flicked the high-beams on. He brought a hand up to shield his eyes.
“You’re a fool touching me with that,” I said.
The guard said nothing.
“I could disarm you in a second.”
The first man leaned in through the passenger side window. “He don’t speak English.” He grabbed the bag, turned it toward him, unzipped it. Stuck his hand inside and moved the money around. Then he nodded and zipped it up again. He yelled something out. The man at the gate stepped aside, and the gate split in two.
“Go in,” the guard said.
I drove in slowly. There were three semi-automatic rifles aimed at the car. Maybe more. I knew from what Esau told me that this operation extended far beyond the six men I had encountered at the cafe.
Another man dressed head to toe in black stepped in front of the car and held out his hand. I pulled to a stop there. Someone yanked my door open and grabbed my shoulder. I jerked away from him and grabbed the cell phone and the canvas bag. One I held in plain sight. The other I tucked in a cargo pocket.
The guy stepped back and had his rifle trained on me as I got out of the car.
Then Chris from the cafe showed up. He was dressed in black as well, wearing a suit. His brown hair was brushed back. He pulled his jacket to the side and showed me his handgun.
“Drop the bag,” he said.
“Not until I see the girl,” I said.
He took a step back and motioned to one of the guards. The guy came up behind me, kicked my legs to the side and pulled my arms out wide. He ran his hands up and down my body. Reached around the front. Found the gun. Pulled it out. Pushed me away.
I stumbled forward but managed to regain my balance.
The guard walked around me and handed Chris the Beretta.
“What did you need this for?” he said.
“I guess the same reason you need six armed men to deal with me. ‘Cause I can’t trust you assholes.”
Chuckling, he walked toward me. As he drew near, his cologne overpowered the smell of jet fuel. He grabbed my left arm and turned me toward the Gulfstream. The guards formed a loose corridor for us to walk through. At the top of the stairs, standing in the doorway, was Michael. He leaned over the side railing and spit. The wind caught the glob of saliva and it landed dangerously close to us.
“Cut it out,” Chris said to him.
Michael shrugged, turned, and went back inside the Gulfstream.
I heard the guards fall in line behind us. Would we all be traveling tonight? Perhaps only a select few would join. I felt they were smart enough to know they wouldn’t want to be alone with me in a confined space.
At least the old me, prior to a few months ago.
The current version could go either way.
But on the plane, guns weren’t an option. Unless they were fools. But traveling in their boss’s multi-million dollar jet would surely add a bit of caution to their actions. No one wanted to be the guy to ground it.
We climbed the stairs and crossed the metal platform. Our footsteps melded into one and rose into the night. Michael met me at the entrance. He feigned a punch to my gut.
“I said cut it out.” Chris sounded agitated. I didn’t mind the tension. If the right situation presented itself, I could use it.
Chris shoved me forward and Michael pushed me to the side. Felt like I was in a pinball machine. I grabbed hold of a seat back, swung behind it and planted myself down. The men stared at me, looked at each other, shrugged.
“Sit anywhere you like,” Chris said. “Not like you’re going anywhere.”
“Where’re you from?” I asked him, still curious about his neutral accent.
He looked away. Walked past me. Took a seat a few rows back.
“How long is this flight?” I asked.
No one responded.
Two guards climbed on board. They took two seats against the cockpit wall, facing the rest of us. Their gazes remained fixed on me.
The door swung shut. A few silent minutes passed. Air blew from small fans above me. It was piped in and chilled and run through countless filters, distilling it to the point it smelled mechanical. It cooled the sweat on my brow and hairline. Soon after, the roar of the engine overpowered the hiss of the fans. We taxied, slowly at first. The jet built up speed. Forced me back in my seat. The front lifted. The two guards were higher than me. Wind rushed past. Sounded for a moment like the jet was coming apart. The wheels whined and then went silent. The tension eased as we climbed higher into the air.
For a moment I forgot what I was doing there and enjoyed the flight.<
br />
That wouldn’t last long.
Chapter 20
WE NEVER REACHED A CRUISING altitude. The jet never leveled out. There was no in flight movie or meal or snack. No flight attendants to bring us drinks. We peaked somewhere around five thousand feet over the sea and then began our descent.
The men facing me got bored of looking at my face and now stared out at the blackness, one looking left, the other right. I had no idea what the guys behind me were doing. I never looked back. Felt drawing attention during the flight was a bad idea. They were couriers. Gophers. I’d see the man I had to deal with soon enough.
Looking out the window, I saw city lights in the far distance, twinkling like miniatures on a train table in the dark. The jet banked away from them and the view faded to black again. A few minutes later, another splash of white lit up the dark countryside. Two long lines of lights, one east to west and the other north to south.
Runways.
The pilot looped around a couple times then made the final approach. It was like take off in reverse. The roar built as the flaps cut into the air. The plane dropped. The landing gear banged then whined as it was lowered. The wind thundered like a pride of lions. The plane bounced and screeched as it touched down, rapidly declining in speed. We slowed to a crawl near the end of the runway.
The jet taxied for a couple minutes before stopping. First the guards facing me rose. One opened the door. The other aimed his rifle at me. The men behind me got up. Michael exited without looking at me. Had to get his brownie points, I supposed.
“Get up,” Chris said. He stood a couple feet behind me. Close enough for me to do something to him. But was I far enough from the guard? Did it matter? I was trapped in the jet and I was unarmed. They’d get me sooner or later.
So I rose and clutched the canvas bag like it held everything I cherished in life inside of it. Chris shoved me in the back, and I started walking toward the exit. Men were talking outside. Shouting. Calling out. I heard engines roaring to life. The stale air of the cabin gave way to the salty humid air of the evening. No one waited on the platform. They had gone to the bottom of the stairs. Michael waited there with three guards flanking him. I descended before Chris had a chance to shove me down. My footsteps echoed off the metal stairs. The railing was slick, like it had been washed before the steps were driven over.
