by Luke Murphy
Calvin got up and limped over to her sleeping quarters. Because the meds and booze had worn off completely, his leg was so stiff it felt like it might snap if he bent it too much. The pain creeped up past his lower extremities and into his upper torso. The former bill collector tried to put as little pressure as possible on it as he moved.
There were no animal tracks, no signs of a struggle, or any kind of indication that she’d been dragged out of the jungle. He surely would have heard her scream, and they would have come for him also.
A trail of broken limbs, twigs and tramped-down grass was at the edge of their camp, so he followed it. No blood or red blotches of spatter.
There was no sound or movement at the cabin. The plane was still there, so she hadn’t taken it during the night. He realized that the trail led him back to where they’d docked the boat last night, taking him much less time to reach it in the daylight.
He came to the edge of the river bed and when he exited the thick-shrubbed forest, he saw her.
Livia stood by the boat, her back to Calvin. She was partially naked, pants and shirt off, dipping a rag into a bucket, dampening the cloth with river water, and wiping down her skin with soapy suds.
Calvin stopped abruptly and backtracked behind a tree. He stood and watched, feeling a surge of heat go through him.
“Come on, Cal, give your head a shake. She’s got nothin’ on Rach,” he whispered.
But he couldn’t help another lingering glance, like admiring art in motion. Calvin held his breath, taking her all in. He loved Rachel, there was no denying that and no one would ever doubt his true feelings for her. But he wasn’t oblivious, and his natural instincts as a man forced him to acknowledge the naked body of a beautiful woman.
Her damp hair clung to her long, graceful neck, and hung below sharp-boned shoulders. Her wet, bronze skin glistened in the bright Brazilian sun.
Calvin’s eyes traveled down her spine, along well-toned muscles, to the small of her back. The hint of a bikini tan-line poked out from under the minimal fabric of her undergarments. Her buttocks looked muscular and tight.
When she placed her foot on the edge of the boat to wash down her leg, Calvin’s breathing deepened and quickened.
“Would you like to join me, Mr. Tourist?”
Calvin was so startled that he almost fell over a tree stump. She still hadn’t looked in his direction.
Livia turned around, her high, perfectly rounded breasts barely covered. Her gut was tight and defined. She was not shy to show off her body, nor did she attempt to cover herself.
His cab-driver-turned-right-hand-assassin looked his way with a seductive stare. Her eyes were so brown they almost looked black. She smiled slyly.
Calvin looked away, shielding his eyes as if that made a difference, as if blinded from looking into the sun. He thought he must have looked like an adolescent who’d accidently walked into the girls’ change room.
He caught his breath and tried not to stutter. “No, that’s okay. I can wait my turn. I’ll meet you back at the fire.”
“Suit yourself.” She shrugged her slender shoulders and turned back around.
He was at the fire when she came back drying her hair with a towel. She was fully dressed in fresh clothes and he could smell her cleanliness.
“That felt good. I needed that. Sorry I left you this morning, but you slept peacefully and I needed a wash. I grabbed soap and towels from the cabin. All of my stuff was still in the boat so it made sense to hurry down there.”
Calvin nodded, feeling uncomfortably guilty because the thrill of her naked body still bolted through him. He couldn’t look at her for fear that his feelings would be transparent. “Makes sense.”
She cocked her head at him. “Don’t be shy. I’m sure you’ve seen a naked woman before.”
Calvin didn’t respond.
She pointed to his leg. “Any pain this morning?”
Calvin shook his head. “Some, but I can manage.”
She sighed. “So you’re not just Rambo, you’re Superman as well. Give me a break.”
Calvin grunted, holding up the pill bottle in defense. “I have a confession. I’ve been double-dosing it since the gunshot.”
“At least I know you’re human.” She paused for a few seconds. “Are we heading out? I guess I’ve earned your trust after last night.”
What Calvin hadn’t told her was that after she’d fallen asleep, he’d taken her picture and sent it to Mike. Calvin had already been screwed over twice since arriving in Brazil, and he couldn’t take any more chances. Mike was doing a facial recognition test on Livia’s photo and a background check on her and the story of her family.
“Yeah, we’ll leave when I get back.”
“Are you hungry?”
He nodded. “I could eat.”
“I’ll check the cabin and make us some breakfast. Go ahead and wash up, and make sure to clean that wound well. I’ll rewrap your leg when you get back.” She smiled. “Don’t worry, I won’t sneak down and spy on you.”
At that moment, he was glad he was black, so she couldn’t see him blush. He got up and hobbled towards the path.
She called after him, “Watch out for the piranhas. They like dark meat.”
He stopped in his tracks. Then she giggled.
♣
Together, they pulled off the tarp that had done a decent job of covering and hiding the plane in the bushes, and rolled it up.
The airplane Livia had talked about, that belonged to the Brazilian drug cartel, was a Cessna 208 Caravan, a single-engine turboprop, with fixed-tricycle landing gear. The airplane could seat nine passengers with a single pilot.
Calvin whistled. “The drug-cartel certainly travels in style.”
“It’s definitely impressive looking, but I wonder how much maintenance got done. I doubt they bothered with annual inspections. Get into the cockpit. There should be an airplane checklist somewhere in there.”
Calvin snapped open the cockpit door and a two-rung ladder swung down. He gingerly climbed inside and rummaged around the interior until he discovered a package of papers, the pre-flight planning dispatch checklist, tucked inside the door pocket.
He climbed back out and opened it up. “Ah, man, look how long it is. Is this really necessary?” Calvin wasn’t patient by nature and felt like they would lose valuable time they didn’t have. He still didn’t know where Sanders was and each passing minute gave the casino owner an even greater head start.
“Do you want to crash?” Livia looked serious, with an intensity Calvin was growing accustomed to. “It’s important to be well-prepared ahead of time. Impulse decision making without accurate information can lead to accidents and incidents. Read them off and I’ll confirm.”
Thirty minutes later, Calvin had his GPS reading the indicator as the aircraft lifted off the ground.
He watched her subtly, from the corner of his eye. Her face a mask of concentration staring out the windshield. Her long, slender neck was naked. Calvin followed the sensual line up to her chiseled cheekbones, more prominent, with her hair up in a bun, held in place by that steel pin she seemed to like wearing so much.
“So, how much drug money does it take to buy one of these things?” he asked.
Livia smiled. “This plane costs about two million American dollars. How’s the leg now?” she yelled over the roar of the engine and the hum of the propeller.
Calvin nodded. “Feels okay. Pain is tolerable. How did it look when you changed the bandages this morning?”
“The bleeding has stopped, but there’s a hint of red surrounding the wound, which worries me. It’s still early, so there isn’t need to panic. I hope you’re a fast healer, Calvin Watters.”
“What happened to Mr. Tourist?” He smiled.
She smiled back. “We passed that part when you saw me naked.”
Calvin looked away, feeling flushed again.
Once the airplane leveled off and they passed the rough, bumpy turbulence, the noi
se tapered as well.
“How high can we go in this thing?” Calvin asked.
“Normally, we could get to about fifteen thousand feet. But around here, because of the heat and humidity, we’ll probably fly at ten thousand feet. The hot and humid air reduces the density and climb performance. But I’ll stay low just in case there are radars on us.”
They hit a small patch of turbulence. Calvin grabbed the handles for support, his muscles clenching, his grip squeezing the bars with a grind.
“Afraid of flying?”
“No, afraid of crashing,” he replied, without looking at her.
He watched the GPS, but it moved slowly. They still had a good distance to cover before they landed anywhere near the crash site.
The cockpit was smaller than it looked from the outside, and Calvin sat uncomfortably. He tried to straighten his leg, to reduce pressure on the gunshot wound, but his large frame didn’t make it easy.
“Your phone,” Livia yelled.
Calvin looked at her. “What?”
She pointed to the front passenger floor of the plane.
Calvin looked down at one of his knapsacks. His satellite phone flashed, indicating an incoming call. He picked it up and clicked on, holding a finger in his uncovered ear.
“Hello?”
“It’s Mike.”
Calvin looked over at Livia who stayed focused on steering the little plane. “What did you find out?”
“The girl’s story checks out. She’s clean. Her parents were killed in a gang war and her brother’s case is closed, considered no foul play. Just like she told you. I don’t see any kind of involvement with the cartel or any ties to local gangs.”
“Finally, someone I can trust,” Calvin said.
“Good luck, Buddy.” Mike hung up.
Calvin threw the phone into his bag. He watched Livia. She looked so focused, Calvin thought he’d never be able to distract her. Even in this short time, he’d grown comfortable with her intensity.
“Can’t you just throw on autopilot and take a break?”
She shook her head. “These small aircrafts don’t have autopilot. Generally, a plane with less than twenty seats doesn’t.”
They flew in silence for the next thirty minutes. Calvin kept an eye on the GPS, and the other on his watch.
It was almost 10 a.m. when he grabbed the satellite phone from the bag and dialed.
“Dayton.”
“Dale, it’s Calvin.”
“Where are you?”
Calvin looked out of the plane window, down into the Amazon Jungle. “About ten thousand feet over the Rainforest.”
“Have you reached the crash site?”
“Not far now. We should be there soon.”
“We?”
Calvin heard the suspicion in Dale’s voice. He looked over at Livia. She smiled at him.
“I found a tour guide.”
“Can he be trusted?”
“I think so, but I’m treading slowly. Is there any news at your end?”
“We’ve had an eventful morning.”
Calvin felt a lump form in his stomach as Dale told him about the men breaking into his apartment. He knew there’d be danger, but he hadn’t been expecting this.
“Who were they?”
“Cops.”
“Cops?” Calvin was caught off guard.
“Dirty cops. Joseph Trump and Harold Donahue. I knew them both from the department. Never thought they’d be on the take. Once the reinforcements arrived this morning, I left a couple of guards, cops I’m certain I can trust, with Rachel and went back to the office to look into them.”
“What did you find?”
“They were both on Sanders’ payroll. Trump actually worked in the LVMPD basement evidence room so that tied up one of my mysteries from the Grant case. Evidence had gone missing from Pitt’s office during the Grant investigation and no one seemed to know where it disappeared to. Trump must have removed the contents and handed it over to Sanders.”
“Why would Sanders want you killed?”
“I believe Sanders must have told Alexandrov that he had informants on the inside, and Alexandrov then sent those cops to take me out, to stop the investigation. We’re digging into Alexandrov so maybe he’s sweating. We’ll get bank statements later today from these rogues, so we’ll know how long this has been going on. But I always suspected Sanders had help inside the department, I just couldn’t prove it until now. There could be more cops, too.”
“Speaking of Sanders. Any news?”
“Still nothing. We spoke with local authorities and they were under the assumption that there was only one person on the plane until the autopsy came back on the Russian pilot. The deputy chief medical examiner said that the pilot died from having his throat sliced. Now they’re searching for another victim. The US Marshals have headed over there.”
Calvin grimaced. “Great, one more group to avoid.”
“We have a lead on Sanders’ escape. One of the prison guards has disappeared. Looks promising. It seems he had a heavy gambling debt that was paid off in full the day before Sanders’ escape. We’re following up on it this morning, heading over to the guard’s house.”
“How’s Rachel holding up?”
“Not good. She’s pretty shaken. I guess having a man’s insides blown all over you will do that. I’d let you talk to her, but I’m at the office.”
“Tell her I’ll call as soon as I can.”
They were both quiet.
“Are you thinking the same thing as me?” Calvin asked.
“Baxter?”
“You’re sure Baxter killed that other cop in your apartment?”
“Certain.”
“But why? Why protect you and Rachel?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“What are we doing about him?”
“I spoke with the colonel and he has a plan in motion. It’s about time you called Shawn Grant with an update.”
“What am I telling him?”
“We have a location for him. Tell him that Sanders is somewhere on Jacques Cousteau Island. Here are the coordinates.”
Calvin wrote down the coordinates as Dale relayed them. He looked them over. “Mexico? Why aren’t they staying on US soil?”
“I wondered the same thing. They don’t plan to bring Baxter back in. So, it goes down off US soil, no questions asked or suspicions raised. The Island is the perfect location for a trap, no exit. Baxter will be a sitting duck.”
“Do you really think Baxter won’t see it coming?”
“No, I don’t, but this isn’t my plan. The colonel knows Baxter better than either of us, and we can’t do anything about it.” Calvin could hear the uncertainty in Dale’s voice.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Let’s hope we’re right about Grant and Baxter being in cahoots. Good luck, Cal.” Dale hung up.
Calvin hung up and started dialing again when Livia spoke, “Tour guide?”
Calvin smiled. “You kind of are.”
She shrugged. “I guess so. If that keeps you out of trouble.”
Calvin was about to say something but thought better of it. He finished dialing and listened to the phone ring.
“Shawn Grant,” Grant answered, sounding half asleep.
“It’s Calvin Watters.”
“Calvin. Do you have news?”
“Sorry to be calling you so early, but I don’t know when I’ll get another chance.”
“That’s okay. I can barely hear you. Where are you?”
“I’m in a plane, heading to Jacques Cousteau Island.”
“Mexico? Is that where Sanders is?”
“Reports indicate that Sanders jumped out over the island and parachuted down before his plane crashed.” Calvin relayed the coordinates to Grant. “I’m on my way there now. When I find out more, I’ll be in touch.”
“Thanks, Calvin. Make sure you get back to me if anything new materializes. Good luck.” Grant hung up.
“There’s the plane.” Livia looked out the window and pointed.
From overhead, Calvin saw the remains of a small airplane, much like the one they flew in. Pieces of metal scattered the area, approximately a hundred feet across. It had crashed on a small island surrounded by the swampy Amazon River water. There didn’t appear to be anybody around.
“Let’s go down for a closer look.”
“The island isn’t big. It’ll be tough to find a place to land.”
“Can you do it?”
She half-grinned. “Of course.”
♣
As soon as Shawn Grant hung up on Calvin Watters, the casino owner logged into his encrypted email account and looked up the new phone number he’d been sent. Then he dialed Derek Baxter’s private number.
“What do you know?” Baxter answered, and he didn’t sound in the mood for chitchat.
“I know you’re in hiding, but I thought you might want some news on Watters.”
“You thought right.”
“I have his location, like I said I would.”
“Where?”
Shawn gave Baxter the coordinates that Watters had given him on where Sanders was last located, and assured the hitman that Calvin would be there as well.
“I don’t care about Sanders,” Baxter said. “I only want Watters. How good is your information?”
“Unquestionable. It came from Calvin himself.”
“Are you sure these are the coordinates?”
“Positive. Watters told me he was on his way to the Island. It definitely sounded like he was in a plane.”
“Okay. I’m on my way.”
Shawn hung up and smiled.
“Good bye, Calvin,” he said to himself.
Chapter 17
Steve Sullivan’s house was located in Alamo, Nevada, a small town in Lincoln County, about ninety miles north of Las Vegas. A straight shot up Route ninety-three, it took the detectives about an hour and a half to get there.
Dale and Jimmy parked in Sullivan’s driveway, blocking the garage. Sullivan lived in a modest bungalow.
Jimmy’s words last night about Josie ricocheted in Dale’s head as they got out of the car and headed towards the front door.
