Jet

by Russell Blake

  ~ ~ ~

  They checked out of the hotel late and meandered around Haifa, looking for an appropriate place to dump the weapons. Ultimately, David decided it would be best if they dropped them off the back of the boat before getting underway – there was no way of knowing for sure whether they would still need them up until then.

  As the remains of the afternoon drifted into dusk, they negotiated their way to an intimate waterfront restaurant that David had eaten at before, and savored their last meal in Israel – probably for the rest of their lives. They watched the sunset over the Mediterranean Sea and drank coffee, each mentally preparing for the journey ahead.

  The burner cell they had acquired rang with a startling intensity. David glanced at the incoming number before stabbing the phone on.

  “Yes?”

  He listened intently, then hung up.

  “Change of plans. The boat we were going to take has an engine problem. So now we’re going to be on a commercial fishing boat. It’ll leave as soon as we get to it, and then we’ll do a transfer at sea to a Cyprus boat – the fishing boat will average seventeen to eighteen kilometers an hour, so by dawn we should be around a hundred forty five kilometers from the island. He’s got an associate that can make that distance in a boat from the St. Raphael marina on the southern coast, no sweat, so we’ll do the handoff at sea.”

  “Where do we leave the car?”

  “They’ll take care of that – they’ll return it to the rental agency so your credit card doesn’t get shut off.”

  “Same plan on the weapons?”

  “Yup. Over the side.”

  David paid the bill, and a few minutes later, they were pulling into the parking lot near the marina.

  “A dinghy will take us out to the boat,” he explained. “It’s sitting just outside of the harbor mouth so it doesn’t have to deal with the police. He’s already been cleared.”

  They parked where they had been instructed to, and Jet shouldered the weapons sack. A chubby man with a shaved head met them by the dock and wordlessly directed them to a waiting inflatable near the end of the long row of sailboats. The motor was putting quietly. The man helped them in, and then climbed in himself after untying the line. Soon, they were tearing over the water. Halfway across the harbor, Jet tossed the duffle overboard and watched it sink out of sight into the depths.

  The fishing boat was a creaky commercial scow that smelled of decaying fish and oil. They sidled up to it, and Jet and David climbed onto the transom as the craft bobbed up and down on the gentle swell. A swarthy seaman pointed them below deck to the bunks, and before the dinghy had pulled twenty yards from the stern, they were moving, bow pointed northwest to where Cyprus jutted out of the middle of the Mediterranean a hundred and sixty-eight miles away.

  The crew stayed above deck, avoiding any contact with Jet and David, which was fine by them both. The stink of the vessel was bad enough without having to contend with curious fishermen. Jet stowed the backpack she had bought earlier, which served as a combination travel purse and clothes bag, and climbed into the lowest of the bunks – little more than stained wooden slats with squalid foam mattresses. The ancient diesel engine thrummed steadily, and the gentle rolling motion was vaguely relaxing.

  “I hope I don’t catch something lying on this,” she remarked.

  David smiled before climbing onto the bunk above her.

  “Probably unlikely that there’s anything worse than fleas or lice. You should be good.”

  “That’s reassuring.”

  “No need to thank me.”

  Her eyes drifted shut as she dozed, and the next thing she knew, she was being surprised awake by someone shaking her. She bolted upright, only to see David’s face near hers.

  “We just got the word. The Cyprus boat should be on top of us in ten minutes.”

  She rubbed her face and nodded. “It’s really been nine hours?”

  “They say you never sleep as well as you do on a boat.”

  Jet rose and used the little toilet and then retrieved her bag, joining David at the base of the ladder that ascended to the main deck. They climbed the rungs and emerged into the first glow of dawn, the orange hue of the sun rising on the horizon creating a dazzling display on the water.

  In the distance they could hear the chanting of big motors moving toward them, and they watched as a sixty-foot euro-styled motor yacht pulled alongside, bumpers in place to prevent the hulls from scraping. There appeared to be only two men on board the new arrival – the captain and a deckhand, who lashed a line around a stanchion and gestured for them to come aboard. Jet hopped easily from the fishing boat over to the motor yacht. David threw her his bag and made the leap, wincing as he landed on the far deck.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, concerned that he was clutching his stomach.

  “Just a little reminder to be careful. It’s nothing.”

  She looked at him skeptically, and then turned to the deckhand.

  The man tossed off a salute. “Allo. Welcome aboard. We will be near the island in three hours, and then I will take you to the marina in the tender. This boat will remain at sea until nightfall. I hope you are hungry. I have prepared a fruit plate and some pastries, and there is fresh coffee brewed.”

  Jet noticed he didn’t offer his name, and didn’t ask theirs.

  “Thank you. We’ll just go inside, then,” David said.

  As they carried their bags into the salon, the big boat surged forward, accelerating until they were cutting through the beam sea at a steady twenty-two knots. The anonymous deckhand poured them coffee in tall non-spill thermal cups and then made for the stairs to the bridge to join the captain, who they hadn’t seen as anything other than a silhouette from the fishing boat.

  The two craft couldn’t have been less alike. Whereas the commercial trawler was all peeling paint, rust and malodorous rot, this boat boasted highly polished exotic woods, leather sofas and plush carpeting. The air-conditioning hummed silently, keeping the interior of the salon at precisely seventy degrees.

  “I could get used to this,” Jet commented.

  David nodded. “You don’t want to know what it cost.”

  “What do we do once we’re on Cyprus?”

  “Make our way to Larnaca airport and get away from this region of the world. I don’t know what the schedule is for flights to Belize, but my sense is that most of them go through the United States, so we’d be better advised to fly through someplace with less sophisticated computers, just in case my mug is on Interpol. Same for the connection from Cyprus. Maybe through Milan or Madrid or Athens rather than France, Germany or Britain.”

  “Into where? Mexico City?”

  “Seems like the most prudent hub, and from there we can fly into any number of nearby cities – Cancun or Chetumal being the most obvious.”

  Jet sipped her coffee and watched the foaming water race by the windows.

  “We’re going to be traveling for at least another twenty-four hours. Did you get any sleep on the boat?” she asked.

  “Some. Not a lot. Someone had to keep a lookout and make sure the crew didn’t try to sneak in and ravish you.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “Speaking of which, we have three hours to kill. I’ll bet this thing has some seriously nice staterooms. Locking staterooms.”

  “Always thinking of me. You suggesting I try to get some sleep?”

  She stood and moved toward the front of the boat.

  “Something like that.”