Jet

by Russell Blake

  Chapter 25

  The Jeep was a black two door with a soft top, and thankfully, the air-conditioning worked. The laconic agent at the rental car desk told them it would take around four hours to reach Punta Gorda and handed them a stained brochure with a map inside to guide them.

  “Doesn’t seem to be too difficult,” Jet said as she studied it. “Head south. Keep going. Take the coastal road. Stop when the road ends. You are there…”

  “You want to drive or shall I?”

  “Either way. How’s the stomach?”

  “Better every day.”

  They placed their bags in the back, and Jet elected to drive, following the highway across the Belize River and into Belize City.

  “What a dump,” Jet remarked as they threaded their way through the afternoon traffic. Most of the homes they passed had an air of disrepair and poverty that was completely unexpected after the relative order at the airport. Dazed inhabitants shuffled down the street in the heat, wearing little better than rags, and many of the cars surrounding them would have made a junkyard blush.

  “I guess we can cross Belize City off our dream destination list.”

  “But I hear the rents are affordable,” she observed.

  “And there’s no shortage of opportunities to keep your combat skills sharp with the gang violence.”

  David craned his neck, looking at the rough downtown business district with cautious trepidation.

  “Pull over whenever you see an electronics shop. I want to get a phone so I can make calls. I have no idea how remote Punta Gorda is, but if this is any example of Belize’s biggest city, we’ll want a working cell.”

  “Assuming there’s coverage there.”

  “Good point.”

  She braked in front of a shop with stereos and computers in the window, and David hopped out.

  “I’m not going to leave the car unattended. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t blame you. Be back in a minute.”

  He returned, holding a cell phone aloft in a gesture signaling victory, and they got under way again. Once they were south of town, they were able to make decent time, although they would go for a mile or so at the posted speed and then come to a beaten vehicle chugging along at barely above walking pace.

  “Look. Coastal Road,” she said, pointing at a small sign.

  “What? That?”

  “I…I think so…”

  They turned onto the red dirt road and bounced along its rutted surface. A few miles from the highway, they passed an olive-colored horse-drawn buggy with rubber tires. The couple driving it were from a bygone century – the woman wore a long country dress, hair covered with a bonnet; the man in long-sleeved black in spite of the oppressive heat.

  “Am I seeing things?” David asked.

  “You mean the horses?”

  “What was that?”

  “Mennonites. A religious group. Like the Quakers. There are a lot of them in Belize.”

  He looked at her without expression before returning his attention to the dirt road.

  “I’m not going to ask how you know about obscure religious sects here.”

  “I had time to kill after booking the car and hotel,” she explained.

  David grunted.

  Daylight was fading by the time they reached PG Town, as Punta Gorda was called by the locals, and after a couple of wrong turns, they found their hotel. Four hours of marginal roads in barely tolerable seats had taken their toll, and they were glad to stretch their legs, although when they opened the doors, the blistering humidity assaulted them with full force.

  “It’s not the Ritz, is it?” David commented.

  Jet shrugged and grabbed her bag, lifting his out of the back and hitting the door lock button as she made for the front entrance.

  The room turned out to be comfortable, the air-conditioning efficient and cool. Jet used the bathroom to rinse off while David made a call from one of the payphones in the front of the hotel, preferring a landline over the cell out of habit. When he returned to the room, Jet was waiting for him, glancing through the local paper that had been left for their entertainment.

  “I’ll meet up with our man here in an hour over by the cemetery,” he reported.

  “Seems fitting. I’ll come with you.”

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t. That way only one of us is at risk if he’s not playing completely straight.”

  “And you’re going to meet him alone because…?”

  “I should be able to manage this.”

  They finally agreed that she would scope out the meeting place, which was easy walking distance from their room.

  At the appointed time, David was waiting near the junction by the cemetery, eyes roving over the weathered grave markers in the small cemetery, when a Seventies-era Nissan truck rolled to a stop. The driver lowered the window and looked David over before gesturing for him to hop in.

  “Tom?” David asked.

  “The one and only.”

  “Don’t suppose your air-conditioning works.”

  “Sorry.”

  David returned to the room half an hour later, apparently no worse for wear.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Good. We’ll meet again tomorrow afternoon, and he’ll have the weapons. He’s not sure about the MTAR-21s, though. The Hondurans use them, but the Guatemalans use the larger TAR-21. It’s whichever he can more readily get his hands on. I told him either one was fine, although we wanted them with suppresors if possible. He also wasn’t sure about the 9mm versus the 5.56 NATO round. Again, whatever they have lying around is what he’ll get.”

  “Hope it’s the 9mm. I like the stopping power. What about the grenades and the night vision gear? And the knives and pistols?”

  “He didn’t seem to think any of it would be a problem.” David tossed a manila envelope onto the table. “Latest satellite images.”

  They pored over the photos, hoping to spot any weaknesses in the defenses.

  “Where did you have him drop you off?”

  “Over by the church. I circled around and took parallel roads for a few hundred yards before cutting back across and taking the main drag. No way he followed me.”

  She glanced at the door and lifted her hair with one hand, allowing the chill from the air-conditioning to blow on her neck.

  “I’m hungry. Where can a girl get something to eat around here?”

  “There are a few restaurants we passed. How adventurous are you feeling?”

  “We’re in the middle of the jungle on the mosquito coast. I’d say pretty adventurous.”

  They found a little family-style place near the beach that was half-full, all locals, and they both ordered fish with rice. When it arrived, the portions were huge, and neither of them spoke as they ate.

  After dinner, they ambled down the waterfront road, hand in hand like newlyweds, listening to the waves as they broke upon the rocky shore.

  “So tomorrow. You get the weapons, and then what?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “We check them and confirm that everything is good, and then we reconnoiter the camp before it gets dark. Assuming there are no surprises, once it’s night, we hit them hard and do as much damage as we can. And we try to take one of them alive. I want to understand what they’re doing here.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Does this Tom guy know where we’re headed?”

  “Negative. He just knows I’m friends with his CIA conduit and need an arsenal. And I’m willing to pay top dollar to get it.”

  “What about the photos?”

  “The envelope was sealed when he gave it to me. My hunch is he’s the local errand boy, nothing more. A relatively harmless low-end operative, probably part-time, doing a little smuggling, a few coke runs, maybe some shakedowns or protection work. More of an amateur feel.”

  “That would make sense. There isn’t a lot here to warrant the A-team that I can see.”

  They looked around at the beaten building
s; a scrawny thing of a dog was nosing through a pile of garbage across the street.

  “That’s the understatement of the year.”