Jorge noticed all the workers in this room wearing these masks. They may have been suitable for keeping germs out during surgery or dust out during construction, but he doubted they were keeping toxic fumes from the lungs of these workers over an eight-hour shift.
“Here we add kerosene to the slurry and mix it. This time, it will sit for the next three days, getting stirred occasionally. Then the solvent is removed by siphoning, filtering, and pressing. The liquid is then re-filtered to remove any remaining vegetable matter. Once it is fed into that machine over there, the pasta is further refined and processed to the white powder: cocaine hydrochloride, or HCL.” Menendez smiled, his gold tooth winking at Jorge. “ I will show you where we bale the HCL.”
They entered one last room to watch a conveyer belt cranking out the bales, covered in thick gray plastic. “We use gray for the shipments from this lab because these bales are destined to go by boat. Should the mules need to throw them overboard for any reason, the sea will camouflage them. If there is no chance of recovery, then they will fill them with bullet holes. This will ensure they sink, leaving no evidence. Ah, but what a waste that would be. He indicated the bales on the belt that were labeled with a capital P, “This particular batch is La Perla that was delivered last week. This is the finest cocaine available.” A proud smile lit his face. “Do you have any questions, Señor?”
The air seemed thicker in the packaging bay. Perhaps some of the HCL floated in the atmosphere? But at least the space didn’t stink of kerosene as the last room had. Regardless, Jorge’s lungs burned and he hungered to take a deep breath. “I do have some questions, but could we step outside, please? And get a breath of fresh air first?”
“Certainly, Señor.” Menendez held the door for him, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. “No smoking inside the lab, of course.”
“Of course.” Jorge could only imagine what a stray spark might do. He was surprised smoking was allowed anywhere on the premises. The outside air was thick with humidity and the screech of cicadas. Sweat beaded on Menendez’ forehead and stained the armpits of his khaki shirt. Jorge knew he’d be given an identical khaki uniform once he checked into the managers’ barracks.
Jorge smelled something burning and turned to see smoke belching from chimneys, probably from the last room they’d visited, where the pasta was processed into HCL. Surely this smoke was filled with toxins from the various chemicals. Funny, he’d known the worst air pollution in the country came from the campesinos slashing and burning the jungle, most likely to plant more coca. But with hundreds of these processing plants pumping toxic smoke in the air as well, he realized the problem was exponentially worse than he’d suspected.
“Tell me, El Gerente, what becomes of the residue? From the pits. And from the machines. It seems you use quite a bit of kerosene in there, and I noticed other chemicals, as well. How do you process the residue after you extract the alkaloid?”
Menendez’ brow furrowed. “Process? What do you mean, process? Much of it evaporates in the ovens.” He pointed to the chimney that belched white smoke, then he shrugged his shoulders. “We take any liquid that is left into the jungle and dump it.”
Jorge took a fist to the stomach. Dump it? There had to have been a hundred liters of toxic liquids in those pits. And this operation went on around the clock?
He took a few shallow breaths. “Can’t you recycle it? Clean it and re-use it?”
“Too much trouble. But don’t worry. The chemicals are not expensive.”
Jorge slammed his eyes shut, as if that was going to block anything out or make it go away. He swallowed to counter the bile that rose in his throat.
“Now,” Menendez said, stomping out his cigarette. “Come, I will show you the final step.” They walked around the long building and continued on the path until they came to a paved swath cut out of the jungle, obviously an airstrip.
He raised his voice to be heard over the whine of a small plane preparing to take off. “The baled HCL is the stage in which we export the product. It is not what will hit the streets, though, since many hands along the way will cut its strength and potency with everything from talcum powder to rice flour. But, as you can see, the bales are loaded onto the aircraft and transported to the coast, where they will be shipped by speed boats or in secret compartments aboard your father’s banana boats. Each bale will bring your father about a half million dollars. And once it hits the streets? It will sell for close to five million.
“So, Señor,” Menendez flashed his gold grillwork one last time, laughing, to ensure Jorge knew he was joking. “Are you ready to take over your father’s business now?”
Jorge’s smile wavered as he watched the plane roll down the runway and take off for the next stop in the cocaine’s journey. “Not quite yet, El Gerente.”
He didn’t think he’d ever be ready.
Chapter 12
As soon as Sky’s plane touched down on Friday afternoon, he checked his phone to find, yet again, no messages from Daisy. He slipped his backpack over his shoulder and deplaned.
Dammit. He’d called, emailed, and texted her way too many times while he’d been in Norfolk. With nary a response.
There had been several messages from the sweet young thing who found Daisy Mae, but she was history. Hey, he was always up front with his women. He never led them on with promises, although he had promised that one he’d take the cat to a vet and find it a home. And wasn’t he glad he had—the vet part, not so much the home part. Although he found that he missed Daisy Mae meeting him at the door and sleeping in his arms while he’d been gone. And the way she purred and rolled over when he scratched her behind her chocolate brown ears.
Wait. What was wrong with this picture?
And the cat was serving a purpose beyond being his possible ticket to veterinary paradise. Sky discovered that he slept better with Daisy Mae around. She’d started waking him before his dreams got out of hand, so she kind of stood the night watch. He hadn’t thought that much about it until he noticed the dreams got bad again while he was out of town.
Great. Almost thirty years old and a Siamese cat was not only his bedmate, but his bodyguard too. How pathetic was that?
So things with Daisy Mae were pretty good. Apparently not so with Doctor Daisy. He knew there was nothing wrong with her, like she hadn’t broken both her arms and was unable to respond to his messages. He’d already phoned the clinic, spoken with Lillian, and ascertained that Daisy was fine. There was something wrong with their relationship, if he could even call it that. No question about it. Daisy was avoiding him.
Sky walked through the terminal, lost in a world where he repeatedly rehashed their conversation on the beach last Sunday. Exactly when had she turned cold? She was certainly hot enough kissing him in the surf, but she’d cooled while they talked on the beach. Was it about him admitting he’d taken out some tangos when the Blanchard was attacked? When was he going to learn to keep his big mouth shut? But his gut repeatedly told him no. If her ex had been a Marine pilot, then she knew his job might involve killing.
Unless that’s why they’d broken up. Maybe Daisy abhorred violence. Then why would she have married a Marine in the first place? Had she picked up on Sky’s warped sense of responsibility when he’d said he would have married Hallie if Philip had died? That he felt obligated to his friend? And what was wrong with that? It was loyalty, plain and simple.
Wasn’t it?
Sky had followed Daisy all the way to her car Sunday afternoon. Practically begging—no, he hadn’t begged, but he came close. But dammit all, her mixed messages drove him crazy. He still couldn’t understand how the fire from that kiss in the ocean had been extinguished so quickly? Was it about the kiss? Because he’d taken liberties with her breast? He found himself growing hard, right there in terminal C, just thinking about grazing her nipple.
N
o, that hadn’t been it. She’d been just as hot for him as he’d been for her. But then she wouldn’t even let him kiss her good-bye at her car. “Have a safe trip. I’ll see you when you get back,” was all she said. Might just as well have been, “Have a nice life. Bye-bye.” Something had happened between the surf and the parking lot. So when she’d driven away, leaving him standing there in the dust, his mind had whirled. What had he done wrong?
All Sky knew was he was in the doghouse for something. If he hurried home, he might still have time to figure out some trumped-up ailment for Daisy Mae and get her to the clinic before it closed. Maybe if he talked to Daisy in person he could patch things up.
Sky clicked the cat cage shut while Daisy wiped down the exam table. “Sorry, Brian. I have plans all weekend. And I’m busy all next week too. And Daisy Mae is in perfect health.”
“Well, then maybe I need to drop in to the Feline Rescue Center and get some more cats, because I am going to keep coming back here until you tell me what’s wrong.”
“There’s nothing wrong. I’m busy, that’s all.”
“No, Daisy. I thought we had some magic going on last week. But apparently I was wrong. Otherwise you might have answered my emails or my texts. Just to tell me to go to hell if nothing else.”
She paused in cleaning the table and looked at him. “Okay. Go to hell.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. Look, Brian. I only went out with you last week because you tricked me.”
“I didn’t trick you into kissing me.”
“Fair enough. Look, I am not looking for any kind of a relationship. My life is too full to even think about dating. So maybe you should—”
“Take a hike?” His pulse kicked into high gear. “You really and truly don’t want me around? Is that it, Daisy? Because if it is, come out and say it, okay?”
“I really and truly don’t want you around.”
“Fine, sweetheart. Come on, little girl.” He grabbed Daisy Mae’s cage. “Let’s take a hike.”
The cat gave Daisy a parting hiss as Sky slammed his way out of the exam room, paid his bill without so much as a howdy-do to Lillian, and stormed out of the clinic. He’d show them.
He’d show them what?
That he was so pathetic he couldn’t even get Daisy to talk to him? Let alone go out with him? Forget about getting her into bed. And was that what he really wanted? Well, yeah, but since talking with Philip and Hallie, he’d had high hopes for Daisy. He’d been planning to have a relationship with her. Wait a second. Here he was finally ready to have a relationship with a woman and the other party wasn’t interested?
Was this how all the girls in his past had felt? Great. Now he felt even lower than dogshit.
Sky suddenly realized how hard he’d fallen for Daisy Schneider. It wasn’t just sex he wanted anymore. He’d missed her. He wanted to know what made her tick and why he’d upset her so much. He wasn’t a bad man; he’d just gotten off on the wrong foot with her.
And then he knew what he was going to do. The pawns in his overactive brain started posting the details on his internal Power Point board as he drove Daisy Mae home to plot his strategy.
Sky reached over the console and stuck his fingers through the wire in the cage. “I’ve got a brilliant plan, princess. Daisy wants to play hard to get? Well, two can play at that game, sweetheart.”
The cat licked Sky’s fingers and turned her head up so that he could scratch under her chin. He felt the vibration of her steady purring. At least somebody around here knew how to give him some affection.
When Daisy walked into Portside Manor the following Wednesday, she marveled to herself how she’d managed to get her message across to Brian Crawford. Apparently, he’d finally accepted what she’d told him, that she wasn’t interested in pursuing a relationship. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t true. She wanted to pursue a relationship with him, and that was the problem.
Daisy knew she needed to focus on the residents who petted Belle, but her eyes kept drifting to the door. And the parking lot outside where Brian had kissed her the first time. She couldn’t get those barely-there kisses out of her mind…or the one in the sand dunes…or the kiss to end all kisses in the surf. She’d missed Brian when he’d traveled last week and longed to answer his calls, texts, and e-mails. Daisy was flattered that he missed her. She felt desirable and cared about. He made her feel like a high school girl in love again. And it felt darn good.
But Daisy was too old to fall for that stuff again. Too much life had happened to her. No way could she get involved with a military man again—especially one who had seen combat. And was likely to see more. So she decided to abandon Brian Crawford’s ship before she did something really stupid like go to bed with him—or worse, fall in love with the man.
If that was the case, why had she peeked out into the waiting room at the clinic after four o’clock every day since last Friday, secretly hoping she’d see Cap’n Crawford’s wicked grin? Okay, so he was a player, but he had been especially nice to the children and to Captain Duncan…
And there he was. Captain Duncan. A laughing Captain Duncan, being escorted into happy hour by a laughing Lieutenant Crawford. What was Brian doing at Portside Manor? He’d just shown up on her night to be there?
“Am I mistaken or do I smell the lovely Dr. Daisy in our vicinity?” George said as she approached them.
“Hello, Captain Duncan. How are you, sir?” But she was looking daggers at Brian who just smiled.
“Better now that you’re here, Daisy. And I do smell a dog. Not that your dogs smell bad, but I believe this is Godiva?” He reached out to pet her.
“Yes, it’s Godiva. And what brings you here, Brian?”
“Came to see my buddy. Right, George?” Brian lightly socked Captain Duncan on the shoulder after seating him at a table.
“That’s right, Daisy. We were telling sea stories about the good, old days. You know why I call them the good, old days, don’t you?”
“No, I guess I don’t,” she replied.
“Because I wasn’t good and I wasn’t old.” Both George and Brian cracked up all over again, doubling over with laughter.
“I see. Um, Brian, I wasn’t expecting you here. This is my night to be at Portside.”
“It’s a free country, honey. Gonna have dinner with my shipmate. Right, George?”
“You bet. And then maybe we can go back to my room. I’ve got some more photo albums if you’re interested.”
Brian looked her directly in the eye and gave her his best look-who’s-in-charge-now grin. “Oh, I’m interested. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do this evening.”
“Well, then have a lovely evening, gentlemen.” She turned to leave.
“Daisy, I hope you’ll join us for dinner,” George said. “My table would feel empty without you dining with me on a Wednesday night.”
She looked at Brian’s Cheshire Cat grin, then answered Captain Duncan. “Certainly, sir. Let me get some wine and I’ll join you shortly.”
“Oh, allow me, please, Daisy. And I’ll get you your usual, George.” The Cheshire Cat rose and headed to the bar.
“Trouble in paradise, Daisy?” George asked.
She pulled up a chair. “Oh, please, Captain Duncan. I can’t believe he just took it upon himself to come tonight, knowing I’d be here.”
“He’s in love with you, honey.”
“In love? Right. He’s got one thing on his mind. Oh, I can’t believe I’m telling you this. Whose side are you on anyway?”
“I didn’t realize we were at war.” George chuckled to himself. “Although it makes for an exciting day for an old man sitting here in the middle, listening to both of you. Things aren’t usually this exciting at Assisted Living happy hour.”
“Come on, George.
You know why I can’t get involved with him. Let’s say I was to let myself fall for him and, you know, it got serious. And then what if he flew off and never came back? Just like Jack. What if it happened again?”
“What if it didn’t?”
“I can’t take that chance, George. Besides, I’ve had my chance at love.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve already had the love of my life. I found The One and married him. And he was taken from me. I don’t believe we get another chance like that.”
George asked quietly. “How do you know Jack was The One, Daisy?”
“Because he was.” Daisy’s heart kicked up a notch. Wasn’t he? She tried to swallow. Found it difficult with her heart in her throat. Of course he was. “I could never love another man again like that. It…”
“It what?”
“It wouldn’t be right.” Would it?
“How do you know Sky’s not The One?” George asked just as quietly.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Brian was walking toward them from the bar now. She couldn’t help but notice how well he filled his jeans. And then, shit, he caught her looking, and he smiled.
“Sometimes you have to go with your heart, Daisy. And it can be a risky business,” George added.
“Thanks,” Daisy said, once again in control of her emotions. “I’ll take it under consideration and see you at dinner.” She took the glass of wine from Brian, thanked him coolly, and walked away with Godiva. “Come on, sweetheart, we’ve got people to see.” She glanced back at Brian then continued on with Godiva. “Now he’s got me saying it, honey.” She smiled to herself as she walked away.
When Daisy joined Captain Duncan at dinner, she found Brian reading from his latest copy of Shipmate, the Naval Academy Alumni Magazine.
Forget Me Not (Love in the Fleet) Page 10
