Which meant that the best method for moving large amounts of cash out of a country was to have the owner move it.
Once the cash passed through the tedious customs and immigration check at the destination, it was a simple job to relieve the owner of the currency. He and Enzo had perfected the process over many years and many chumps.
Luigi smiled. He saw the Grantlys ahead of him. They were in a different line, talking to a security guard. The guard pointed to some piece of paper. No doubt, they were asking for directions. Old people were always asking for directions.
He passed through security. The Grantlys were repacking the contents of the hand luggage. They would be through in a few moments. He breathed a sigh of relief, and walked off to find a decent espresso before the flight.
Luigi felt confident extra dollars would reach his Swiss bank account by Thursday. He could take the weekend off. Spend time with Lenora. Or Maria. Or Sophie. Maybe one each day. Why not?
Everything was going to work out. The Grantlys would arrive in New York, then fly to Rome with the final payment.
When they reached Rome, the money would change hands. Depending on how they acted, they would be allowed to return with Wilson, or they would not.
Luigi was already leaning toward not.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Orlando, Florida
May 11
Jess found a pharmacy, and bought antiseptic wipes and a handful of toiletries. In the restroom, she daubed the antiseptic over the cuts and scrapes on her arm. Her arms and legs ached, partly from her exertions, and partly from the stress that had been burning in her muscles. She cleaned her face, did the best she could with her hair, and applied a little make up.
Unlike dozens of the crash victims she’d seen on one of the airport televisions, she was good to go.
Feeling slightly more human, she toured the airport shops, grabbing a few days’ worth of clothes. She picked out a brown canvas duffle bag for luggage. She hid the Glock inside a thick padding of her new clothes, packed it in the middle of the duffel, and filled the rest of the space with new toiletries and more clothing.
She returned to the pharmacy, purchased a pay-as-you-go cell phone, and activated it. Just in case.
She searched out the Skyway Airlines check-in desk, and claimed her tickets using an automated kiosk. She ignored an expectant check-in guy, took the steps down to the arrival road, and dropped the bag with a porter at the curbside check-in counter, as Morris had instructed. The man checked her ticket and ID twice before handing it back to her.
“This it?” he said, hefting her bag from the scales.
“That’s all,” she said.
He raised his eyebrows, and proceeded to toss the bag on the conveyer. She watched it disappear through a thick plastic curtain, and immediately regretted not having searched a little longer for a hard-sided case.
She walked back into the terminal. At least Morris had her covered. The gun should pass through screening and make it to New York. Always assuming someone didn’t steal it before she collected it. Not a great plan, but since her airline-approved hard case with the lock only she could open was still in the back of the burnt-out rental at the bottom of a ditch, it was the best she could do. She bit her lip. Nothing to be done about the gun now. If it didn’t arrive in New York City, she’d deal with that problem when she came to it. She’d have to do better if she was forced to take the flight to Rome.
Jess stood in line through security and arrived at her gate early. She brought up the photo she had taken in the Grantlys’ house to familiarize herself with their appearance. She wandered around the gate and the nearby shops, but there was no sign of them.
She bought a gossip rag in one of the shops, and stood against a wall that afforded a good view of the boarding area.
People changed seats at the counter and the clerk updated the time until boarding. A couple in leathers and nose piercings had an argument. But the Grantlys were nowhere to be seen.
She pulled her ticket from her messenger bag and checked the departure time. The board behind the desk showed the same time. She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes. Where the hell were they?
A 737 arrived, easing to a halt just feet from the jet bridge. The clerk vacated the counter and carded her way through the security door to the aircraft. A few moments later, the jet bridge shook as it covered the last few feet to touch the skin of the 737.
The passengers deplaned. They shuffled out of the security door, stretching and yawning as they struggled with oversized carry-on bags.
The sign behind the counter still listed departure as on time. The same sign listed the scheduled flight time as two hours and forty minutes, non-stop Orlando to JFK.
The gate agents set up for boarding. They called for families traveling with children, and anyone else needing a little extra time for boarding, and the usual rush of people crowded the jet bridge entrance. A single mother with two toddlers waved her arms and tried to push through, only to give up halfway to the door.
There was no sign of the Grantlys. Jess looked up and down the length of the terminal corridor. Numbers hung from plaques on the ceiling, denoting each gate. Large signs. Clear numbers. White digits on a dark blue background. Surely, they couldn’t be lost?
The gate agent invited first class passengers to board.
Jess checked her ticket. First class. An aisle seat. She had the tickets for the two seats across the aisle as well. Space for the Grantlys. They would be seated a few rows behind her in coach. Mid-cabin, perhaps? Small seats. Cramped. Tough for a ninety year old. But once they were airborne, she’d move them to first class. A little comfort. Room to stretch out. Better food. Some wine, maybe. Anything to get them to open up. To get them to talk. To reveal whatever they might know of their son and his captors. Anything to get them out of the affair alive.
Jess flipped the pages of the gossip magazine, and listened for Roger’s radio-announcer voice. She’d never forget it. But she didn’t hear him now.
The gate agent began seating coach class.
The last passengers vacated their terminal seats, and lined up at the jet bridge, tickets in hand.
Jess bit her lip. The Grantlys should be in that same line. They couldn’t miss the flight. Not after they left home so early.
Jess’s skin tingled. Left home early? What if that meant they’d changed their plans? Taken a different route for a different plan? A typical hostage trick. Without the Grantlys, she had no way to track down their son, Wilson, and the scammers. They get what they could from the Grantlys, and carry on. New victims, new money, new torment. All because she’d lost the parents.
Jess swore. Where the hell were they?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Orlando, Florida
May 11
Jess stuffed her magazine in her bag, and moved away from the boarding area. Without the Grantlys, there was no purpose to her traveling to New York. She pulled out her phone. Morris needed to know.
The gate attendant picked up a microphone. “Last call for Flight 1804 to JFK. Now boarding. Flight 1804. If you have confirmed seats on this flight, you must board now.”
Jess turned her phone over in her hand. The Grantlys’ car company. She shouldn’t have left it to Miss Fuchsia to check on them. If she’d done it herself she would have confirmed the destination.
The last of the passengers disappeared down the jet bridge.
The gate attendant’s voice rang out. “Passengers Kimball, Grantly and Grantly, last call for New York. Last call for Kimball, Grantly and Grantly.”
More names were called, but she’d tuned out. Jess ran her thumb over her phone’s keyboard. What was she going to tell Morris?
Roger Grantly’s radio voice wafted through the air. “Come on, Harriet. I can’t believe you brought knitting needles in your bag. What were you thinking? They’re going to leave us here. Get a move on.”
Jess smiled, stuffed her phone in her bag, and rummaged for her ticket.
/> Harriet hustled after her husband. “I’m coming. I only wanted to work on my baby bonnets. What’s wrong with that? Besides, they didn’t confiscate them.”
Roger waved his hand. “But they almost made us miss our flight.”
If the situation weren’t so heartbreaking, Jess would have laughed out loud. She stole a glance at them in line. Roger was wearing a beige seersucker suit that he’d probably bought during the Carter administration. His right hand held Harriet’s elbow firmly, hurrying her along. In his left hand, he held their boarding passes and the head of a cane. An ancient, but still dapper, Panama rested comfortably atop his head. His face was red and sweating.
Harriet wore a lime green floral church dress, white gloves, and sensible pumps. Her pink lipstick was askew, but her blue eyes twinkled behind thick lenses that magnified excited pupils.
Jess guessed the woman had probably never flown before. Her obvious excitement and apprehension mixed with her bewilderment that anyone could object to the knitting of infant caps endeared the woman to her. When they met, Jess would tell her so.
Jess gave them a moment to enter the jet bridge, and hurried to the gate, her ticket held out. The gate attendant scowled as she swiped the boarding pass under the scanner. Jess followed the couple onto the aircraft, staying back several paces so they wouldn’t be suspicious when she talked to them later. She slipped into her first class seat under the glower of her fellow travelers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Orlando, Florida
May 11
Luigi purchased a newspaper at a terminal stand, tucked it under his arm, and watched the activity around the gate for New York. The usual boarding rituals had been attended to, but the Grantlys had not arrived. The boarding line was down to its last few passengers.
An attractive American woman leaned against the far wall. Their eyes met briefly. Her blonde hair curled around her face in a fetching way. Slightly darker golden eyebrows arched above softly tinted eyelids. She looked full of nervous energy, shifting her weight from foot to foot. He debated speaking to her. He wanted to hear her voice. Was it musical? Husky? He imagined her whispering intimately into his ear across a silk pillow.
She looked as if she might be boarding the New York flight, but as the line shortened, she moved away from the gate.
Still there was no sign of the Grantlys. He cursed himself for having left them. It still wasn’t inconceivable they had changed their minds. They would have some explaining to do, but the American authorities might allow them to leave the airport after check-in and even though they’d checked luggage.
Damn. He ground his teeth. The tedium had worn him down, and he’d fallen into its trap. He’d been sloppy. He imagined Enzo’s rage if he screwed up this simple task after having come so close to success.
Just as he swore to himself a dozen times for becoming complacent and sloppy, he saw the Grantlys coming down the corridor. They seemed to be arguing, at least as much as two ninety-year-olds could argue. Not like Italians argued, with gusto and passion. Not even close.
Luigi watched as they held out their boarding passes to the gate agent, and boarded the plane.
He stepped out of the newsstand and crossed the corridor toward the gate. The American woman stuffed her phone in a large bag, waved a boarding pass at the gate attendant, and followed the Grantlys down the jet bridge.
Luigi faked a frantic, last-minute search through his pockets to give them time and distance. The last thing he wanted was to be recognized. The gate agent scowled. After a few moments, he produced his boarding pass. The gate agent slapped it under the scanner, waited for the beep, and shoved it back in his hand.
“We need on-time boarding for an on-time departure,” she scolded exactly like his mother used to do when he misbehaved as a boy, rest her soul.
Luigi nodded as if he cared before he strolled down the jet bridge making sure to stay far enough behind the Grantlys.
Inside the cabin, he cussed at the sight of two empty first class seats when he’d been told the cabin was full.
Across the aisle from the empty seats, the American woman fussed with her phone. He guessed she had stayed around the gate until the last minute waiting for a call from her boyfriend. He held back a sneer. Americans couldn’t live without constant communication and she was nothing more than another needy woman, clinging to a man who had better things to do. He crossed her off his mental list. He was all too familiar with that type. He’d accumulated too many women exactly like that already.
In the middle of the coach section, one of the stewards helped the Grantlys load their overstuffed carry-ons into the overhead bins. He strained to close the door then gestured for the old couple to sit. Harriet thanked him profusely, to the point of embarrassment before she wiggled herself into the middle seat. Roger plopped down heavily into the aisle seat, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.
Harriet settled back, too, with a smile on her face, and a paperback with a half-naked cowboy on the cover in her hand. Roger fought to close the seatbelt over his protruding stomach, breathing heavily.
Luigi continued to his seat, three rows behind the Grantlys on the opposite side of the aircraft. He had a good view of the couple. No one questioned a man staring forward in an aircraft, so he could observe them for every moment of the flight without suspicion. Perhaps, for the first leg of the long journey to Rome, watching them was the better move. They still had a layover and plane change in New York. There were plenty of opportunities for them to screw things up, or change their minds.
He stretched his back. Yes, he would make the most of his clear view of the Grantlys now, and fly in the first class cabin on the longer trip to Rome tonight.
The steward handed him a complimentary headset. Luigi stuffed the filthy earphones into the seat pocket, and opened his newspaper.
He heard Harriet and Roger still arguing over the embarrassing scene with her knitting needles at the security checkpoint. They were such fools. He’d be glad to be rid of them. The sooner the better.
Harriet, the one he’d had the most contact with the past few days, chattered incessantly. This was a trait her son had concealed when they communicated by e-mail. Now, he realized it was a problem, and would slow them down considerably because he’d be required to deal with her, instead of ignoring her as he’d otherwise have done.
He’d need to adjust his plans. He couldn’t rush her. She had to feel safe and comfortable until they were safely buckled in on Flight 12 tonight. Because once they were in the air, enroute to Rome, there would be no turning back.
Luigi turned the page of his newspaper. He and Enzo ran a business based entirely on selling, and the psychology of selling was based solely on trust. If Harriet didn’t like and trust him, she would be a constant problem. He’d taken innumerable sales courses over the years and trust was the one absolute. But sometimes, with a pigeon like Harriet, the sales process was a challenge beyond his patience.
Harriet had kept up her chatter. Roger said almost nothing. The old goat looked red. He fanned himself with the in-flight magazine, and mopped his brow with a cotton handkerchief. As the steward checked seatbelts for takeoff, he handed the old man a bottle of water. Roger Grantly took a long draught, and leaned back on the headrest again.
Luigi curled his lip. Don’t stroke out, old man. Not before we conclude our business tomorrow. After that, I’ll be happy to kill you myself and put both of us out of our misery.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Orlando, Florida
May 11
The flight attendant closed the bulkhead door. The jet bridge retracted. A small tractor pushed the plane back from the gate.
When she felt the plane move, Jess relaxed for the first time in twenty-four hours. The Grantlys would be captive until they reached New York. No harm could possibly come to them. So far, so good.
She pulled earphones out of her bag, closed her eyes and took a sorely needed power nap.
When she awakened refr
eshed, the plane had reached cruising altitude, and the attendants were in the cabin with the beverage cart.
“Drink?” said the flight attendant.
“Coffee, black, please.”
He poured the coffee, and she took the cup. “Since we have two empty seats here, would you mind inviting my friends Mr. and Mrs. Grantly to join us?”
“Er…I don’t think we’re supposed—”
Jess placed a hand on his forearm. “They’re both in their nineties and he’s not feeling well. You could act like it was your idea. Or airline policy or something.” She raised her eyebrows. “Would you mind?”
He seemed to think it over for a moment and shrugged. “Sure. Why not? I’ll be right back.”
He returned several minutes later with the Grantlys waddling along the narrow aisle behind him. He gestured to the empty seats. “Here you are. This will give you a more comfortable seat and some breathing room during the flight. But we’ll need to return you to your assigned seats for landing, okay?”
Harriet placed her hand on the big leather seat. “Oh my, yes! Why this is lovely! Look at all the room, Roger!” She scooted awkwardly into the window seat, and became immediately engrossed by the clouds.
Roger said nothing. He grunted as he plopped down in the aisle seat directly across from Jess. He used a soggy handkerchief to mop his head and neck. He closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the headrest. His breathing was labored and irregular.
Jess gave him a few moments to recover from his exertion, leaned across the aisle, and tapped his arm. “Mr. Grantly?”
He didn’t respond. At first, she thought he’d passed out, but then he opened his eyes and looked at her.
She cleared her throat. “Mr. Grantly, my name is Jessica Kimball. I stopped by your son’s office this morning to speak with him, and your receptionist sent me to your home.”
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