JET - Escape: (Volume 9)

by Russell Blake

  The driver grinned a dull yellow smile at Jet as he slowed to a stop and they stepped down to the street, and thanked her again for the dollars he’d converted for her. He had offered to change as many as she wanted into the local currency over lunch, and she’d taken him up on the offer, figuring that she’d attract less attention with bolivars instead of greenbacks. The driver waved at Hannah and roared away with grinding gears.

  Matt surveyed the squalid surroundings and offered Jet a smile. “Charming. And we thought Colombia was grim?”

  “We’re not looking for a resort, just a flophouse for the night.”

  “Doesn’t seem like the kind of place where there would be all that many hotels.”

  “That’s okay. A lot of the time in Venezuela, as well as in Cuba, the locals augment their income by renting out a room to guests.”

  They walked along the main street toward the water, past a cemetery with crumbling headstones, a few wilted bouquets leaning against the markers. At the corner they stopped at a market. Jet bought water and juice, and as she paid, asked the young man working the counter about any guest houses in the area. He gave her directions to two near the waterfront, and they continued their trek as the sun disappeared behind the hills.

  The first candidate got an automatic rejection from Jet due to its filthy yard and the pair of tough-looking shirtless men with mottled tattoos running the length of their arms who loitered on the porch. The second house was an improvement, although unmistakably fallen on hard times, an upper window replaced with plywood, the robin’s egg blue paint peeling from its façade. Jet was leery until she met the owner, Cora, a jolly big-boned woman with an easy laugh and gleaming white teeth, who showed her around the property and ensured she was comfortable with her choice.

  The room was clean and simply furnished, with the added bonus of a bathroom next door and no other guests in evidence. Matt and Jet took turns showering, Jet helping Hannah with the task, and then they feasted on the remnants of lunch, which proved to be delicious even after a day on the road. When they finished, Jet kissed Matt and took the stairs down to the main level.

  Cora spotted her and frowned. “Best be careful, young lady. Things aren’t as safe as they used to be. Plenty of men out of work, with too much time on their hands.”

  “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’m just going out for a look around.”

  “That’s a beautiful little girl you have. Be a shame for her to lose her mom.”

  “It would. So I’ll make sure nothing happens.”

  “We close the doors at ten.”

  Jet glanced at her watch. That gave her a couple of hours. “Okay. I’ll be back before then.”

  “Might want to stay away from the area by the docks. The places down there play to a rough crowd.”

  “I’ll remember that. Thanks again.”

  Jet hurried the two blocks to the darkened waterfront, eyes methodically scanning the street. When she made it to the shore road, it was with relief. Not so much that she was afraid of being jumped as because she didn’t want to invite more trouble – the altercation in Cúcuta was still fresh in her mind, and it would be disastrous to have to explain herself to the Venezuelan police, a corrupt and mean-spirited bunch, she knew from experience.

  Music pulsed from three bars, barely more than shacks near the jetties, and she made straight for them, drawing confidence from the weight of the pistol at the small of her back. The first dive was almost empty, only a few plastic tables occupied by morose drunks sharing plastic bottles of rum. She hurried to the next and felt the attention of several dozen men as she entered; the only other females present were four of the saddest-looking hookers she’d ever seen.

  Jet elbowed her way to the bar, ignoring the leers of the sailors, and fixed the bartender with a cool stare as she ordered a beer. He nodded wordlessly and rooted for a bottle in an ice chest behind the counter, and popped the cap before handing it to her. She sat on the rickety stool and waited for someone to make his pitch.

  A sunburned man with a shaved head, wearing a dirty tank top that featured a four-wheel-drive truck on the back, approached her and set his beer down next to hers.

  “You lost?” he asked in Spanish.

  “No.”

  “Don’t see many like you around here.”

  “Is that right?”

  His eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “You working?”

  “No. Looking for a boat.”

  He took a long pull on his beer and signaled to the bartender for another. “Yeah? What kind?”

  “Why?”

  “I know everybody in this dump. Name’s Ricardo.” He held out a hand, which Jet ignored.

  “Any boats going to Cuba?” she asked.

  He laughed, the sound a hoarse bark, and ferreted in his baggy jeans for a pack of cigarettes. He lit it and blew a cloud of smoke at the ceiling. “Why would you want to go there?”

  “I’m adventurous,” she said, and clinked her bottle against his.

  “Yeah? Well, I might know a guy.”

  “That’s nice to hear.”

  “I could introduce you, for a price.”

  Jet sighed and turned to face him, emerald eyes flashing in the dim light. “Tell you what. You introduce me and we work a deal, your buddy can pay you whatever the going rate is. That way I don’t have to worry about you being full of shit, and everybody walks away happy if they get what they want.”

  “And what if he doesn’t agree to help you?”

  “Then the introduction was worthless.”

  Ricardo laughed again and drank deep from his beer. “Wow. You’re really something, aren’t you?”

  “Why don’t we let your guy decide that one?”

  He finished his cigarette, polished off the rest of his second beer, and dropped the butt into the bottle. “You going to at least buy me a drink?”

  She reluctantly pulled a small-denomination bill from her pocket and laid it on the bar, and then looked at Ricardo with overt skepticism. “Nobody’s getting any younger, and I’ve got a curfew. Is he here, or are we going someplace else?”

  Ricardo grinned, and she noted that he wasn’t one to waste his time with niceties like dental hygiene. “Bar next door.”

  She stood, ignoring the way he slowly looked her up and down. “Lead the way. But a word of advice. Try anything funny and you’ll be walking on sticks. Nothing personal, but I’ve had a really hard day, so my patience isn’t what it normally is.”

  He laughed again, this time with less conviction. “Don’t worry. I want the money more than anything else I could get from you.”

  “That’s good to hear. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 23

  Maracaibo, Venezuela

  Ario yawned and stretched his arms over his head as he stepped from the bus, pain flaring in his lower back after another fifteen-hour workday of driving. His life wasn’t that bad, he told himself, working three shifts a week, four off, navigating the same stretch of road between San Antonio del Táchira, where his uncle put him up on his overnight stays, and Maracaibo, where he lived with his wife and five children. True, the pay was miserable, but the work was easy compared to what many had to contend with, and his biggest complaints were the numbness in his legs following a day on the road and his steadily increasing weight due to being sedentary.

  He waved at another driver who was leaving the yard. The depot was largely empty late at night as the last of the day’s buses arrived. Few were willing to risk overnight trips anymore since the country had fallen into disrepair and lawlessness, other than the daredevils on the main routes, with armed guards riding along to discourage robberies.

  Ario signed in and dropped the keys into a lockbox. A mechanic would do a cursory once-over in the early morning, and then a different driver would head south as his counterpart drove north after overnighting in San Antonio del Táchira. Ario looked into the small dispatcher’s office at where his friend Martin, a hirsute man with the world’s worst toupé
e, was working the radio, which Ario knew largely meant reading pornographic magazines and surfing the web on the graveyard shift.

  “Hey, tough guy. You made it again! I lost money on that bet,” Martin joked by way of greeting.

  “Yes, but there’s always next shift. Anything happening?”

  “We had another armed assault on the route from Caracas. Cleaned everyone out, but no casualties, by the grace of God.”

  “Would have been nice of God if he’d simply prevented the robbery in the first place, don’t you think?”

  “He works in mysterious ways, you blasphemer.”

  Ario caught sight of a fax on Martin’s desk, a photograph and text printed on the single page. “What’s that?”

  “Oh. From the boss. They’re on the lookout for this chick and her family,” Martin said.

  “Can I see it?”

  “Pervert. Although she’s hot, you can tell, even in the shit photo.” Martin handed Ario the fax and resumed his game of computer solitaire. Ario was silent for several moments.

  “What do they want them for?”

  “Dunno. Didn’t say. Just said there was a reward if anyone spotted them.”

  “Yeah? How big?”

  Martin stopped what he was doing and challenged Ario. “Why are you so interested?”

  “I think I gave them a ride today.”

  Martin’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding.”

  “No, really. Her, a kid, and a guy. A gringo. Just like it says here.”

  “Where did they get off?”

  Ario thought for a moment. “Let’s find out how big the reward is. The second I tell anyone where I dropped them, they no longer have to pay me.”

  “Pay us. I’ll help you negotiate, but it’s got to be us. Fifty-fifty.”

  “You’re dreaming. Ninety-ten.”

  After a minute of back and forth, they agreed eighty-twenty was fair, based on Martin’s superior negotiating skills. Ario was a simple man, whereas Martin had lived in Caracas, a big city, and as such was worldlier and could cut a better deal.

  Martin dialed the number on the fax and a gravelly voice answered. “Yeah?”

  “This is Martin Gonzalez, from the Emporio bus group.”

  “And?”

  “You sent out a fax earlier today?”

  The voice quickened. “That’s right, we did.”

  “One of my group knows the woman you’re looking for. She was on his bus.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Of course.”

  “Where?”

  “Picked her, the gringo, and the kid up in Ureña.”

  “Where did she get off?”

  Martin cleared his throat. “The fax mentions a reward. How much?”

  “Depends on how solid the information is.”

  “It’s solid.”

  The voice mentioned a number. Martin swallowed, trying not to show his surprise. “That’s all?”

  “Look, we both know it’s a fortune. If you think you can do better, call someone else.”

  “No, no. That won’t be necessary. How are you planning to pay it?”

  “Cash. American dollars. We’re good for it. Now where is she?”

  “Not so fast. We’ll tell you as soon as you hand over the money. Fair’s fair.”

  There was a long pause. “You’re playing a dangerous game,” the voice warned.

  “No offense intended, patrón. But we live in uncertain times. How soon can you meet?”

  “Where are you?”

  “Maracaibo.”

  “Let me check.”

  Martin heard a muffled conversation in the background, and then the voice in his ear again. “I can have someone there in about four hours. They have to gather the cash. Where exactly are you?”

  Martin gave him the address. “There’s security here at the depot, so nothing funny, all right? I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “You’d be better served telling me where she is right now. There’s some urgency to the situation.”

  “Then you better tell your guy to hurry.”

  Martine hung up and told Ario what had happened. Ario looked shocked.

  “Twenty thousand dollars? What did she do, kill the President?”

  “Who cares? You just made out like a bandit, my friend. The only downside is I have to put up with you stinking up my office for four more hours.”

  “I’ll get some beer.”

  Martin grinned. “You know we aren’t supposed to drink on the job.”

  “Who’s going to know? It’s not like they send inspectors. Besides, you’re not flying a jet, you’re answering the radio. Come on. Icy cold. My treat.”

  “You’re a silver-tongued devil.”

  “Now upgraded to a platinum tongue, thanks to our mystery girl,” Ario agreed, and they both smiled. Every so often life handed someone their big chance, and it was foolish not to grab it with both hands. Neither wanted to think about why anyone would pay that much to learn what bus stop the woman had gotten off at; it was none of their business. “I’ll get the beer.”

  “Good man.”

  Chapter 24

  La Ensenada, Venezuela

  Ricardo led Jet to the adjacent bar, a ramshackle wooden building whose weathered sign featured a crude painting of a winking mermaid with breasts that blinked green lights in alternation, left right, left right, although not quite evenly timed.

  Jet eyed the sea goddess and gave him a sidelong glance. “Nice,” she said drily.

  “It’s a classy place.”

  “I can tell.”

  They entered and Ricardo looked around the room and then made his way through the sparsely populated tables to one near the rear of the room, where two older men with silver crew cuts sat smoking and drinking. The one with a bushy mustache shot daggers at Ricardo like he’d spilled a drink in his lap, and raised a single eyebrow.

  Ricardo cleared his throat nervously. “Capitan Adrian, this is…a new friend. She’s looking for passage to Cuba. God knows why. But I heard you were shipping out tomorrow, and I thought…” Ricardo trailed off, an expectant expression on his face.

  “Oh, yeah?” Adrian said, and then nodded at his companion. The man rose and walked unsteadily to the bar. “Have a seat.”

  Jet did as instructed, and Ricardo fidgeted behind her. He lit a cigarette and eyed Adrian. “She said you’d take care of me out of whatever you work out.”

  The captain’s gaze drifted to Ricardo’s face. “Then I will. But I haven’t even heard what she wants. Why don’t you get yourself a drink on me and let me discuss business, all right?”

  “I told you, she needs to get to Cuba–”

  Adrian half stood, his jaw muscle clenching. “And I told you to take a load off over there.”

  The two men stared at each other for a tense beat, and Ricardo backed away. “Okay. I’ll be at the bar.”

  Captain Adrian sat back down and tilted his head at the half-empty bottle. “You want a drink?”

  Jet shook her head. “No, thanks. Ricardo tells me you’re Cuba bound in the morning?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Any interest in carrying some passengers?”

  Adrian’s eyes studied her face. “How many?”

  “Three. Me, my husband, and my kid.”

  “There are flights, you know.”

  “I like the sea.”

  “My boat’s no luxury cruiser.”

  “I prefer a more genuine experience.”

  He nodded slowly. “You have papers?”

  She shook her head and kept her expression flat. “I was robbed.”

  “But you have money?”

  “They didn’t get everything.”

  “That was lucky. Well, considering the risk involved in carrying undocumented passengers, it wouldn’t be cheap.”

  “What range are you thinking?”

  “Two thousand apiece. In advance. In dollars.”

  Jet was inclined to take the deal, but k
new that stylistically it would be a mistake. She countered with three thousand for all of them, and they settled on five.

  Her business concluded, she stood. Adrian took a long drag on his cigarette and stubbed it out in an overflowing ashtray. “Be at the dock by seven. We’ll be fueling and loading the rest of the cargo, and taking off by eight. Bring cash. No excuses. If you miss us, we aren’t going to wait for you.” He pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled a phone number on the back of a napkin. “Here’s my cell if you have any questions.”

  “That’s fine.” She looked over her shoulder at Ricardo. “What about him? I don’t want to get mugged on the way home.”

  “He’s harmless. I’ll take care of Ricky. But be careful. There are plenty of undesirables around, and you’re a fine-looking woman.”

  “Thanks for the warning. Which ship is yours, and which dock?”

  “The Milan. You can’t miss her. Black hull, second dock from the refinery.”

  She nodded. “How long will the trip take?”

  “Two full days and nights, assuming Mother Nature cooperates, to Cienfuegos, southwest of Havana. As many as three if it turns. But the weather reports call for relatively calm seas so far, so you’re in luck.”

  She smiled at his words. “Yes, I feel lucky.”

  He returned his attention to his drink and waved a hand at Ricardo, the look of disdain returning to his face. Jet didn’t stay around to hear their negotiation, and instead made for the door, aware that every minute she stayed, she risked attracting the wrong kind of attention.

  Chapter 25

  Frontino, Colombia

  Mosises cracked an eye open as his cell phone rang on the nightstand. He checked the time as he rolled over to answer it: almost three in the morning. He saw the number and was instantly awake.