ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (15 page)

Izzie
finally got her fear under control and had dozed off when the container she was
in lurched, knocking her sideways. It was being moved and not with care either.
She could hear a faint mumble of voices as the jostling continued.

“Help,
get me out of here,” she screamed, pounding till her fists were sore. It was
useless. She either couldn’t be heard, or whoever was doing the moving, didn’t
care.

She felt
around for the bottle, unscrewed the cap and took a swig. The water was tepid
but felt good as it went down. Then, locating some kind of food bar, she
unwrapped it. What she assumed was chocolate had melted, making a sticky mess
on her hand. Eager to assuage her hunger, Izzie licked her fingers and devoured
it. Feeling around in the small box, she located several more. She’d have to
ration them, taking only small bites now and then. Same thing with the water.
Who knew how long she’d be locked up?

The
container lurched again, some water spilled from the open bottle. Izzie quickly
felt around for the lid. At this point water was more precious than gold, she
couldn’t afford to lose a single drop. It was so hot and stuffy, she had a hard
time breathing. She urgently prayed that God would rescue her before it was too
late.

Izzie
thought of Jackson and how concerned he’d been over her welfare. She realized
now how rude she’d been, acting like she was better than he was. And why?
Because he schlepped all that video equipment in and out of the news van every
day? Often sweating like a pig?

In
retrospect, she realized he worked a lot harder than she did: balancing a
fifty-pound camera on his shoulder, even running with it to capture reluctant
subjects. She had just never appreciated how difficult his work was or how
seriously he took it—trying to get his best shot and making sure the lighting
was just right.
How could she have been so stupid?
Now that she could do
nothing but lie there and wait for whatever would come next, her mind played
back her interactions with him. None of it was good.

Tears
streamed down her face as she recalled how he’d tried to keep her away from Leon.
And her response? She’d told him to mind his own business—that she didn’t need
to be protected by the likes of him. Turned out she was wrong.
God, was she
ever wrong.
If only she’d listened. It was too late now, and she may spend
the rest of her life regretting it.

Jackson
pulled into the station’s parking lot and began to unload his equipment. It was
unusually warm for this time of year. He hoped that didn’t presage what the
summer months would bring. He generally preferred Florida’s weather to the
frigid winters of the Midwest, but when the thermometer rose above one hundred,
he had to admit sometimes he longed for the cool weather back home. For the
most part, however, he was content to stay where he was.

His
mother, having lived in the Midwest all her life, never understood his disdain
for cold weather. And how could she? He’d grown up in the Midwest too. But it
was just the way he was, he concluded and didn’t try to understand. Some people
like it hot, some like it cold; there was no rhyme or reason to it.

He was
working at the edit bay finishing his footage, when Morris Stone stopped by.

“Come
into my office,” he said.

Jackson
didn’t like the sound of that. Stone was usually more genial in his approach. Not
this time. It was an order, not a request. He signed off on the computer and
made his way down the hall to his boss’s office. Before he managed to throw a
genial “What’s up?” his way, Morris Stone said, “Close the door.”

Jackson’s
heart thumped a sharp staccato in his ears. Had something happened to Zac? Was
his mom in an accident? Had they discovered Izzie’s body dumped in one of the
canals? He sat down and held his left hand with his right to keep them both
from shaking. There was no point asking what this was about; he’d find out soon
enough.

“Do you
like working here?” Stone asked, his face as hard as his name.

“What?
Yes, of course. I love my job.”
What was this about? Had someone complained?
Jackson mentally ticked off the stories he’d covered over the past several
days: The opening of a new Walmart; that child who’d gone missing and then was
discovered a mile away at a friend’s house; the author who’d written her first
novel; the impact of rising gas prices on motorists; the politician running for
re-election. Nope. Nothing he could think of. Far as he knew, it had all run
smooth as silk. What about his intern? Maybe he’d inadvertently made a comment
she’d taken the wrong way? If he had, he didn’t recall doing it.

“What’s
this about?” he said.

“It’s
about you misrepresenting yourself to law enforcement, that’s what
‘it’s
about’
.” When Morris Stone got angry, his neck turned bright red and the
flush crawled slowly up until it engulfed his face and ears. There was no
mistaking the man’s emotional state even on the rare instances he tried to hide
it.

Jackson’s
uncomprehending expression only served to further inflame the situation.

“You
don’t recall telling a police officer you were a reporter staking out a house
where suspicious activity was taking place? That you told him the police hadn’t
taken your report of a colleague’s disappearance seriously and you feared she’d
fallen prey to a human trafficker? Any of that sound the
least
bit
familiar?”

“Oh,
that,” was all Jackson could think to say. In checking out his story, the
officer must have talked to someone at the station who’d reported it to Stone.
Perfect.
Just perfect.

“I’m
sorry, Mr. Stone. I needed a cover story and it was the best I could come up
with at the time. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re
damned right it won’t happen again. If it does, you can look for another job.
                                           That
clear?” The pitch of his voice rose.

Jackson
nodded. “Absolutely. I, for sure, won’t ever do it again.” He felt like a kid
being reprimanded.

“I’m
assuming this has to do with Izzie?”

“Yes,
sir, it does.”

“And
what’d I tell you about that?”

“That I
was to forget her; that she was a stuck-up bitch who probably ran off with her
boyfriend.”

“And, did
you?”

“Did I
what?”

“Forget
about her?”

Jackson’s
face fell. “No sir. I didn’t. I have it on good authority that she was hanging
out with the guy I suspect is a trafficker. My brother had lunch with him and
he admitted he’d been seeing her.” Jackson couldn’t bring himself to tell Stone
the whole story.

“So, some
guy had the hots for her. That doesn’t mean he’s a trafficker or that he did
anything to harm her. Jackson, you’ve got to let this go. If you want to keep
your job, you’ll do as I say. Take this as a fair warning. I’m not telling you
again.
Got it?
”

“Yes,”
Jackson said. “I understand.” He stood and left the office, heading for the
parking lot on legs as wobbly as Jell-O.

Now it
wasn’t only Izzie and his brother’s lives on the line—but his job as well. As
far as Jackson was concerned, if he lost this job—a career he’d trained so hard
for; a job he loved and dreamed of having ever since he found out there was
such a thing as a TV news cameraman—if he was fired, it’d be akin to losing his
life. Without this job, he’d be lost.

Jackson
had to figure out which was more important: his dream job or the lives of two
people—neither of whom had been especially nice to him

He
unlocked his car and sat for a moment, mulling over the situation. He really
didn’t have a choice. He knew what he had to do. There were no options; none at
all. This decision was going to affect his future—and not in a good way.

He
shrugged and started the engine. If he complied with Morris Stone’s demand and
something bad happened to them, would he be able to live with himself?

He
slapped his hand on the steering wheel as the realization struck him with the
force of a lightning bolt.
Morris Stone be damned.
There was no decision
to be made. Jackson knew what he had to do and he would do it. That’s all there
was to it.

Zac stood
on the pier watching a cruise ship disgorge its passengers. He wondered how
many of those well-dressed people arrived under the guise of tourism and were
facing a life of unimaginable horror.

Standing
there, gazing at the multistoried ocean liner gleaming in the sun, Zac felt
like an ant beside a Hummer.

He
wandered to the other end of the wharf where cargo was being unloaded: steamer
trunks, shipping containers,
luggage
. There were even
animals in special crates. As he watched, the thought occurred to him that this
would be an easy way to smuggle someone out of the country.

Is that
what Leon had done with Izzie? Surely not. Leon said they imported illegals to
help them get a better life. Yeah, sure, if you mean a life of unpaid labor
tied to a sewing machine or picking vegetables twelve hours a day. He’d said
they weren’t in the business of exporting Americans, that it was too dangerous.

Then what
had he done with her?
Murdered her?
Zac didn’t think so. The man was way
too emotionally involved to have done something like that. He would have
figured out another way to dispose of her.

For all
his bad points, Leon still had a vestige of humanity about him. Zac simply did
not believe he’d kill the one person he cared for. Get rid of her to protect
himself, yes. Slaughter her? Not a chance. So where the hell was she and how
was he going to find her? Good questions, but no answers—at least not yet. He’d
find them, or die trying.

As he
watched, he began to wonder where those ships went. Perhaps that’s where he
should begin. As he headed to a nearby travel agent’s office, he felt oddly
exhilarated. It wasn’t so much that he knew what he was doing or had a solid
lead; it was that for the first time he was taking a positive step in that
direction. And at this point, that’s all that mattered.

The woman
at the desk was professional looking in a phony, yet attractive way. From his
shabby clothes, she had to know he didn’t have the money for a trip of any kind.
It’d be a waste of time, or as Jackson might say, a goat rope. Still, she
treated Zac as though she might actually make a commission off him.

“Good
afternoon, sir. How might I be of assistance?” Her smile revealed white—almost
too white—teeth, and dimples in both cheeks. Her dark hair was perfectly coifed
into a mid-length page. She wore a single strand of pearls with matching dangle
earrings. There was a hint of cleavage in the off-white top she wore under a
navy blazer. Zac couldn’t help but wonder if she was as perky in bed as she was
at the moment, or if it was all an act.

He
returned her greeting and said, “I wondered where those cruise ships go.” He
realized he sounded more than a little bit like a hick, but in truth that’s
what he was.

“Ports of
call you mean? It depends on the package and the cruise. Is there anything in
particular you’re looking for?”

“Not
really. Watching the passengers get off the ship got me to wondering. Can you
tell me?”

“As I
said, it depends on the cruise line and the particular package.” As she handed
several brochures over the counter, Zac noticed her glossy red nail polish.
“These should help. Look them over and let me know if anything interests you.”

“Oh, I
see something that interests me all right,” Zac said, catching her eye and
giving her the smile that easily snagged girls back home. It didn’t work on
this one.

“It was
nice talking to you,” she said, her perfectly phony smile in place. “You come
on back if there’s anything more I can do to help plan your trip.” Then she
picked up the phone and began to dial.

Zac took
the hint and left her to make money off real customers.

“There
you are,” Leon said making a point of looking at his watch. It was nearly five-thirty.
“I thought we agreed you’d be back by five.”

“We did.
I just didn’t count on the trolley, uh, streetcar getting stalled on the tracks
for half an hour. Sorry about that.”

“Yeah,
well, when I say be back by a certain time, I expect to see your butt here,
stalled
‘trolley’
or not. If you’re going to work for me, I gotta know I
can depend on you. Otherwise, you might as well get the hell
outta
here right now.”

Zac knew
he was late, but didn’t think it was all
that
important; in fact he
didn’t expect Leon to notice. “Hey man, chill. I’m still finding my way around.
It’s hard when you have to depend on public transportation, know what I mean?
It’s not as reliable as a car.” He thought his broad hint might prod Leon into
lending him his car, but no dice.

“Yeah,
well, from now on you’ll have to take that into consideration, won’t you? And
don’t go telling me to ‘chill’ either.”

Zac could
see he wasn’t making any headway with his boss and decided to change the
subject. “I went to the Port of Tampa and watched a cruise ship unload its
passengers. Man, those things are humongous, aren’t they?”

“Sure
are.”

“Ever
been on one?”

“What? A
cruise?”

“Yeah.
You ever go? I mean you’re right here where they take off.” He pulled out the
brochures the travel agent gave him. “Look here, you could go to The Caymans,
Costa Rica, Belize—any or all of them. And it doesn’t seem like it’s all that
expensive either, especially since you don’t have to pay airfare.”

“Yeah,
all I need is money—and the time to get away from here.”

“Well, I
doubt money’s a problem for you what with all the business you do and…” Zac was
going to add that with him on board now, Leon could easily take off for a few
days whenever he liked, but he was interrupted.

“What the
hell do you know about my business?” The man had gone from making small talk to
being livid in less time that it takes to sneeze.

“Only
what you’ve told me. I just thought…”

“You’re
not here to think. You’re here to do what you’re told—unless you think you’re
too smart for this gig, in which case you can go running back to your brother.
Oh, that’s right, he kicked you out; you’ve no place to go. So, maybe you just
better keep your trap shut. How’s that sound?” Leon was nearly nose to nose
with Zac now, his voice getting louder and angrier by the second.

Zac took
a step back in a bid to regain his personal space. “Sounds all right by me,” he
said, and put the brochures in his pocket.

Before
leaving the room, Leon said, “A shipment’s coming in tonight around ten. Be
here.”