JET II - Betrayal (JET #2) (28 page)

Half an hour later, she had confirmed her first charter – a Global XRS out of Hong Kong that would fly her to Zurich, non-stop, at fifty thousand feet – close to Mach 1 – for the bargain price of a hundred and seventy grand. For that, the company would also supply catered food and get a visa for her. They explained that it was a deal because they had to fly the plane in from Hong Kong, which was over a thousand miles away, at an internal cost of roughly ten grand an hour.

She confirmed that she’d be ready to go that night, and after some calculations, they told her that she could depart Bangkok by eleven p.m..

Jet spent the rest of the evening in the hotel room, unwilling to go out anywhere and leave the briefcase, or take it with her and risk being robbed – even though it was hard to imagine anyone doing so successfully. She called the plane company back and told the concierge she wanted a late dinner ready upon takeoff, and he assured her that they would happily prepare anything she wanted. She punched the phone off, then lay on the bed and thought about Matt and the strange rush she’d felt when they’d kissed – a rush that confused her, especially so soon after David’s death. She’d kissed Rob as part of their cover and had felt nothing, even though he was a handsome man. But Matt, for some reason, had triggered something that warranted more consideration.

Her thoughts shifted to Lawan – a brutalized child who now had a second lease on life. It would be rough on her living in the wilds with Matt, but not nearly as hard as being forced into prostitution while she should still have been playing with teddy bears. Jet swallowed the rage that boiled to the surface whenever she thought about it. There was no point in getting angry. But it brought back so many of her own unpleasant memories, of her foster father when she had been that age…

The trip to the airport was predictably tardy, with traffic still heavy even at night due to the dense layout of Bangkok coupled with a conspicuous lack of urban planning. As she watched the suicidal motorcycle drivers dart past them, Jet wondered what the morose cabbie would have thought if he’d known he was driving sixty-three million dollars and change around. She smiled inwardly. The world was an odd place, made more so now that she was carrying a king’s ransom in her briefcase.

The airport experience was lavish, with two armed guards accompanying the executive from the charter company due to the large amount of cash involved, and two stewardesses waiting to attend to her every need. After a few minutes of counting money and shaking hands, she was speeding down the runway, en route to a frigid country almost six thousand miles away.

Zurich customs turned out to be a non-issue, her passport and arrival on a private jet ensuring that the ever-discreet Swiss waved her through without a glance, and once she was finished with the formality, she approached the taxi line. The driver nodded in approval when she told him to take her to the Widder hotel, right in the center of everything and only a long block from the river. She had been in Zurich once before on an assignment. As she watched the streets glide by, she was reminded of how antiseptically clean everything seemed – the streets, the buildings, the cars and people – especially after Bangkok, which was a kind of controlled chaos. Switzerland oozed civilized order.

The drizzly, cold dawn had barely broken, but when she got to the hotel, the staff leapt to attend to her in spite of the early hour. The suite was fifteen hundred dollars a night, with every amenity she could have wanted. She unpacked the briefcase and secured the fifty million dollar package in the room safe, then retired to the bathroom and savored a long hot soak in the bath – her first in months.

The diamond buyers weren’t expecting a call until nine a.m. at the earliest, so she went downstairs and imbibed a pot of steaming dark roast coffee in the restaurant as she read the newspaper, which was thoughtfully provided in six different languages by the front desk.

The weather was forecasted to be in the forties all day, so she had a clothing problem – no coat. She’d seen nothing suitable during her shopping in Bangkok, so she’d had to content herself with a navy blue knockoff Ralph Lauren sweater that was far too light for any real cold. She asked the concierge at the front desk about nearby shops, but they apologetically informed her that the stores wouldn’t open until ten, at the earliest.

Jet waited in her room, pacing in front of the window, until nine thirty, when she called the buyers. After a brief back and forth, they agreed to meet at one of Zurich’s largest private banks at eleven and warned her to allow several hours for the verification process.

She exited onto the boulevard in front of the hotel and followed the concierge’s directions, arriving at an upscale women’s apparel store that exuded prohibitive pricing. The shopkeeper was just opening, and after browsing the selection while the hawkish woman looked on, she paid three times more than she would have anywhere else in the world for a heavy wool Italian coat. Jet checked her watch as the woman counted out her change and then made for the bank, stopping across the street at a bakery to watch the foot traffic going into the building while she waited for her appointment time.

When she entered, she was directed to a private suite with two armed security guards flanking the door. After exchanging polite introductions with the buyers, she placed the briefcase on the table, flipped the latch, and withdrew the package containing the diamonds. The two men carefully inventoried each stone, noting color, clarity, cut and carats, grading each with the precision of a locally-manufactured watch. The entire process took an hour, at which point the haggling began. Twenty minutes later, she walked out of the bank, nine million seven hundred thousand dollars richer, having made a concession in the interests of getting the deal done. The buyers hadn’t batted an eye when the banker stamped the transfer agreement, instantaneously moving the money to her bank a block away – one of the operational accounts she’d set up years earlier, requiring only the account number and a passcode to access from anywhere in the world.

Once in the branch, she confirmed the balance and withdrew a hundred thousand dollars in cash. The bank vice president confirmed the amount and returned ten minutes later with two packages of new hundred dollar bills, which she counted and then slipped into her briefcase.

Logistical necessities concluded, she returned to the hotel and had lunch, and then used one of the hotel computers to locate several jet charter companies. The second one she contacted had a Gulfstream G-550 that could be ready for her within twenty-four hours at a cost of a hundred and ten thousand dollars. She booked it, and the company volunteered that it would be delighted to handle the visa she would require for up to a thirty-day stay. Ordinarily it would require a full business day, but the company had strong relationships with the people at the embassy and could arrange everything, if she would be kind enough to stop in as soon as she could. She got the bank information and committed to doing a transfer within the hour, and then made her way back to her bank and signed the order.

Jet now had over nine and a half million in her account, as well as a card that would allow her to access another two million. Three million in loose stones. And of course, fifty million for Arthur.
Good old Arthur.
There was something primal inside of her that couldn’t wait for their reunion.

The following day, after a two-hour workout at the hotel gym and a one-hour run, she packed and prepared to meet her plane after lunch. Takeoff was smooth, and she settled into the jet’s plush swivel chair as the plane whispered into the sky, ready for seven hours of travel before she landed in Washington in the late afternoon, local time.

Chapter 33

The difference between Washington and Zurich was striking, although the weather was largely the same – cold, with snow threatening. Customs was straightforward with no search of her bags, the diplomatic passport working its little miracle again in a town where the officers were accustomed to diplomats arriving by private jet at all hours of the day or night. The experience at the cab line was completely different, though, having to stand in line in the wind chill for ten minutes, and when she told the driver to take her to the Four Seasons, he practically sneered at her.

The hotel was gorgeous, the service impeccable, and the room nosebleed expensive, but she’d decided that it was better to hide right out in the open than skulking around in motels – especially with the payload she was carrying.

Once she was settled, she went downstairs to the business center and booked a rental car online, and then took a cab to the rental yard to collect the keys to her new Ford Focus. First stop was Walmart, where she chose four disposable phones, and then a superstore where she selected a laptop computer, paying cash. She went to an internet café and activated all four of the phones and then placed a call on the first to Matt’s satellite phone, which just rang unanswered.

They’d agreed that she should try him every three hours at thirty minutes past, Pacific Time, so she resolved to call later.

She’d thought about both Matt and Lawan a lot on the flight over, forging their way through the jungle while she was flying on a lavish private jet, and had sent a silent prayer that they would get to their destination safely.

A web search showed a list of gun shows taking place over the next few days in nearby Virginia, and a cursory perusal of the laws told her that she could buy whatever she needed, within reason, without a permit or any kind of background check. That would save her the trouble of having to source weapons on the street. There was one at the fairgrounds the following day in Richmond, Virginia, a hundred miles south. She calculated it would take two hours to drive there – perfect – far enough away so that she’d never be remembered if any questions were ever asked.

Evening came without her reaching Matt. She called his phone every three hours at the appointed time, but he never picked up, and by ten, she decided to call it a night and resume her efforts in the morning.

~ ~ ~

“I’ve only fired it maybe twenty times,” the heavyset man assured Jet, beaming a boozy smile, beer on his breath. “A nice ladies gun.” He pronounced ladies: ladeeeeees.

Jet hefted the Beretta and then regarded the owner; an orange T-shirt with a silhouette of a man shooting a pistol strained in vain to contain his substantial belly.

The gun appeared brand new, and experience had taught her that Berettas could take a substantial amount of abuse and still perform. She cocked the slide and peered down the barrel. It had a thin film of oil and looked unused.

“Kind of pricey for a used one, don’t you think?”

“Not hardly. That gun’s a winner. One of the most popular in the world.”

“Really.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you. But, tell you what. Seeing as you’re interested and you seem to know your way around a weapon, I’ll knock twenty-five bucks off, assuming it’s cash.”

She considered the proposition.

“I had my heart set on getting a spare clip or two as well. You know anyone selling those?”

“Seem to recall old Clovis over on the end of this row had a few. He’s a character, but he knows his stuff. Might want to look there.”

“All right. I’ll take it. Where can I get some ammo for it?”

“’Bout a million sporting goods places in town. Should be able to get a box of shells.”

“Shame you don’t have any. That would be a lot more convenient.” Jet winked as she pulled a small wad of hundreds out of her pocket. The seller almost salivated when he saw the money and rubbed the stubble on his face with a grimy hand.

“Didn’t say I don’t have any shells, did I? Got a carton out in my truck.”

“Want to meet me out there in fifteen minutes? In the meantime, I’ll go see if I can find another clip.”

“Sure thing, little lady. I’ll see if one of these trailer trash will watch my gear for a few minutes. Hey, Marty!” he bellowed, and an old man wearing a battered Hooters baseball cap looked over at him. “Gotta hit the can in a few. You watch my stuff?”

“Lemme know when. Won’t be hardly any stealing going on while you’re gone.”

Both men had a good laugh, and then she handed him the money.

“I’m supposed to check your driver’s license, but for another fifty I could sorta skip that part.”

“You drive a hard bargain. How about fifty including the bullets?”

“You got it.”

“I’ll give you the money when you give me the shells.”

“Seems the right way to do it,” he agreed. “I’ll meet up with you out by the bathrooms in fifteen, okay?”

“I’ll be looking for you.”

Clovis had one extra clip as well as a shoulder holster for the Beretta, and a quick turn around the booths located one more – more than sufficient for her purposes. She slipped everything into her purse and then went out to meet her new admirer.

He was waiting by the bathrooms, as promised, and she proffered a smile as she approached him. He had a plastic bag with a box in it in one hand and a beer in the other. She took the bag from him and peered inside, then slipped him the fifty and moved off, his eyes burning holes through the back of her jeans as she walked to her car. She fished her cell out of her pocket as she unlocked the door and dialed Matt’s number again, and was surprised when he picked up. He sounded exhausted and got straight to the point.

“My contact couldn’t find anything obvious on likely sites for your daughter, but was able to discover Arthur’s home address. You got a pen?”

“I’ll remember it.”

He rattled off the address, and she repeated it back to him.

“If my contact doesn’t find out anything more in the next twenty-four hours, you should plan to do this the hard way. And she’s working on the other two who run the show with him. Hopefully, she’ll have those soon as well. Oh, and before I forget, she was able to arrange to get you the chemical breakdown of the drugs you asked for. She’ll leave it at a dead drop we arranged.” He recited the location and details of the drop.