Survival (22 page)

“I’ll drop you at the bottom of the mountain – you have to take an aerial tram to get up to the monastery. It’ll be dark by the time we arrive, so nobody will see you go up. Franco will meet you at the top. It doesn’t get much more remote, so you’ll have complete privacy.”

Matt eyed the landscape and turned to Armando. “I appreciate all the help, Armando. It could well make a difference in whether we make it or not.”

Armando looked at Hannah again. “Let’s just hope that it’s enough.”

Chapter 32

Juan Diego showed Jet to the bunk area in the bowels of the
Providencia
as one of his crew piloted the vessel, its single diesel engine wheezing beneath their feet. As far as she could tell, the old barge was heading east at about the same speed Jet could run.

The boat was in questionable condition – rust showed along the edges of every surface, the hull was badly in need of paint, and the companionways were worn. Below deck was a galley with a fixed table, a small refrigerator, and an electric stove. Aft of the common area was an equipment and engine room, and forward two cabins – one the captain’s quarters with a single berth and a desk, and the other the crew stateroom, which consisted of four metal bunks and a locker. Each had an en-suite head whose smell announced its location.

“Make yourself at home. You can stow your bag below that bottom bunk. Now, let’s get the money out of the way before we go any further.”

Jet nodded and retrieved a thin wad of hundred-dollar bills from her back pocket and handed it to Juan Diego. “Five grand, as agreed.”

He made a show out of counting the money, pausing to examine bills at random, holding them up to the light to verify they had the magnetic security strip. When he was satisfied that Jet wasn’t passing off counterfeits, he grunted and slipped the cash into his pocket. The flesh of his face hung off his skull like a basset hound, and his bloodshot eyes betrayed the hangover that was probably pulsing in his head from the prior night’s overindulgence.

He grunted and tilted his head at the galley. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he said. “We’ve got beer, soda, and water in the refrigerator, and a decent provision of groceries for the trip. Help yourself, but don’t use the knives – have one of the crew do it for you. Last thing I need is for you to slice yourself open a hundred miles from nothing.”

Jet smiled and didn’t bother to assure him that she could handle cutlery as well as anyone. She patted the switchblade in her pocket, her face a blank. “Thanks. I think I’ll try to get some sleep once we’re clear of the mainland. How far off the coast will we be running?”

“We’ll pass about seven miles off Isla Grande and then veer southeast. Most of the trip we’ll be four or five miles offshore, but we’ll head further out as we pass the point at Cabo Tiburón so we don’t arouse the interest of the Panamanian officials at the border – not that they particularly care about fishing boats, but why risk it?”

“What’s our destination in Colombia?”

“Acandí. It’s about twenty miles south of the border. There’s no access to it except from the sea or the airstrip, so no border patrol or immigrations snoops will be nosing around. From there you can make your way across the gulf to Necoclí, which is a decent-sized town at the end of a main road.”

“Make my way how?”

“I’d wait until morning and pay a fisherman to take you across. It’s forty kilometers, so a two-hour boat ride in a panga. From Necoclí you can take a bus.”

“Why can’t you drop me off there?”

“I could, but then you’d have to deal with a whole lot of questions about why a young woman is getting off a Panamanian fishing boat at a Colombian port. I sort of intuited that you wanted to avoid that formality.”

“Good guess. They won’t stop the smaller boat?”

“No reason to. It’s Colombian.”

“Ah.”

Juan Diego looked around the grim room and grunted again. “All right. That was the guided tour. From here on out, you’re on your own. The less the crew knows about you, the better. I’d stick below decks as much as possible on the off chance a plane buzzes us. It’s doubtful, but it’s been known to happen – the Panamanians have a couple of single-engine prop planes they sometimes use, and a helicopter that patrols the border – when it’s running, which hasn’t been recently. But like I said, they’re mainly concerned with boats moving north. All their good hardware is devoted to that.”

“Thanks. I’ll try to get some rest.” She glanced around at the bunks and gave Juan Diego a neutral stare. “Tell your crew that if either one of them touches me, it’ll be the last thing they ever try.” She smiled. “Not that I expect anyone to behave like anything but a perfect gentleman.”

“I’ll have them sleep on deck. That work for you?”

“Of course.”

He appraised her calm demeanor in light of the matter-of-fact way she’d warned him and offered a pained grin. “See you in the morning.”

“Right. I presume you have coffee.”

“You’ll smell it all night.”

~ ~ ~

Antonio Salguero, Colombia

Fernanda crept toward Luis’ home, with Jaime at her side and flanked by two of his gunmen. They’d left the Suburbans behind a grove of trees on the outskirts of town and walked in, waiting until everyone had retired for the night, skirting the bars that remained open until late. Nobody had seen them, and with any luck they’d make their way back undetected.

The house was dark, and the partial overcast blocked most of the light from the full moon as they neared it. Jaime pointed to the back, and his men crept around as Fernanda knelt in front of the door and worked a set of picks in the simple lock. Twenty seconds later she rose, pocketed the picks, and quietly twisted the knob, a sound-suppressed .22 long rifle pistol Jaime had provided her gripped tightly in her right hand.

The interior was pitch black. She waited for her eyes to adjust as Jaime joined her, his shoes making a faint scrape on the hardwood floor. A whine sounded from the bedroom door, followed by barking. Fernanda froze as a male voice called to the dogs, and then the bedroom door opened and Oscar and Sammy came charging at her.

The pop of the silenced rounds sounded like firecrackers in the small space, and the two dogs cried out in pain. Neither of them made it to Fernanda, but she was already in motion as the fisherman backed away, the horrified expression on his face still visible in the darkness.

“Stop right there or I shoot,” she said, weapon trained on him as she neared.

“Honey? Luis?” a female voice called from behind him in the bedroom.

“Stay in there,” Luis said.

Fernanda shook her head. “No. I want everyone where I can see them. Tell her to come out. With empty hands, or you’re both dead.”

“Carlita, did you hear that? Come out into the living room. Now.”

“Why? What’s going on?” Carlita protested, her voice worried.

“Just do it. The police are here.”

“Police?” Fernanda heard the bed squeak and bare feet pad on the wooden floor.

“That’s right. Come on out. You too, Luis,” Fernanda said, motioning with the gun.

They did as she instructed, and Jaime hit the light switch. A single lamp illuminated the room, and Carlita cried out when she saw the dead forms of her two dogs bleeding on the living room floor. Fernanda pointed her weapon at Carlita. “Shut up. Now, or I’ll pop you to keep you quiet.”

Carlita clenched her hand over her mouth as she cried over her beloved pets senselessly slain before her. Luis glared with hate at Fernanda. “You aren’t police.”

“Good guess, genius. Now both of you sit down on that sofa.”

“What do you want?”

A child began crying from the bedroom. Jaime walked to the door and, after glancing inside, pulled it shut. Fernanda held her pistol with casual ease as the fisherman and his wife took seats.

When she spoke, her voice was flat and her eyes dead. “What I want are answers. Not the lies you told this afternoon. And I’ll warn you – if you don’t answer honestly, your children will grow up without parents. Assuming I decide to let them live.” She allowed that to sink in before continuing. “These are very high stakes, so don’t blow it. Tell me the truth, and you’ll survive the night. Lie to me, even once, and I kill your wife. Lie to me again, I’ll kill one of your children. Lie to me a third time, I’ll kill the other one, like I did your dogs. Do you understand?”

“What kind of monster are you?” Carlita whispered, tears in her eyes.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Now, Luis, first question. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do. Where did the gringo and the little girl go when they left here?”

A frightened look crossed the fisherman’s face. “I…I don’t know,” he stammered, fear in his eyes. Fernanda decided that might be true – he obviously believed that she would kill his wife if he lied. She reframed her demand.

“Tell me everything you know about them. How they left. Leave anything out, and you know what happens,” Fernanda said, her voice menacing.

Carlita spoke before Luis could. “They got a ride with the man who buys chickens from us.”

Fernanda smiled humorlessly. “Very good. Where were they going?”

“We really don’t know. I don’t think the man had any firm destination in mind. He just wanted to get out of here,” Carlita said.

“Why?”

“To avoid the police. He said he didn’t enter the country legally, and he was afraid he’d get into trouble.”

Fernanda questioned them for another five minutes but learned nothing more. When she’d exhausted her questions, she paced slowly in front of them, pistol held by her side. If she killed them, there would be an investigation, and even if Jaime ran interference for her and it ultimately went nowhere, it would no doubt cost more to do so and might cause further problems. She stopped in front of Carlita, sensing that she was the backbone of the little family, and pointed the pistol at the center of her forehead.

“Do you love your babies?” she asked softly.

Carlita’s eyes widened and she gasped. “Of course,” she whispered.

“If either of you ever talk about tonight, I’ll return and kill you without hesitation. I’ll kill you” – she glared at Carlita, then moved the pistol to Luis – “and you, and then I’ll take your children and sell them in Bogotá. They’ll live their short lives as sex toys for AIDS-infected perverts. Do you want that for them?” she asked, conversationally.

They both shook their heads in terror.

“Do I need to kill him to prove I’m serious?” Fernanda asked, gun still on Luis.

Carlita wiped tears from her face. “No. Please. I believe you. We’ll never say anything.”

A thought occurred to Fernanda. She gave Luis a hard stare. “Do you have a cell phone?”

He swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“Did the man use it?”

Luis glanced at the table. “Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“Charging in the bedroom.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What about a weapon? Do you have one in the house? A machete? A gun?”

His face twitched. “A shotgun. In the bedroom.”

“Then you probably don’t want to go near it. Let’s go get your phone.”

Luis stood and Fernanda followed him into the bedroom. The two infants were both mewling, obviously frightened by the strange people in the house in the middle of the night. Luis went to a dresser and slowly lifted the phone so Fernanda could see he wasn’t trying anything funny, and then returned to the living room, giving her a wide berth.

He sat next to Carlita and handed Fernanda the phone. She took it and scrolled through the log. “Did you phone anyone after he made his call?”

“No. He made two. They should be the newest on the list.”

“Good. I’m taking your phone. I trust that won’t be a problem.” Fernanda regarded the dead dogs lying in a coagulating pool of blood. “You should clean that up before your kids see it,” she said, motioning with the gun again. “Remember what I said. You tell anyone about tonight, ever, and I’ll kill you both. Don’t be stupid.”

Jaime spoke for the first time. “I’d shoot them anyway. Just to be safe.”

Fernanda considered it and then locked eyes with Carlita. “No, I don’t think that will be necessary. She knows I’m serious. Don’t you?”

Carlita nodded, her lower lip trembling, tears streaming down her face.

Satisfied that the fisherman and his wife would stay mute about their visit, Fernanda pressed redial and held the phone to her ear, unable to control the impulse while understanding its futility. The call went to voice mail and she hung up. She’d give her Panamanian contact the information and see if he could triangulate the phone – but she understood that wouldn’t work if there were no cell towers around. Still, she figured it was worth a shot, and she slipped the phone into her pocket.

Fernanda exchanged a glance with Jaime and moved to the front door. Jaime trailed her and they stepped over the threshold and into the faint moonlight. His two gunmen joined them when they heard the front door close, and together they moved back down the road, leaving the sad hovel behind them with a crying woman trying to get bloodstains off the wood in between vomiting sour bile into the toilet as her husband sat, numb, staring at nothing, deaf to their children’s wails.

Chapter 33

Jet rocked on the bunk. The swell size had increased as the night passed, and she’d slept fitfully between bouts of restlessness as the engine droned its monotone lullaby. After four hours of uneasy slumber, she rose and climbed the ladder to the pilothouse, where Juan Diego was at the wheel, a pint bottle of seco at his side, still half full. She glanced back at the deck and spotted the two crewmen lying on blankets in the warm air, no worse for sleeping outdoors.

Juan Diego caught her eyeing the bottle and frowned. “Don’t worry. That’s just to take the edge off. I’m sober as a judge.”

“As long as you don’t hit anything and get me to Colombia, you’re an adult and I’m not your mom.”

“A most sensible attitude,” he said, and took a short swig to acknowledge her wisdom.

She watched the radar for a few minutes, noting a stippling of glowing blips on the screen. “Fishing boats?” she asked.