ESCAPE FROM AMBERGRIS CAYE (11 page)

Jackson was glad his brother was
gone. It relieved him of having to demand he leave. He’d no doubt go back home
and resume sponging off their mother. It was unfortunate, but he’d done what he
could and it hadn’t worked out. At least she’d had a little over a week of
peace without him and that was something.

He sighed and locked the door
behind him. Today would be another day of worrying about what happened to Izzie
and dealing with a clueless intern. Oh what a glamorous life he led.

Jackson chuckled as he recalled the
looks on people’s faces whenever he told them what he did for a living. A TV
news cameraman? Or even better, when he used the word “photojournalist” he might
as well have said he was an astronaut. They wanted to hear all about it and
seemed surprised to learn all the education and training it took.

He was tired. The whole Zac-Izzie
thing wore on him. God, what he’d give to go back in time a few weeks before
Dad died, when Izzie was just his annoying reporter. If only he hadn’t noticed
the girl on the balcony. That’s what really started it all. If he could manage
to control his over-active imagination maybe he wouldn’t keep getting into
these god-awful situations. Sure, and he might as well take an axe to his brain
’cause
that what it’d take for him to stop.

As the day wore on, Jackson went
about his assignments with the enthusiasm of a robot. Even his intern noticed.
“So, Jackson, you have a fight with your girlfriend?”

“I don’t have one of those.”
Jackson’s response was curt to the point of being rude, but really, he hardly
knew the girl. What business of it was hers to ask a question like that?

“I didn’t mean to pry, it’s just
that it seems like something’s bothering you. If you want to talk about it, I’m
a good listener.”

Jackson realized the intern meant
well and hadn’t deserved his brusque treatment of her. “I’m sorry. I just have
a lot on my mind.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

Jackson shrugged. The girl was
persistent, he’d give her that. They were on their way back to the station to
edit footage. It was mostly VOSOTs, but that’s probably what he’d be doing till
they hired a reporter to replace Izzie.

The thought of Izzie renewed the
twin pain of fear and regret he felt at her ongoing absence. By now she’d been
gone a little over a week. With no word as to her whereabouts, it was like
she’d simply dropped off the face of the earth.

And the fight with his brother, how
had that happened? The same way so many fights with Zac had over the years. He
didn’t even remember who it started. Something set him off and he’d stalked out
of the apartment. When he came back, that’s when they’d nearly come to blows
over, oh yeah, Zac dropping the bomb that he was adopted.

The intern stared at him.

“Uh, no, it’s nothing. I’m just
tired that’s all.” He gave her a weak smile and pulled into the parking lot.

Later at home, Jackson got to
thinking. Maybe he should check to make sure Zac made it home or at least warn
Mom he was on the way. He dreaded making the call. What if he ended up asking
her about being adopted? The wound was still too fresh for him to be able to
handle the subject in casual conversation: Oh, yeah, Mom, when were you going
to tell me I’m not really part of the Taylor family? Didn’t you think maybe I
had a right to know?

Threads of anger shot through his
body; his sore shoulder tensed up. Without thinking he massaged it, trying to
ease the pain. It helped, but not much. Maybe he’d put off calling for the time
being. He flicked on the TV, grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled back on
the sofa. It was good to have the place to himself again.

Wow, that
was easy. Zac put his feet on the bed, leaned back and reflected on the
morning's accomplishment. He'd anticipated encountering resistance to his
suggestion that Leon make him part of the operation. It was almost too easy.
Was the man really that gullible? Or was he playing the lonely
ol
’ boy routine in order to find out what Zac was up to?

He’d have
to be careful; his life may depend on it. It was a good thing he'd baited
Jackson like that. At the time he'd felt guilty, but now he realized it’d been
the right thing to do. Jackson was so angry he wouldn't give a damn whether Zac
went back to Iowa or not so long as he didn't show his face at the apartment.
And that was good for them both.  It’d keep Jackson away from Leon’s house
and prevent him from giving Zac away. He took a deep drag on his cigarette. But
if it was so good, why did he feel like crap?

He
glanced around the shabby room. It was barely more than a good-sized walk-in
closet. The bed and dresser occupied the lion’s share of the space. He stood
and looked out the grimy window to the scrubby front yard and street below. He
remembered the decorative security bars from when he first saw the house. It
gave him the creeps. While he was free to come and go, the former occupants of
this room were not. Sweeping the windowsill with his finger, some kind of
indentations drew his attention. Bending down to take a closer look, he
realized graffiti was scratched into the woodwork. With great difficulty he
made out what seemed to be part of a name: “HEST…, followed by numbers: 5633597
… He couldn’t make out all of them.

Getting
out his wallet, he jotted down the information. Maybe Detective Anders could
decipher it. He’d have to figure out a way to report in without getting caught.

How long
would he be able to act as though he believed the bullshit about it being an
import business? He’d had a hard time keeping a straight face when Leon said
that. It would've felt good to smash the asshole right in the face and make him
admit he was not only
not
providing a "service", but forcing
unsuspecting women and children into slavery. The very word made him shudder.

For a few
minutes, Zac wavered, wondering what he’d gotten himself into and how—or if—he
would manage to get out alive. Guilt seeped inside him on a number of levels:
He regretted the shabby way he’d treated his family over the years—especially
Jackson, who only ever wanted a big brother he could look up to; he felt
remorse for never having made anything of his life; and now he began to wonder
about the whole Leon business. It was probably the only unselfish thing he’d
ever done and, as he sat back down on the uncomfortable bed in the tiny room,
he began to try and conjure up ways to get out of this mess.

He could
tell Leon he’d changed his mind, that his mother was sick and needed him. Yeah,
that’d go over big; especially since the man practically admitted he was a
criminal and more or less threatened him with serious bodily harm if he ever
crossed him. Well, he hadn’t come right out and said as much, but Zac assumed
that’s what he meant. Or he could simply leave without telling the miserable
bastard anything; maybe go back to Jackson’s place and apologize. After the
things he’d said though, he very much doubted that was an option. But Jackson
tended to be softhearted and had that live- and let-live philosophy going for
him, so maybe he
would
take him back, who knew?

Then Zac
thought about Izzie. Jackson had shown him a photograph of the young woman in
an unguarded moment. She was a real looker in a vulnerable sort of way. He
obviously cared about her, probably more than he even realized.

She
must’ve gotten in over her head with Leon. Whatever it was, she must’ve paid a
very high price for it. Realizing he’d just referred to Izzie in the past
tense, he corrected himself. She was probably alive. He just didn’t know if
they would find her in time—or what would be left of her when they did.

The
little Zac knew of Leon told him the man had a mean streak and could be vicious
if crossed. Maybe he’d discovered Izzie was stringing him along, doing her
“investigative reporter” thing. According to Jackson, she was almost obsessed
with breaking a big story so it’d end up on the networks and make her famous.
He said being an anchor on one of the major news shows was her dream and that
she was determined to make it happen.

If that was
the case, and Jackson, who had worked with her for nearly a year, would surely
know—then he was probably right—she was in serious trouble.

The
question confronting Zac was whether she was worth risking
his
life for.
Maybe she was, maybe not—but he knew one thing for damned sure: Jackson was
willing to stick his neck out to save her, and that being the case maybe it was
time he stepped up. Regardless how things turned out: whether Izzie was dead or
alive, whether he managed to rescue her from some trafficker or died trying, at
least he will have done something worthwhile for a change.

Having
made what was the biggest decision of his life and hoping it wouldn’t turn out
to be fatal, Zac stretched, got up and went downstairs to see if Leon wanted to
go out for a Cuban.

Jackson’s
hand hovered over his cellphone. He needed to find out if Zac had gone home but
wanted to neither disturb his mother’s newfound peace nor speak to his brother.
He was still angry and hurt by what had transpired. The more he thought about
it, the more baffled he became.

He
couldn’t recall having done anything to set Zac off like that. Maybe it was
Jackson’s surprised expression when he’d announced his plans to work with the
police that did it.

Jackson
tapped his mouth as he realized that must have been it. Zac always could read
him and must’ve become offended when he saw Jackson’s astonishment at his
generosity. It was a momentary flash of doubt, but obviously long enough for
Zac to have seen it.

No wonder
he was upset. Here he’d arranged to work with the police at his peril to locate
a woman he’d never met and cared nothing about and how was his decision
received by the one person who should’ve been thrilled? By skepticism, that’s
how. He must’ve felt insulted, maybe even humiliated.

As he
slowly worked out the reason for Zac’s sudden explosion, Jackson realized it
was all his fault. But then there was the thing about him being adopted.
What
was that all about? Was it even true?
Had Zac, in his drunken stupor, made it
up out of spite—or had the alcohol lowered his inhibitions to the point of
revealing a secret he’d kept far too long?

Jackson
shrugged. There was no way to find out without confronting his brother, his
mother—or them both. And right now locating Zac was uppermost in his mind. The
adoption thing would have to wait.

He
pressed number “one: on his speed dial and listened: It rang once, twice, three
times. At the fourth, he was about to hang up when his dead father’s voice came
over the wire: “You’ve reached the Taylor residence. We’re not available to
answer your call…”

Jackson
was so startled he dropped the phone. The recording continued while he picked
it up and then snapped it closed. He felt sick with grief. Even in death the
old man had managed to insert himself into his affairs. Brushing away several
tears that overran his eyelids, Jackson realized for the first time how sorely
he missed and loved his father in spite of his monumental failings.

His mother must be out with
friends—or maybe she’d gone to the airport to pick up Zac. He’d call back
later. Maybe by then Jackson would be in a better frame of mind and willing to
let bygones be bygones.

Furtively looking around to make
certain his new “roomy” hadn’t come downstairs, Leon headed down the hall
toward the back of the house, where a built-in bookcase took up part of the
wall. He pressed a hidden latch, then pulled causing it to rotate forward,
revealing a staircase which descended into a bunker. Designed to keep the
home’s original occupants safe in case of a nuclear attack or a violent
hurricane, it was perfect for Leon’s purpose.

The bottom of the stairs melted
into a space around twelve feet wide by twenty feet long. It smelled musty, but
the product was generally only held there a short time. He looked around. There
were several beds, a table with two chairs and a bookshelf. Product down there
no doubt got bored, but the way he looked at it, that was the least of their
problems.   

He noticed mice droppings in the
corner. He’d sprinkle some D-Con around later. He glanced at the bucket they
used to do their business. Damn, using this room would be like having to
remember to let Tiny out. It was easier before he took Zac in.

Other than the product coming and
departing, he’d always been alone in the house, so he’d only used the bunker to
discipline rebellious ones. It was amazing how fast their attitudes changed
after a few hours in the “hole”.

Leon sighed. Better get upstairs;
don’t want his “trainee” to discover the secret room. For now, he’d be limited
to contact with the “imports”. They couldn’t speak English and had no idea what
was happening. He’d tell him about the “domestic” product later—after he was
sure the man was onboard and could be trusted.

He chuckled. If this worked out,
life would be a whole lot easier. Zac could do the stuff he was tired of
doing—which was most everything. To keep him happy, he’d even throw a few bucks
his way. The guy wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. He obviously had no
idea how lucrative this business could be.

He’d just made it up the stairs and
closed the bookcase when Zac appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Leon, I’m starving.
Wanna
go get a Cuban?”