JET - Escape: (Volume 9) (10 page)

“Hello?”

“This is Victoria.”

“About time. I thought you’d call yesterday evening,” he chided.

“I got tied up.”

He paused for a beat. “I checked around. If you can get from Venezuela to Cuba, I can have new documentation for all three of you.”

“What about some help traveling from Venezuela?”

“No love there. Five years ago I could have easily arranged it, but all my contacts have dried up, and nobody reliable is operating out of there because of the political situation. All the reputable smugglers avoid it like the plague. Too much risk of the military stepping in and grabbing your cargo. So I’m afraid you’ll have to find your own way. Shouldn’t be too bad if you’re on the ground there. Same as anywhere. Find the crooks, cut a deal, watch your ass. Few people are trying to sneak into Cuba, so that part should be a piece of cake. Everyone’s trying to get out, not in.”

“You have anyone who can convert diamonds into cash?”

“What kind of weight are we talking?”

“Enough to pay you.”

“I should be able to handle that. But I have a guy who knows stones like his children’s smiles, so they have to be worth what you say, or no deal.”

“No problem there.”

“Then come to Cuba and we’ll do some business.” Carl paused. “You sure you need all three of you papered? The Victor I know would have…other options.”

“We want a coherent set of docs. It’s tough crossing international borders with a kid if everyone’s got a different last name.”

“Ah. Good point. I didn’t think of that.” Carl hesitated. “Where are you now?”

“En route,” Jet said, unwilling to divulge any further information. “I’ll contact you once we have transportation to your lovely island.”

“I’ll be standing by. Nothing gets started until I see money. No offense, but a lot can happen en route, and I don’t front for anyone. Even Victor.”

“I understand. Once we get there, how long to get the documents?”

“Figure two full days. We need to take photos, and then it’s all just a matter of walking it through. Hope you have no problem being Cuban. The passport department will issue genuine documents that will hold up under scrutiny. They’re a hundred percent legit.”

“I love Cuba.
Viva
Castro.”

“I was hoping you’d feel that way.”

“Excellent. I’ll touch base once we’re in Cuba.”

Jet hung up and paid the overage for the call to the clerk, and then asked about jewelry stores. The woman behind the counter thought for a moment and recommended a shop four blocks away.

“Very expensive, but good quality, and sometimes they have a bargain,” the woman said. “My uncle owns it. His name’s Cruz. Tell him Maribela sent you, and he’ll treat you right.”

“Thanks.”

Jet pushed through the double doors back out onto the street and, after surveying her surroundings and touching the pouch containing the diamonds, suspended on a leather lanyard around her neck, began the trek to where she hoped she could sell the smallest stone – a two-carat flawless emerald cut that would bring tens of thousands on the international market, and which she’d already resigned herself to bringing a fraction of its true value in Colombia.

Chapter 15

Cúcuta, Colombia

Fernanda stepped from the helicopter onto the tarmac of Camilo Daza International Airport and Ramón followed her, both ducking instinctively as the rotor blades beat the air overhead. They made their way to a late model green Jeep Grand Cherokee at the side of the private aviation section and waited while the copilot removed a black nylon rucksack from the helicopter cargo hold and carried it over. A short, heavily muscled man in a blue polo shirt and tan slacks stood by the car, holding the keys. Ramón, a baseball cap and sunglasses in place, shook hands and climbed behind the wheel as the copilot loaded the bag into the rear of the SUV.

Fernanda slid into the passenger seat, and then they were underway, pulling out of the airport and onto the frontage road. Ramón was visibly nervous, eyes darting to the mirrors and the surrounding cars. He’d reminded her several times on the flight that this was enemy territory, and that he, while not exactly a cinema star, was known to Mosises’ rivals. If he were recognized, he would be gunned down without hesitation, just as any of the local cartel’s men would be if they strayed onto Mosises’ turf.

“Where is this hotel?” she asked.

“In the town center.”

“How far from the border is it?”

“Maybe ten minutes. It’s been forever since I was here. The town’s grown a lot since the last time, so it could take longer with traffic.”

“There’s nothing closer?”

“Not really. It’s only low-income housing as you near the border. Short of sitting in a car at the river that separates the two countries, this is about as close as you can get.”

“That’s too far.”

“If they try to get across, the guards will stop them. And I have a couple of local men watching the bridge and the trucks going across.” He slowed as they neared an intersection. “Don’t worry. We’ll have time to get there.”

“I wish I had a dollar for every time someone told me not to worry and it turned out to be wrong.” She paused. “And this hotel is secure?”

“It should be. You’re in no danger.” He scowled at his reflection in the mirror. “It’s me that has to worry.”

“I’m with you, so that’s not particularly reassuring.”

“We’ll check in separately.”

As they entered the center of town, she was surprised at the amount of new construction underway – multilevel residential blocks, shopping malls, single-family houses. The hotel was a different story. The exterior looked like it dated from the fifties, and she lifted a skeptical eyebrow at Ramón. He seemed to sense her misgivings and gave her a tight smile.

“Don’t worry. I’ve been told it’s comfortable.”

“Great.” She eyed him. “Explain to me why they can’t cross the border river in a boat, and why you’re so certain it will have to be the bridge?”

Ramón laughed. “That river isn’t deep enough to cross on a boat.”

“Then what’s to keep people from doing it on foot?”

“Armed patrols.”

“On both sides?”

Ramón looked less sure. “I know they patrol it on the Colombian side, and Venezuela’s sensitive about cocaine making it across, so I’d guess the same holds true there. It would be foolish to risk it.”

“Desperate people do foolish things.”

“But why would they be desperate? If I were them, I’d feel like I was in the clear now.”

“They aren’t stupid. They have no idea who’s after them or why. They can’t know the scope of your organization. After the shoot-out at the monastery, they had to assume that everyone’s an enemy, especially anyone in uniform, and that they’re being actively hunted by the authorities.” She cut the discussion short and opened her door. “I’ll go check into my room.”

The desk clerk was a young man in his twenties who seemed uninterested in Fernanda beyond her money. He slid a key across the reception counter and offered to have someone help her with her bag, which she declined. She’d asked for a room at the far end of the hotel, on the second story, and mounted the stairs cautiously.

In the room, she unzipped the duffle bag and considered the weapons inside. The sniper rifle she’d stashed near the monastery gleamed with a new sheen of oil – one of Ramón’s men had retrieved it and cleaned it for her. She nudged it aside and found a pistol with three full magazines. Beneath it were suppressors for both weapons. At the bottom of the bag were half a dozen fragmentation grenades, night vision goggles, and the largest items: two LAW rockets in launching tubes.

She smiled as she patted the rockets. Overkill, as Ramón had remarked, perhaps; but she was through taking the surgical approach. If the woman made a run for it and tried to get over the bridge in a vehicle, one of the rockets would take out even a large truck and leave a smoking crater in its wake.

Part of her regretted that she hadn’t thought to have Jaime secure one when they’d been watching the monastery cable car – if she’d hit it with a rocket, the woman would now be shish kabob, and Fernanda would be asleep in her bed in Rio, not operating on the two hours of sleep she’d managed to sneak on the helicopter.

Her cell phone rang a few minutes later, and she stared at it in a trance for a few seconds before answering.

“Hello?”

“It’s Ramón. We got a call. They’ve been seen at a children’s medical clinic in town. They’re there right now.”

Fernanda’s pulse quickened. “What?”

“But there’s a problem.”

“What is it?”

“It’s down the block from a police station. One of the cops spotted them going into the clinic.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish. What do you want to do? The cop said he’d keep an eye on the place, but he can’t stay there watching the doors indefinitely, or his superiors will be suspicious. Apparently he didn’t share his find with them. He wants the reward all to himself.”

“Describe the clinic.”

“I told you. It’s a children’s clinic – I don’t know anything about it beyond that, but it can’t be all that large.”

Fernanda forced herself to remain calm. “Where is it? Do you have an address?”

“Oh. Right. It’s about five minutes away. And yes, I do.” He gave her the address.

“Hang on. I’m going to pull it up on satellite and see what the layout’s like.” She muted the call and punched the coordinates into her phone. An image popped up and she zoomed in. When she returned to the call, she was smiling. “I know how we’re going to take them out.”

“With the police right there?”

“Yes.” She told him what she was thinking, and when she finished, he was silent. She waited, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“Are you serious?”

“Do I sound like I’m making a joke? Are you driving, or should I get a cab?” She paused. “How do we know they’re still there?”

“The cop said he’d call if they leave.”

“Then we’re down to the wire. Let’s do this.”

“I…this will have every soldier and policeman in the country looking for us after you’re done.”

“Tell someone who cares. Now come on. I’ve got work to do.”

Chapter 16

The jewelry store security buzzer sounded, and Jet pushed the door open and entered the cool showroom. Chilled air tickled her skin as she walked across the marble floor to where two women about her age were waiting at the far end of the room. A security guard sat on a stool near the door, his revolver prominently jutting from his belt. The women stood behind brightly lit display cases, their hair and makeup impeccable. One of them took in Jet’s clothes and offered a cold smile.

“Yes. May I help you?” the woman asked.

“I’m looking for Cruz.”

“Mmm, yes. And what may I tell him it’s regarding?”

“I want to sell a diamond.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We don’t buy used jewelry.”

Jet met her gaze without expression. “That’s good to know if I ever want to sell any. Tell Cruz that Maribela sent me.”

The woman glanced at her companion. “I’m afraid he’s busy at the moment.”

Jet looked the woman up and down. “Look. I don’t have a lot of time, and I have an offer to make to the owner of this store. Unless I’m mistaken, you’re a salesperson, not the owner – which means you don’t get to decide who speaks with him or doesn’t. He does. So either tell Cruz that he has a customer, or you’ll be cleaning toilets at the bus station instead of standing in the AC once he learns what you did.”

Jet’s tone visibly shook the woman, and she muttered, “Let me see when he can meet with you,” before disappearing into the back. Jet studied the gems in the case, mostly emeralds with a few diamonds here and there, and looked up when the woman returned, accompanied by a slow-moving man in his sixties, his face blemished by liver spots, wisps of white hair combed over a tanned pate.

“You’re a friend of Maribela’s?” he asked.

“Yes. She said you would recognize a good opportunity when you saw one, and knew quality like nobody’s business.”

Cruz smiled, revealing a set of nicotine-stained teeth in receding gums. “What do you have?”

Jet gave the two women a pointed stare. “I’d rather discuss it in private.”

Cruz studied her face and nodded. “I suppose there’s no harm in that. You don’t look like you bite.” He motioned to her with a trembling hand. “This way.”

Jet followed him back to an office, and they sat down at his steel desk. She fished the diamond she’d selected from her pocket and placed it on a rectangle of green felt in the center of the desktop. Cruz expertly locked a pair of jeweler’s forceps on the stone in spite of his palsied fingers and moved it to a cheap microscope. He peered into it for a long time before setting the diamond down and looking up at Jet. “What do you want for it?”

“I know what wholesale is in New York or London.”

“Yes, well, then, go to New York or London and best of luck to you.”

“I figured we could use that as a starting point.”

Cruz sat back in his chair. “Let me tell you something about diamonds. They’re as common as flies. The only reason they have any value at all is because one family, De Beers, controls the entire market and trickles out stones at the rate of its choosing to maintain artificially high values. They’re bullshit,” he said softly.

“I know that. But regardless of how you or I feel about their intrinsic worth, the finer quality stones command a value that’s relatively fixed. Just as gold or the dollar or fine art have no real value beyond what humans assign to them, so too with these little bits of carbon.” She paused and tried a smile. “Since we both understand the fickle nature of the world, let’s talk turkey. Wholesale on it is at least twenty-five grand.”

“Like I said. We aren’t in New York.”

“No. We aren’t. So it has to be discounted. I understand. The question is how much.”

They haggled back and forth for five minutes, and when Jet left the shop, she had ten thousand dollars in her pocket. Less than the fifteen she’d hoped for, but she reminded herself that the loss was meaningless in the scheme of things – they needed money to buy their way to Cuba, nothing more, and ten thousand would more than cover that in a country like Venezuela, whose economy was a slow-motion train wreck with a population that treasured dollars.