Survival (19 page)

She completed her tour of the fort within a half hour and planted herself below the heavy branches of an ancient tree, where the cool wind from the water blew through her hair and provided a slight relief. An old man pushed a handcart nearby, an ice box on wheels with a hand-painted illustration of a snowcapped mountain, and sporadically rang a bell to alert customers that the Popsicle man had arrived.

Jet waved him over and, after perusing his selection, decided on mango with chili powder as her breakfast flavor. She paid and watched him continue on his route, which he’d probably been doing his entire life, and would continue to do until he died. Unlike more developed countries, Latin America had no social safety net, no nanny state to support the fallen or the aged, and you either worked or starved. When you got too old or too sick, it was the obligation of the family to care for you. It had been like that for centuries, and nobody expected anything different.

The frozen confection was oddly delicious, the combination of fruit and heat from the chili unexpected. She considered getting up and going in search of the vendor for another, but opted to conserve her energy as the sun climbed high in the cobalt sky.

An inflatable tender with a grizzled sailboater accompanied by a golden retriever putted from a vessel that looked like it had circumnavigated the world, and she watched as it made its way to a small dock that floated off to the side of the fort. She more than understood the fantasy of taking a boat to nowhere, spending each day without a care other than what fish could be caught or where to navigate to before nightfall, but that wasn’t for her, even if she entertained the vision of herself, Matt, and Hannah, hair tousled by an ocean breeze, standing on the deck of a schooner as they sailed to Polynesia.

A wave of melancholy washed over her as she regarded the boats tugging at their anchor lines like restless dogs on too-short leashes. Somewhere on the other side of the inhospitable jungle that was Panama’s southern border were the man and little girl she loved, who made everything worth doing and validated her continuing struggle. It wasn’t like her to wallow in self-pity, but the last months had been the hardest of her life, and occasionally, in quiet moments like this, her introspection turned maudlin and she just wanted to cry.

Jet shook off the unusual emotional turbulence and closed her eyes, still tired after a restless six hours of sleep. A high-pitched squeal sounded from her left, and she opened them and glanced over at the source – a little girl about Hannah’s age, wobbly brown legs running as fast as they could carry her, chasing after some unlucky seagulls that had been congregating near an inoperative mineral-encrusted fountain.

Behind her, a young mother, her glowing face full of life, walked in the sun, watching her progeny celebrate freedom as only the young can. Jet felt an envious tug at her heart at the sight. That should have been her. She’d bowed out of the covert life, paid her dues, disappeared. That a seemingly endless stream of miscreants was hell-bent on exterminating her was…so damned unfair.

She took several deep breaths and forced her thoughts back to the present. Railing at the world because it was failing to live up to expectations did no good. If she was ever going to see her daughter again, she needed to get to Colombia, not throw a pity party for herself in some equatorial dung hole.

The hard self-talk always worked, and in a few minutes she was back, focused and ready to deal with the problem at hand. If Juan Diego didn’t get in touch with her, she needed to find another smuggler. A place like Portobelo probably had more than one. She’d just have to apply herself, start over, and keep at it until she was successful. Like any other problem, this was solvable.

And she would solve it. Because the rest of her life – and her daughter’s – depended on it.

At noon she pushed herself to her feet and retraced her steps to the bed and breakfast, hot and drained by the emotional storm that had blown through her like a whirlwind. When she entered, the clerk glanced up at her like he’d never seen her before, and she wondered to herself what he was on. Probably marijuana, judging by his red eyes and the vague sour stench clinging to his clothes. She approached and, keeping her tone neutral, asked him if there was a message for her.

He repeated the process from earlier and seemed surprised when he held up a small note with a sloppy scrawl on one side.

“Guy came by maybe five minutes ago and left this. Didn’t say who it was for, though.”

“Do you have a lot of guests today?”

The question stopped him as he processed the ramifications. He turned and looked at the series of cubbyholes, all of which had keys in them except her room number, and turned back to her and sheepishly handed her the note with a mumbled apology.

She read it quickly. Juan Diego had graduated from a school of prose that valued brevity. There were only five words. “Fort dock, nine. Bring cash.”

Jet looked at the clerk. “I’ll keep the room for another night,” she said, digging in her pocket. He took her money, made a note on an empty ledger, and then turned his attention back to her.

“Anything else?”

“Breakfast was delicious.”

She left the dullard staring at her as she mounted the stairs to her room, warmed by the puzzled expression on his face more than she should have been. But today was a day of small triumphs, and she resigned herself to taking what pleasure she could.

If she managed to find a lunch spot and not get poisoned, that would be another victory, she thought as she entered her room, which was the temperature of an oven. Jet turned on the fan and lay down on the bed, the stream of air from the window as hot as a hair dryer, and steeled herself for a long day of waiting. She closed her eyes and, as she drifted off, regretted not getting the second Popsicle.

Chapter 29

Antonio Salguero, Colombia

By the time Matt and Hannah made it out of their bedroom, morning was long gone and it was coming up on lunchtime. Carlita was in the kitchen, and the dogs dozed by the dining room table, the children on the floor next to them. Hannah joined them in their simple play, and Matt approached Carlita.

“Good morning,” he said.

“More like afternoon,” Carlita corrected with a smirk. “Would you like some coffee?”

“That would be wonderful.”

She poured a mug full to the brim with the steaming brew and handed it to him. He took a sip and nodded appreciatively. “Thanks.”

“It’s we who should be thanking you. Luis told me what you did last night.”

Matt shrugged. “It was no big deal. I’m sure he would have done the same for me.”

“Well, you’re wrong that it’s not a big deal. Pedro is as mean as a snake and twice as treacherous. You’re not safe in town now. He has a few friends, all lowlifes, and if they get you alone…”

“I can take care of myself.”

“That’s obvious. But it’s hard to defend against a bullet or a knife in the back.”

“You really think he’d go that far now that he’s sobered up?”

“I don’t trust him. He’s a petty, cruel man. He beats up women, too. Everyone in town knows it.”

Matt watched Hannah playing with the boys and took another sip of coffee. “Where’s Luis?”

“He had to run some errands. He should be back soon for lunch.”

“I imagine his head hurts.”

She sighed. “Yes, it does. He’s a good man, but he likes to drink, and sometimes…well, nobody’s perfect, right?”

“Nobody I’ve met, anyway,” Matt agreed.

Twenty minutes later Luis pushed through the door, out of breath. He saw Matt and removed his straw hat. “Oh, good. You’re up. I have bad news. Pedro went to the police about you this morning. Said you jumped him.”

“He can say anything he wants. I have witnesses, like you, who can vouch for me.”

“That’s not the problem. If you’re trying to lie low and evade immigration, having the police take you into custody probably isn’t a good way to do it.”

Matt sighed. Without adequate caffeine, his brain wasn’t processing as quickly as normal. “You’re right, of course.”

“Rumor is that they’re coming for you later. Everyone is talking about it. Pedro has a big mouth, and he’s been telling everyone who will listen that you’re going to jail.”

Matt eyed Luis with a frown. “Well, this little slice of paradise didn’t last long.”

“I’m sorry I got you into this.”

“You didn’t. I put myself into it.”

Carlita stood silently, a pensive expression on her face as she stirred something on the stove. She put the wooden spoon down and fixed Matt with a frank gaze. “You need to get out of here.”

“And fast,” Luis agreed.

Matt eyed them both. “How? If the police are going to be watching for me…” He paused, thinking. “Do you know anyone with a car?”

Luis shook his head. “Nobody I’d trust to keep his mouth shut. This is a small town where nothing ever happens. Most people would know the exact time you left, and half would throw you a parade for putting Pedro in his place.”

“Then what? Hannah’s in no shape to walk.”

Carlita snapped her fingers and looked to Luis. “Armando is coming today to buy some chickens.” She leveled a thoughtful stare at Matt. “Maybe for the right amount he’d give you a lift?”

Luis nodded. “That could work, as long as you’re gone before the police arrive. They probably won’t be stopping cars over a drunken fight.”

“How well do you know this Armando?” Matt asked.

“He’s been a regular customer for four years. A nice young man. Polite. From a good family,” Carlita said. Matt hoped that good manners would be enough to keep the chicken merchant from selling him out.

Matt asked. “Where’s he based out of?”

“Santuario, southeast of Medellín a few kilometers. It’s a beautiful hill town. He distributes to a bunch of restaurants around there,” Carlita explained.

“How far is it from here?”

Luis looked at Carlita. “Maybe…a hundred and sixty kilometers?”

Matt did the math in his head – a hundred miles. That would be more than enough distance to avoid a run-in with the local gendarmes.

“When will he arrive?” Matt asked.

“Should be any time. No more than another half hour.”

“Good. That will give me time to pack and get Hannah ready. Do you really think he might do this?”

Carlita blushed and turned away from Luis. “He’s always very nice with me. I think I could convince him. For the right amount of money, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Well, you’ll need full stomachs if you’re going to travel. I’ve got lunch ready,” Carlita said.

They sat down to eat, and Carlita served large helpings of a chicken dish, like a curry, spicy and thick, ladled over rice and beans, all washed down with a fruit concoction that left a red mustache on Hannah’s face. When they finished eating, Luis took up watch out on the front porch while Matt packed. Shortly after he was done with the bags, Luis called to him.

“His truck’s coming.”

Carlita went out to meet Armando while Luis made himself scarce, rounding up the kids and taking them into the bedroom. The big flatbed truck stopped in front of the house, and after several minutes pulled around to the back where the pens of chickens were kept. Hannah hummed to herself in the bathroom as she tried to brush her own hair, and Matt busied himself with helping her while he waited for the chicken merchant’s verdict.

When Carlita came back inside, she spoke in a low voice. Outside, the truck started up and pulled off. “It will cost fifty dollars. He’ll wait for you just outside of town so nobody sees him pick you up. Luis?”

Luis stuck his head out of the bedroom. “Yes?”

“You need to take them to the bend in the road outside of town. Show them the trails. Be quick about it – there’s no telling when the police will be here.”

Luis sighed. “Let me put my boots on.”

Carlita moved to Matt and hugged him as they waited for Luis, pressing just a little too close and lingering a few moments too long for a polite goodbye, and then embraced Hannah. “Take care of your daddy, young lady,” she whispered, and Hannah nodded agreement, her eyes serious.

The gray sky opened up just before they got underway, drizzling a warm rain as Luis led Matt and Hannah into the jungle. After a half hour slogging along the winding game trails, they arrived at the bend in the road where Armando’s truck was parked on the shoulder of the muddy strip. The penned chickens on the back were soaked, as were Matt and Hannah.

Luis made introductions and then turned to Matt and shook his hand. “Thanks for everything. Safe travels. And again, I appreciate what you did for me last night.”

“What will you tell the police when they come?”

“That you slipped away after Pedro pulled a knife on you. That you were afraid for your life.”

“It’s a shame some of your neighbors saw me arrive in town with Hannah. That will make us easier to identify if they put out a bulletin or something.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Our police are lazy. They’ll come to the house, ask some questions, and leave, the matter forgotten once I tell them Pedro attacked you and you defended yourself. He’s got a reputation as a liar, so they’ll take my word over his.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am.”

Armando stowed their bags behind the bench seat of the thirty-year-old Dodge truck and then helped Hannah aboard. He was handsome in a brooding Colombian way, and Matt couldn’t help but wonder whether the chicken merchant’s purported attraction to Carlita wasn’t reciprocated at least somewhat.

Armando wasn’t loquacious, preferring the radio and Latin pop songs over small talk, and soon they were bumping along the road toward the highway, music battling for dominance with the groan of the old motor and the whine of the transmission. As they pulled onto the narrow two-lane strip of blacktop, they saw a police car a hundred yards ahead, parked on the shoulder. Matt ducked below the dash and pulled Hannah lower so only Armando’s head was visible from ground level, the truck riding high. One of the two portly officers waved at Armando and walked out to meet him as he slowed to a stop.