The Water Rat of Wanchai (28 page)

She came back into the cabin. “I’ll get it in a minute. I have to go to the bathroom first.” She took her kitbag from under her seat and went to the washroom. On the way back she stopped in the galley, leaving on the counter two hundred-millilitre shampoo bottles filled with chloral hydrate.

Ava poured herself a modest shot of cognac, a Remy Martin VSOP, and then filled a quarter of a glass with Blue Label for Seto.

She walked back with the drinks and held the whisky to his lips. He slurped rather than sipped. “Give me a break with these cuffs,” he said.

“Too soon.”

“C’mon.”

“Look, I’m sorry it has to be this way. I can’t take any chances.”

She put the glass to his mouth again. The Scotch disappeared. “You want another?” she asked.

“Why not?”

In the galley she tipped half the contents of one shampoo bottle into the glass and then added the Scotch. The colour was all Scotch. She sniffed. The smell was all Scotch.

Seto was sitting up straight now. The liquor seemed to have revitalized him.

“Slow down,” she said. “I don’t want you falling-down drunk.”

“I can handle my booze,” he said.

He followed her advice anyway, and it took him about ten minutes to finish his drink.

She went into the galley and refilled his glass with more chloral hydrate and Scotch. When she brought the refill back into the cabin, he looked up at her a with stupid grin. His eyes were beginning to glaze over, and she realized that the second dose might not be necessary.
What the hell
, she thought.
Why waste it?
To her shock he managed to finish the entire glass before collapsing forward. Ava pushed him back against the seat. She figured he’d be out for at least five or six hours.

So far, so good
, Ava thought, looking down at the comatose Seto. Another hour and a half and they’d be on the ground, and she’d have Derek to help. Any worries about getting Seto through Customs and keeping him under control were starting to ebb, only to be replaced by anxiety about the next day and the bank. Regardless of how docile Seto was, she knew it was going to come down to Barrett’s and her ability to handle Jeremy Bates. She opened her notebook and took the bank files from her bag. The email she had sent in Seto’s name had established the framework for the meeting; now she just had to be calm, controlled, and credible. The problem was, she knew that wasn’t going to be enough. Somehow, some way, she had to convince Bates to take a leap of faith. Not a blind one entirely, but for a serious banker a leap with a risk, however you cut it.

Ava reviewed the story she intended to spin, making notes as she did. Where were the holes? What questions would Bates ask?
The basic premise seems plausible enough
, she thought, and she had no trouble answering the questions she imagined Bates would ask. Then Seto snorted, and for an instant Ava thought he was having trouble breathing. She watched him until his body eased and he was quiet. She looked at her notebook again, but her concentration had been broken. She was tired, she knew, and the next hour might best be spent giving her mind a break rather than playing out endless scenarios with Jeremy Bates.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat.
One more day
, she thought,
that’s all I have to get through.

( 32 )

THE PLANE’S DESCENT TOWARDS BEEF ISLAND AIRPORT
was rough, and Ava woke with a start, unaware that she had nodded off. She took a hurried glance at Seto. He was dead to the world.

The landing was smooth, the taxi longer than she would have thought necessary for a plane that size. When the engines were turned off, she looked out the window and saw that the terminal was still a hundred metres away. She reached over and unlocked Seto’s handcuffs.

The pilot opened the door to the cockpit and came into the cabin. “I called in and they were expecting us. But you can’t leave the plane until they get here and give you clearance.” He looked at Seto. “Is he okay?”

“He slept most of the way. I think he’s worn out.”

The pilot went to the exit door and pulled the security handle, then swung the door open and lowered the steps onto the tarmac. Ava felt the warm air rush in, the smell a curious mixture of oils and gases rising from the runway. She put her notebook in her bag, straightened her shirt, pulled back her hair, and reset the ivory chignon pin.

The pilot peered out into the darkness. Ava didn’t know what to expect from Customs; she just hoped Derek had acquired a wheelchair and that they’d let him bring it to the plane. She didn’t fancy carrying Seto to the terminal. She checked her watch. They had been on the ground for five minutes. What was causing the delay? The pilot must have been thinking the same thing, because he turned to look at her and gave a shrug.

Another couple of minutes passed, and Ava was about to join the pilot at the door when he said, “I see them. They’re coming.”

She stood and stretched. “Is there a wheelchair?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

They were still going to have to carry Seto to the stairs and down onto the tarmac. Ava said to the pilot, “My friend may need help to get him into it.” She reached into her bag, looked for her money stash, and counted out four hundred-dollar bills. “Here, this is for you and your co-pilot. Split it any way you think is fair,” she said, handing him the cash.

The pilot moved back into the doorway. Ava stood behind, looking around him into the darkness.

Three men were walking towards them. None of them was Derek.

Two of the men were in uniform, one of them pushing the wheelchair. The third man trailed behind, lumbering, the walk an effort. He was massive, a head taller than the others and twice as broad. Ava turned away from the door and leaned against the wall. Where the hell was Derek?
Probably inside the terminal
, she thought, fighting to suppress far more negative thoughts.

“Hello,” she heard a voice call. It had a distinct Bajan accent.

“We need some help with one of the passengers,” the pilot said. “You’ll have to carry him from the plane.”

“Not a problem,” the same voice boomed.

The pilot moved back and Ava found herself looking into a huge face that was all too familiar. The man had Captain Robbins’s bright blue eyes and large, fleshy lips. He lacked the Captain’s near-translucent skin, but his dark tan was accentuated by deep furrows that looked like white trenches etched into his brown scalp. The blue eyes flickered around the cabin before they rested on Ava. “You must be Ava Lee,” he said. “I’m Jack Robbins.”

“Hello,” she said.

“You’re right on time,” said Robbins, pulling himself up the stairs. His head just cleared the doorway, and when he stood inside, it skimmed the ceiling. His frame seemed to fill the front end of the plane. Maybe it was his proximity to her or the close quarters, but to Ava he seemed even more physically imposing than his brother. Maybe not quite as fit, not quite as agile, but certainly just as impressive. His plain white short-sleeved cotton shirt draped like a tent over his gargantuan belly and baggy blue jeans, and his feet were spilling out of unbuckled leather sandals. He glanced at Seto. “Is that the cargo?”

“Yes,” Ava said, her eyes now drawn to Robbins’s hands, which were covered by clear latex gloves drawn tight around his wrists.

Robbins had to turn sideways to get down the aisle. Ava stepped back, keeping out of his way. He reached down, grabbed Seto under the armpits, and lifted him in the air as if he were a small child. Ava half expected him to carry the man on his hip or over his shoulder. Instead he held him out at arm’s length, Seto’s head level with Robbins’s chest and his feet dangling just above the ground. “Let’s get him out of here,” he said, turning and walking towards the door.

Ava reached for her bags and for Seto’s. She didn’t know what else to do. She had no idea what to think. Her confusion was so obvious that the pilot said, “Is everything okay, Ms. Lee? Because if it isn’t . . .”

If it isn’t, then what?
she thought.
You’ll take me back to Guyana?
“Just fine,” she said.

As she started down the stairs, Robbins was putting Seto none too gently into the wheelchair. The other two men, who were wearing uniforms with the insignia of Customs and Immigration, looked up at her without much interest. “I’m Ava Lee,” she said to them. “Is one of you Morris Thomas?”

“Thomas sent them to help. He’s in his office. That’s where we’re heading,” Robbins said.

They walked across the tarmac. One of the men pushed the wheelchair while the other chatted to him quietly. Ava was next to Robbins. His face was passive and he was completely silent.

When they neared the terminal, the wheelchair was swung to the left, away from the main entrance. About twenty metres along they came to double glass doors that read CUSTOMS
AND
IMMIGRATION
.
EMPLOYEES
ONLY. Ava felt her spirits lift slightly.

They walked into a large open office that was deserted and then past a row of desks to the back. MORRIS
THOMAS was stencilled on a grey steel door. “Leave the wheelchair outside. One of you stay with it,” Robbins said to the men. He reached for the handle, twisted, and swung the door open. “After you,” he said to Ava.

A thin black man in a blue shirt sat behind a desk that further diminished his size.
He has to be sixty
, Ava thought, taking in his wiry grey hair, a face lined with worry, and red-tinged eyes with pouches the size of tea bags. “This is Ava Lee,” Robbins said to him.

Thomas glanced up at her, his eyes filled with pity, or at best some form of weary resignation. Ava knew immediately that things would not go as planned. “A pleasure,” she said.

“Can I have your passport, please?” Thomas said.

There were two chairs in front of the desk. Robbins lowered himself slowly into one as Ava rooted through her bag. “Here you go,” she said.

She put her bags on the floor, took the chair next to Robbins, and watched Thomas make a show of turning the pages of her passport. It held forty pages, the largest the Canadian government issued; she’d already filled thirty-two pages and was going to need a new one before the expiry date. “A world traveller,” he said, closing it.

“It’s the nature of my business,” Ava said.

Thomas looked at Robbins, pursed his lips, and reached down to open a desk drawer. Ava watched him slip the passport into the drawer and close it. “You have a friend who arrived here earlier this evening, a Derek Liang,” he said.

“Yes,” Ava said, struggling to maintain her composure. “Captain Robbins told me he had made arrangements with you for Derek to land. I had expected to see him here.”

“There were some problems with his paperwork,” said Thomas slowly. His eyes avoided hers and Robbins’s.

“What kind of problems?” she asked.

Thomas rolled his head from side to side. “His papers weren’t in order. We couldn’t let him stay. We picked him up at the apartment he had rented and put him on a plane headed back to Puerto Rico.” He looked at his watch. “He left about fifteen minutes ago. And just so we’re clear, we notified the Puerto Rican authorities that he shouldn’t be allowed to stay there either. I believe they intend to put him on the first flight back to Canada, which should leave around midnight tonight. To Montreal, I think.”

Ava glanced at Robbins. His eyes were half closed, a slight grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “This wasn’t what was agreed upon,” she said.

Thomas raised his right hand and motioned to Robbins, his part in the proceedings done.

The big man checked his watch, a Patek Philippe that was lost in the folds of flesh around his wrist. Ava wondered if it was real. Then she saw the back of his hands for the first time: red splotches of skin interspersed with black and green scabs. She turned her head away quickly.

“There’s been a change in plans, Ms. Lee. My brother is scheduled to call here any minute now, so if you will be patient I’d appreciate it.”

“Do I have another option?” she asked.

“No.”

“Jack, you don’t need me anymore, do you? Because if you don’t mind I’ll take myself home,” Thomas said.

“Say hello to Betty for me.”

“I will,” Thomas said, rising from his chair.

“Leave one of the men, will you?”

“I’ll leave both.”

“Only need the one.”

“Okay. Just close the door when you go. It locks itself.”

When Thomas left, the room seemed suddenly empty. Ava shifted in her chair, and then to her shock Robbins’s gloved right hand shot out and grabbed her upper arm. He squeezed, his fingers digging through her flesh until they reached bone. She flinched, more from surprise than pain. “My brother warned me about you,” he said. “I’m just telling you it would be stupid to try anything with me.”

“I had no intention—” she began, only to be cut off by the sound of a cellphone ringing to the tune of the
William Tell
overture.

“It’s me,” Robbins said. He listened for a few seconds. “No, it went well. She’s sitting next to me.” He paused and then passed the phone to Ava.

Ava wiped the mouthpiece against her shirt. “This is Ava Lee.”

“Before anything else is said, let me immediately apologize for this untimely departure from our plans.”

She heard the clink of ice against glass. He was at home. Drinking. “Captain, what exactly is going on?”

He laughed, or coughed; she wasn’t sure which. “I felt it necessary to make some changes to our arrangement.”

“So your brother told me, though he was somewhat lacking in detail.”

“The thing is, Ms. Lee, you didn’t play fair with me.”

She sensed at once where this was headed, but she wasn’t going to go there first. “As I remember, Captain, I paid you $100,000 for services rendered, and then another $200,000 for services that so far have been unfulfilled. So in terms of being fair, I think I’m the one who should have be complaining.”

“You aren’t the least bit curious as to why I feel aggrieved?”

“We have an agreement, one that I’ve completely honoured. I don’t need to know any more than that.”