“And you know this how?” Thibodaux asked, raising the brow on his good eye.
“He thinks his burner phone is secret.” Walter took a deep breath. “Knowing things, keeping tabs… it’s what I do. Life insurance. You know?”
“So what’s their plan?” Ronnie said. She was fading fast and was afraid she might pass out at any moment.
“I’m not up on the phone all the time,” he said, blowing blood-bubbles out the wound in the bridge of his nose. “I just listen in… now and again. He talks to someone in Pakistan, I can tell you that much.”
“You’re going to have to tell us a lot more than that,” Ronnie said.
“I will,” Walter said. “I swear it. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
“Oh,” Ronnie said, injecting the contents of the syringe into the man’s neck. “I know you will.”
She fell into Thibodaux’s arms while Miyagi rolled the drug-addled Walter onto his belly and handcuffed him behind his back.
Ronnie felt her eyes sag. “Senator Gorski,” she said, looking up at Jacques and forcing herself to stay focused. “Did you find her?”
Thibodaux nodded. “Monitors up top show several prisoners in cells on the lower deck. I’m pretty sure one of them is her.” He looked hard at Ronnie. “What’s that stuff you just gave him?”
“Krokodil,” she said, regretting the hasty action. “I know I shouldn’t have taken the risk.”
“Hell, one dose won’t kill him.” Thibodaux helped her to her feet, nodding to the dead GQ in the corner. “That your doing?”
Garcia tried to stand, nearly passing out from the searing pain in her shoulders. The episode with GQ seemed ages ago. Out of habit, ingrained from months of training, she took a deep breath and stooped to find the Snake Slayer where it lay just inside the hatch.
“Looks to me like you went easy on Walter,” Thibodaux said. He put a big hand on her shoulder. “You good to go, kiddo?”
Garcia flipped up the derringer’s twin barrels, checking to see that it was still loaded with one shell before aiming it at Walter’s belly for a moment of fantasy. “I’m walking off the boat with this piece of shit in chains.” She prodded Walter with her bare foot to make sure he saw her with the pistol. “I am outstanding.”
Chapter 46
The Feng brothers stood with Jiàn Zŏu under the eave of a small wooden shelter at the edge of the floating docks, waiting. Torn boat advertisements and commercial fishing notices were tacked to the plywood walls. Something that was not quite rain but a little more than mist drifted by on gray curtains under the feeble light. The smells of engine oil and low tide hung in cool air of the parking lot. The damp, combined with the darkness and an unknown future, sent a chill through Yaqub’s spine that shook his entire body. He could make out the dark shapes of a dozen boats floating on an even blacker ocean fifty meters down a grated incline in the small harbor.
“Where is he?” Ehmet said, looking toward the water. He’d pulled the collar of a wool sweater up around his neck against the cool air.
Jiàn Zŏu nodded down the ramp. “There,” he said.
A stocky man with long blond hair that stuck out like sheaves of wheat straw from a wool watch cap sauntered toward them. The coal of a stubby cigar illuminated a wide face and thick orange beard. High rubber boots squeaked and chattered on the metal grating. A pistol hung on a loose belt from baggy pants, as if he’d strapped it on as an afterthought.
The newcomer eyed the three men through the blossom of cigar smoke that surrounded his face, mixing with the mist. “I’m Gruber,” he grunted, clenching the cigar in teeth that were as yellow as his hair. “I understand you need a ride under the radar.”
“We do,” Jiàn Zŏu said, extending his hand. “Half the money is in your account. I’ll release the other half before we leave your vessel.”
“Wait,” Ehmet Feng said. “You do not know this man?”
Gruber raised a bushy eyebrow.
Jiàn Zŏu sighed. “Movement like this requires that we adapt.” He nodded to the skipper. “My friend vouches for him.”
“You are not even Chinese,” Ehmet said.
“I’m a businessman,” Gruber said. “And I got no love lost for the States. My great grandfather was moving cargo between Canada and the US over a century ago. If you wanna sneak a puny load of BC bud past the authorities, I’m not your guy. Something bigger… important enough to pay for… well, that’s a different kettle of fish altogether. My family knows the location of inlets, caves, and hidey-holes that Canadian and US Customs have never even heard of — and that stuff don’t come cheap.” He puffed the cigar to life, then spoke without taking it out of his mouth. “But if you got other transportation, I got plenty to do…”
Jiàn Zŏu cleared his throat. “No,” he said. “We do need your services, and are more than happy to pay for them.”
“That’s nice.” Gruber smiled. “I got three girlfriends scattered up and down the coast and they all seem to like the most expensive shit.” He nodded down the ramp. “I’m ready when you are.”
Ehmet raised his hand. “And how do you get past the authorities? I have studied the maps and charts. Even with your caves and secret routes, we must still eventually come into areas where US Customs boats do routine and random patrol.”
“Studied the charts, have you?” Gruber gave Jiàn Zŏu a knowing smile.
“I have,” Ehmet said, glaring.
“I hate it when customers study the charts…” Gruber muttered before leaning back his head to blow a plume of smoke into the air. “You are right though,” he said. “There’s a hell of a lot of water out there, but the feds are getting smarter. Sometimes I swear it’s like their patrol boats are running a blockade between the San Juan Islands and Anacortes. Some nights, the odds of getting through are less than fifty-fifty. They’re all looking to stop the next vessel full of weed coming across the border or hoping to save the lives of a bunch of poor illegals crammed into a shipping container like cordwood. Every one of them is on the hunt for that big arrest that will make their career.”
Yaqub’s mouth hung open. He took a half step closer to his brother. “If the authorities are so numerous, then what do you plan to do?”
Gruber winked. The coal of his cigar brought an otherworldly glow to his face.
“Simple,” he said. “We give them exactly what they want.”
Chapter 47
Quinn turned on the phone Kevin Bursaw had given him the moment the plane touched down at de Gaulle. As rushed as he felt to reach Seattle, Quinn was grateful for the chance to finally get a sit-rep about Ronnie. He glanced at Song while he waited to get a signal. She’d passed out the moment they’d reached altitude leaving Zagreb, telling him flying on commercial aircraft were one of the few times she could relax. Quinn had scratched flying off his list of relaxing endeavors just a few months before. Still, he was exhausted as well, and fell into a semi-conscious doze for much of the three-hour flight, letting his subconscious work through his long list of unanswered questions.
He got the signal as the Croatia Air pilot turned the little turboprop down the taxiway and headed toward the gate where they would transfer to a British Airways flight direct to Seattle. They wouldn’t leave the airport so they didn’t have to clear French Immigration.
Jacques picked up on the second ring.
“L’ami,” the big Cajun sighed, as if relieved to finally get the call. “We got her,” he said. “She’s whole.”
Jericho let his head fall against the seatback. He closed his eyes, feeling his throat tighten at the news. He took a deep breath, working to regain his composure. “Thank you,” he said, the catch noticeable in his throat. “Is she there?”