They approached the waiting taxi line, and a bellman blew his whistle, signaling the next in the queue to pull forward. The trunk popped open, and they dropped their bags in, then gave the driver instructions to take them to the airport thirty miles away.
Traffic was sparse along the well-maintained road, passing through modern towns as well as villages that had been there since before the birth of Christ. The driver had the radio on low — listening to music that sounded like someone had tied percussion instruments to a cow then set it running down an alley. Jet took David’s hand and leaned into him as they watched the rugged countryside go by.
Once at the airport, they booked a flight to Madrid that was due to depart in an hour. They carried on their bags and submitted to the cursory and uninspired security precautions before settling themselves into their seats near the front of the plane.
Soon they were airborne, watching the island disappear beneath their wings as they banked west on the long route to Europe, the surface of the Mediterranean shimmering in the sun’s glow.
They dozed en route to Madrid, and David seemed better rested once they landed. After checking the departure schedule, they bought tickets on an Iberia direct flight to Mexico City departing the following day — the first nonstop available.
The eleven-hour flight to Mexico City was uneventful, and customs posed no problem. Within a few hours, they were boarding a flight to Cancun. From there, they would take a bus to the border, a six-hour ordeal, and then fly from Corozal to Belize International Airport, where they would rent a car and drive the hundred miles south to Punta Gorda. With any luck, they would make it by dark.
When they got off the plane in Cancun, the heat and humidity slammed into them, and within minutes, their shirts were soaked through with sweat. As David checked with the information booth on flights to Belize City — on the off chance one was departing that day — Jet chatted with a friendly baggage handler about the weather and the road to Chetumal, on the Belizean border. When David returned, he had a grin on his face.
“We’re in luck. Flight leaves in two hours to Belize City. An hour flight versus seven hours of bus and prop plane hell. I’m going in to book the tickets. There’s an internet cafe inside — can you go online and see about rental cars and hotels?”
“Sure. I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of choices in Punta Gorda. What is it, population sixty-five hundred?”
“If that. But I looked before, and there’s a handful to choose from. Pick something private,” he said over his shoulder before disappearing into the terminal.
She located the computers and booked a Jeep, then searched for hotels. As she had suspected, the options were limited, and she eventually selected one a few blocks north of the cemetery, on the water. Even if they weren’t there for pleasure, it would be consistent with their cover to play the role of tourists on a romantic interlude.
Which brought her up short.
Feelings had been rekindled in her that she’d believed long dormant, and if anything, the attraction between them was more powerful than ever. She hadn’t pressed him on the idea of a future after they dealt with Grigenko, but it was on her mind. Would it be possible to settle somewhere and have a normal life together? Something that didn’t involve being on the run, or killing, or being ready to bolt at a second’s notice? They hadn’t discussed it, but with all the downtime she’d had traveling, an image of a life as a couple had gelled in her mind and now seemed attainable.
Jet hadn’t told him about the baby. There would be time for that. The scar from the caesarian had faded into the natural fold of her abdomen, and he hadn’t noticed it in the gloom of the rooms they’d been in, saving her a hurried explanation — an esoteric plumbing problem, perhaps: one of the mysteries of the female anatomy. Her physique had quickly returned to her pre-pregnancy fitness due to her rigorous exercise regimen and diet, and she’d been fortunate to inherit good genes — like her mother, who’d always leaned towards a slim, well-muscled figure.
David returned from the ticketing area a half hour later, interrupting her ruminations, and she beamed a warm smile at him as she rose from the screen and moved to pay the girl at the counter.
Whatever the future held, for the first time in a seeming eternity, she felt happy, even headed into the lion’s mouth.
For now, that was enough.
Chapter 25
The Jeep was a black two door with a soft top, and thankfully, the air-conditioning worked. The laconic agent at the rental car desk told them it would take around four hours to reach Punta Gorda and gave them a stained brochure with a map inside to guide them.
“Doesn’t seem to be too difficult,” Jet said as she studied it. “Head south. Keep going. Take the coastal road. Stop when the road ends. You are there…”
“You want to drive or shall I?”
“Either way. How’s the stomach?”
“Better every day.”
They placed their bags in the back, and Jet elected to drive, following the highway across the Belize River and into Belize City.
“What a dump,” Jet remarked as they threaded their way through the afternoon traffic. Most of the homes they passed had an air of disrepair and poverty that was completely unexpected after the relative order at the airport. Dazed inhabitants shuffled down the street in the heat, wearing little better than rags, and many of the cars surrounding them would have made a junkyard blush.
“I guess we can cross Belize City off our dream destination list.”
“But I hear the rents are affordable,” she observed.
“And there’s no shortage of opportunities to keep your combat skills sharp.”
David craned his neck, looking at the rough downtown business district with cautious trepidation.
“Pull over whenever you see an electronics shop. I want to get a phone so I can make calls. I have no idea how remote Punta Gorda is, but if this is any example of Belize’s biggest city, we’ll want a working cell.”
“Assuming there’s coverage there.”
“Good point.”
She braked in front of a shop with stereos and computers in the window, and David hopped out.
“I’m not going to leave the car unattended. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t blame you. Be back in a minute.”
He returned, holding a cell phone aloft in a gesture signaling victory, and they got under way again. Once they were south of town, they were able to make decent time, although they would go for a mile or so at the posted speed and then come to a beaten vehicle chugging along at barely above walking pace.
“Look. Coastal Road,” she said, pointing at a small sign.
“What? That?”
“I…I think so…”
They turned onto the red dirt road and bounced along its rutted surface. A few miles from the highway, they passed an olive-colored horse-drawn buggy with rubber tires. The couple driving it were from a bygone century — the woman wore a long country dress, hair covered with a bonnet; the man in long-sleeved black in spite of the oppressive heat.
“Am I seeing things?” David asked.
“You mean the horses?”
“What was that?”
“Mennonites. A religious group. Like the Quakers. There are a lot of them in Belize.”
He looked at her without expression before returning his attention to the dirt road.
“I’m not going to ask how you know about obscure religious sects here.”
“I had time to kill after booking the car and hotel,” she explained.
David grunted.
Daylight was fading by the time they reached PG Town, as Punta Gorda was called by the locals, and after a couple of wrong turns, they found their hotel. Four hours of marginal roads in barely tolerable seats had taken their toll, and they were glad to stretch their legs, although when they opened the doors, the blistering humidity assaulted them with full force.