“Hell, yeah. A lot of crews do. Just tell me what it looks like, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“The letter
P
, with a bloody knife sticking out of it.”
Greene thought about the information for a moment, then responded. “Off the top of my head, there’s nothing I can think of. But if you give me some time, I can ask around. If anything turns up, I’ll let you know immediately.”
“That sounds great,” Payne replied. “And I’d really appreciate anything you can come up with. It’s a matter of life or death.”
“Give me an hour, and I’ll give you a buzz at this number. I know a couple of brothers that know about this type of shit. Let me get ahold of them, then I’ll get ahold of you.”
“Levon, thank you! I’ll be awaiting your call.”
Jones, who’d overheard the entire conversation, questioned Payne the minute he hung up the phone. “So, he’s going to hook you up?”
“He’s going to try.”
“And what if he does? What are you gonna do?”
Payne smiled as he put his hand on Jones’s shoulder. “How does Fourth of July in New Orleans sound to you?”
CHAPTER 15
The Kotto Distribution Center
Ibadan, Nigeria
(56 miles northeast of Lagos)
MOST
aspects of the sprawling complex were recognized as legitimate. Hundreds of Nigerian-born workers came to the center each day to unload massive shipments of cacao, palm oil, peanuts, and rubber that had been brought in from Hannibal Kotto’s various businesses. Because of these ventures and the numerous employment opportunities that he offered, Kotto’s name was known and respected throughout Africa.
And it was this respect that allowed him to take advantage of the system.
As he sat behind his mahogany desk, Kotto waited for his assistant to give him the go-ahead to start the conference call. When the woman nodded, Kotto knew that everybody was ready.
“Gentlemen,” he said into the speakerphone, “I realize that English is not the strongest language for all of you, but since I’m dealing with several clients at once, I feel it is the most appropriate selection.” Kotto took a sip of Oyo wine, a local beverage made from the sap of palm trees, then continued. “In order to give everybody a sense of who they’ll be bidding against, I’d like each of you to name the country that you’re representing. Each of you has been assigned an auction number. When your number is called, please tell the group where you are from.”
As Kotto’s assistant read the numbers, heavily accented voices emerged from the speakerphone, each announcing his country of origin. Algeria, Angola, Cameroon, Ethiopia, Kenya, Libya, Namibia, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo were all represented.
“If you were listening,” Kotto stated, “I am sure each of you realizes that Africa is the only continent that Mr. Drake and I are dealing with. We’ve had several offers from Asia and South America as well, but we’re not ready to deal with their politics. At least, not yet.”
“When do you expect to broaden the operation?” asked the Ethiopian delegate.
“That’s a decision we haven’t made. If all continues to go well, there’s the possibility of expansion within the next few months.” Kotto took another sip of wine while waiting for further questions. When none came, he changed the course of the discussion. “I realize that some of you were disappointed with the last shipment. Mr. Drake and I discussed the issue, and I apologize for any problems it might’ve caused. I would like to assure you that you will have no such problems with the next delivery. It is the best quality we’ve ever prepared.”
The Kenyan spoke next. “What will that do to the price? I imagine we will have to pay more for the increase in caliber, will we not?”
Kotto grinned. “I would imagine, like in any business, that an increase in quality will cause an increase in price, but to what extent the price will rise, we’ll find out shortly.”
JONES
settled into the soft leather seats of the Payne Industries jet and closed his eyes for a moment of retrospection. During his military career, he’d been on hundreds of life-threatening missions, but this was the first time he’d ever felt hopeless before a flight. For one reason or another, he knew he was completely unprepared for what he was about to do.
And it was a feeling that he didn’t like.
When he was a member of the MANIACs, they were always given advanced reconnaissance before they were dropped into enemy territory. Maps, guides, safe houses, and specific objectives were always provided before they were put into danger. But not today. No, on this mission Jones was willing to ignore every protocol he had ever been taught because his best friend needed his help. He was flying to a city he’d never visited to look for a girl who probably wasn’t there, and the only thing they had to go on was a tattoo of the letter
P
.
“This is crazy,” he said to himself.
As he opened his eyes, he saw Payne hang up the phone at the front of the cabin and return to his seat, which was across the aisle from Jones.
“Go on. Get it off your chest,” Payne said, knowing his friend wasn’t happy.
“Are you sure this trip is wise? I mean, don’t you think it’s a little bit impulsive?”
“Not really. As I told you before, Levon talked to some of his boys in the city, and they assured him that Holotats are used by several of the local gangs.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t guarantee that Ariane is going to be down there. For all we know, the gang could have members in cities across America like the Bloods or the Crips. It could be a local thug from the Hill District that we’re looking for. Heck, the
P
could stand for
Pittsburgh
.”
“True, but that doesn’t explain the Louisiana license plate, now does it?”
Jones shook his head. He wasn’t really sure how to explain that. “But don’t you think that this is jumping the gun? We have no idea what we’re getting ourselves into.”
Payne smiled. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve assumed that his friend was afraid of flying. “What’s troubling you, D.J.? We’ve been to thousands of places that are more dangerous than New Orleans, and I’ve never seen you act like this.”
“Well, I’ve never felt like this,” Jones admitted. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I can tell we’re about to walk into a hornet’s nest. And the fact that we weren’t allowed to bring any weapons into the airport makes me feel unprotected.”
“I figured you’d feel that way. That’s why I just gave Levon another call. Since he has a number of contacts on the street, I assumed that he’d have some gun connections.”
“Does he?”
“He said he’d see what he could do, but I think that’s his way of saying he’ll get it done.”
A few hours later, the jet landed on an auxiliary runway at Louis Armstrong International Airport in Kenner, Louisiana, which spared Payne and Jones from dealing with the hassle of the main terminal. After grabbing their bags from the plane, they walked to the nearest rent-a-car agency, where they picked up the fastest rental available, a Ford Mustang GT convertible.
The airport was only fifteen miles west of the Crescent City, so the drive to New Orleans was a short one. Following Interstate 10 all the way into Orleans Parish, Payne followed the directions Greene had given him. Before long they were navigating the streets of the central business district.
As Payne and Jones expected, the contrast between the tourist areas and the outlying neighborhoods was disheartening. Hurricane Katrina had ravaged the entire city in August 2005, and since that time most of the governmental funds had been funneled into the city’s businesses and infrastructure, not the residential sections or suburbs. In many ways, the reasoning was sound. Tourists were the lifeblood of the region, and the only way to get them to return was to restore the areas that they wanted to visit.