Fishing village, he thought. As long as he kept covered, he should fit right in. Unless, of course, everyone preferred to do their fishing with nothing on but a pair of shorts. Sean had seen his fair share of those kinds of fishing towns. Their no shirt, no shoes, no problem way of doing things could, in fact, present a huge problem were anyone to notice him.
At present, there was no one in sight. Sean kept the throttle maxed out, just in case. The sooner he could get out of the open, the better.
Reaching land seemed to take an hour, when in reality it was probably closer to fifteen minutes. Sean shut the motor off a few seconds before the keel dug into the sand. He grabbed a canvas bag and slung it over his shoulder. It was a replacement for his gear bag, which would clearly not be in keeping with his authentic fisherman appearance. Inside were his usual tools, pistol, extra magazines, and a few other things he thought he might need. And then, of course the tracking beacons were stored with care in their own little pouch.
He reached back and pulled the spark plug cap away from the motor. It was a simple yet effective way to keep any potential thieves from getting away with his escape vehicle. At the very least, it would slow them down and give them reason to reconsider. Sean had learned that most people — when presented with even the slightest challenges — tended to give up more often than not.
He grabbed a rope from inside the craft and dragged the boat until it would go no farther. The tide was low at the moment, but later on in the day it would rise again. When it did, his little boat would be at risk of drifting out to sea.
The dinghy was equipped with a small anchor — nothing more than a thirty-pound kettle bell tied to an old rope. The makeshift anchor would probably be maxing out its potential just keeping the boat in the general vicinity, much less in one spot. But it was better than nothing.
Sean scanned the beach to the north and south but only saw a few fishermen milling around near one of the buildings. No one had paid any attention to him. Not yet, at least.
Best not to stick around and give them the chance.
He stalked across the packed sand that gave way to softer tread up away from the waterline. When he reached the bushes that lined the beach, he ducked down and broke out at a run. His contact was to meet him somewhere nearby. He shoved his hand into the bag he’d slung around his shoulder and pulled out a pair of binoculars. He crouched low to keep out of sight and turned one way and then the other until a pale blue Toyota Land Cruiser passed through his view. He froze and brought the lenses into focus.
The old SUV was parked in the shade of a scrawny tree about four hundred yards away. Sean stuffed the binoculars back in his bag and breathed a sigh of relief. He was concerned the little boat may have veered off course in the currents, but the little vessel had done its job and kept him remarkably close to his landing zone.
He clutched his rudimentary gear bag close to his side so it wouldn’t make a noise as he ran through the brush patch toward the SUV. The terrain was sandy and full of finger-like roots sticking up everywhere. On more than one occasion he nearly tripped.
When he reached the clearing where his contact was parked, he stopped at the edge of the bushes and waited. The dark-skinned man in the driver’s seat was smoking a cigarette. He took in a long puff of smoke and exhaled out the window. Sean could see the sweat pouring off the guy’s high forehead.
That was him, all right.
Sean recalled what he’d read in the dossier. They only knew the man by one name. Kanu. Going by a singular moniker had its advantages in a place where anonymity could save your life. Sean had no intention of pressing the issue with the guy who was his in and out of one of the most dangerous places in the world.
He stood up from the bushes and walked cautiously toward the vehicle. It took Kanu a moment before he realized someone was approaching. When he did, however, his instincts kicked in.
Kanu pulled out what looked to be a Desert Eagle .50 caliber and pointed it through the window at the approaching American.
The smell of cigarette smoke and salty air filled Sean’s nostrils as he raised his hands slowly and pulled down the scarf covering his mouth and nose. “You must be Kanu,” he said in a cool tone.
There was a brief pause as the man stared out of the SUV like a wild animal in a corner. His eyes were wide, tense, ready to strike.
“And who are you?” he asked with a thick accent.
Sean kept his hands where Kanu could see them. “I’m Sean Wyatt. Heard you’re my ride into town.”
Kanu hesitated for another ten seconds, sizing up the stranger. Sean’s explanation was apparently good enough, and the man lowered the weapon. He placed it on the center console and motioned for the American to get in.
Sean slid into the passenger seat and stuffed his bag on the floor.
Kanu started the engine and looked over. “Yes, I am Kanu.” He eyed Sean’s outfit with a curious expression. “You look ridiculous.”
Sean chuckled. He liked Kanu immediately.
“We figured it would be best if I kept a low profile. Americans aren’t really appreciated over here.”
Kanu backed the SUV away from the tree and steered it out onto the dirt road. “True. But I hope you brought something more flexible to wear. Would be unfortunate to try to run for your life in that outfit.”
Sean nodded. “I’ve already got it on. This was just for the local fishermen if I ran into any.”
“Did you?”
Sean felt a little embarrassed, like he’d done something stupid. “No. Just saw a few up the beach, but they didn’t notice me.”
“That’s because they’re done with most of their work before this time of day. They go out early in the morning.” Kanu belted out a long laugh. “You could have been wearing shorts and sandals.”
“Hilarious.” Sean pulled the wrapping off his head and started removing the outer layers of clothing.
He wore a lightweight combination of clothes underneath. Black cargo pants and a loose-fitting shirt made from a new material that was supposed to wick away perspiration from the body. At the moment, it wasn’t living up to the hype.
Kanu reached into the ashtray and pulled a cigarette out of a half-full pack. After putting it in his lips, he took a lighter from near the pack and — as he turned the vehicle onto a paved road leading north — let go of the wheel, pressed his knee against it to steer, and cupped his hands to his mouth to light the cigarette.
A cloud of white smoke circled around his head for a second before swirling out of the open window.
“Smoke?” he asked.
“No, thank you. Never got into it,” Sean said.
Kanu shrugged.
Sean eyed the pistol between them. “That’s a big gun. A little over the top, don’t you think?”
The driver took a long drag from his cigarette. The tip burned bright orange. Then he let the smoke out through his nostrils. “In this place, intimidation can save your skin. I’ve never had to fire that weapon because it intimidates anyone standing at the other end of the barrel.”
“Good thinking.”
It was an impressive piece, however impractical. Sean couldn’t imagine a scenario where he’d want to be firing that weapon. He’d used one once at a gun range. A friend had bought it after seeing it in a movie. The price tag alone was enough to make Sean take a pass on owning one. But when he fired the small cannon, he was convinced he would never need one. Its recoil was unmanageable, the end on the heavy side, and keeping it balanced without firing was a chore.