“It’s a raid,” Alejandra replied. “And they’re gonna be really mad.”
26
The day was one big nightmare. Discovering I was unwittingly contributing to a planned mass murder was horrible enough, but finding out my girlfriend had run off to the ghetto was a thousand times worse. The world stopped spinning for a moment as Prit leaned against the office door, panting, dripping with sweat, a helpless look on his face.
“What do you mean gone to Bluefont? When? How do you know?” I strafed poor Pritchenko with questions before he could catch his breath.
Prit dropped into a chair and told me about the note he found in Lucia’s room. I was only half listening. My mind was racing as I tried to come up with a plan. My plan later turned out to be complete bullshit, to put it mildly.
“Prit, we gotta get out of here. Now!” I said, frantically shuffling the papers on my desk. “We’ll have to split up. You go to the ghetto and bring Lucia back. I’ll get transportation, supplies, and weapons. Shouldn’t be too hard since I’m on the town council.”
“Leave this place?” The Ukrainian arched his eyebrows.
“I’ll explain later. Let’s just say Lucia was right. This place is rotten to the core and we can’t stay here any longer.” I furiously looked through folders, then tossed them on the floor. “I know I saw some kind of a pass in all this, dammit!”
Pritchenko put his hand on my arm and I stopped, panting. I was losing it. If anything happened to Lucia, I’d never forgive myself. On top of that, the warning bells that had kept me alive were going off. Something bad was about to happen.
“Forget the pass,” he said, quietly. “Our girl’s smart, but if she found a way to the other side of the fence, I can too. It can’t be worse than Chechnya.”
“It’s worse, Prit, believe me,” I replied grimly.
Prit looked surprised, but didn’t say another word. My old friend trusted me and knew there’d be time for explanations later. We threw our arms around each other in a bear hug. We were both downhearted. This was the first time we’d split up since we met.
“Be careful,” I said. “Picture me by your side, covering your ass when you screw up.”
“You be careful,” he said with a confident smile. “Don’t know what I’m worried about. All you gotta do is steal a damn boat. My Aunt Lyudmila could’ve done that, and she was blind in one eye and could only hear in the morning.”
I flashed a tight smile, knowing Prit was trying to reassure me. The desk phone rang, breaking the spell.
I lifted up the receiver, then hung it up without answering. As the Ukrainian headed for the door, he turned and looked back at me. In that moment, I felt a dark shadow looming over me, but I didn’t want to worry my friend.
As soon as Prit left, I put on my jacket and started to rush past my secretary, who waved a stack of papers in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. If all went well, Prit would be back with Lucia by nightfall, and I’d have found a boat. I ruled out ground transportation—too dangerous. Air transportation was also out—I didn’t know where the airport was, and helicopters would be closely monitored. I had a lot to do in just twelve hours.
Before I dashed off, I stopped and took a sip of the lukewarm coffee Sue Anne held out to me. To cover my tracks in case anyone came looking for me, I told her I was feeling sick and needed to go home to rest. It was a lame excuse, but I just had to buy a few hours.
I headed down the crowded halls, reading the signs on the doors till I came to one that said “Transportation Services.”
I knocked, but no one answered. I cautiously turned the knob and poked my head inside. The office was empty. It was lunchtime, so most people were away from their desks. Perfect.
I slid behind the largest desk like a thief. I was relieved when the computer screen lit up. The system was password protected, but the user of this computer had left without shutting it down. I searched the Gulfport database for a boat that would solve our transportation problem. A wolfish grin spread over my face.
There it is. Just what we need.
As I suspected, a wealthy town like Gulfport had a lot of sailboats anchored in a marina. On screen was a list of half a dozen boats classified as “auxiliary surveillance sailboats.” They were tied up in dock twelve, close to where the Ithaca had dropped anchor.
One of them, the White Swan, was a yacht of over sixty feet. It was larger than any boat I’d ever sailed, but it was just what we needed to navigate the treacherous waters of the Caribbean. The sailboat’s record included a ten-digit code that matched its authorization documents. “Documents must accompany permit,” read the warning on screen.
I cursed under my breath. Without those documents, the guards at the port wouldn’t let us near the boat. We always had the option of using force to board, but that would call attention to what we were doing. That option also assumed we could get our hands on weapons. I had to find those documents.
Sweat poured down my back as I rummaged through the desk drawers. I glanced at the door from time to time, fearful that someone would come in and catch me red-handed. I’d have a helluva time explaining what I was doing there.
After a while I sighed in frustration. I’d gone through all the cabinets and drawers. I’d found permits and the permission stamp, but not the boat’s authorization documents. I was afraid they were locked up somewhere, maybe even Greene’s office. But that made no sense. There were too many vehicles in Gulfport for the reverend to oversee all of them personally. Then I spotted the wall safe. Of course, you horse’s ass.
It was a modern safe, not very big, but sturdy. I grabbed the handle of the safe and tried to turn it. Of course, it was locked.
My stomach clenched in an icy knot. I knew how to pick simple locks, but this one was beyond my ability. Then a crazy thought occurred to me. I went back to the desk and rummaged through drawers and papers some more. When I lifted up the keyboard and turned it over, I stifled a shout of joy. Taped to the bottom was a slip of paper with a combination, a common trick of office workers with no time to memorize it.
Tucking the keyboard under my arm, I went back to the safe and entered the combination. A clank sounded on the other side of the door as the electronic circuit unlocked the bars and the safe opened.
Inside was a neat stack of carefully laminated papers. I quickly located the White Swan’s documents and put them in my pocket. Just as I was closing the safe, the doorknob turned and someone entered the office.
I dashed into the small office bathroom just as a bald man in his fifties walked in. The guy talked nonstop on a cell phone while gripping a greasy hamburger in his other hand.
“I know, I know. Listen, honey, when I get home, I’ll take you out to dinner. I promise. It’s just that—yes, I’m listening.”
He chattered away as he sat down at one of the stations and looked for something on his desk. I realized that the keyboard from the neighboring desk was still under my arm. If the guy looked around, he’d wonder what had become of his coworker’s keyboard.
Fortunately, the man was more engrossed in what the person on the other end of the line was saying than in his surroundings. With the door open a crack, I watched for a chance to get the hell out of there. The air in the bathroom was thick with dust from the files stored there. I struggled to contain a sneeze. Just when I thought I’d have to force my way out of there and take down that guy before anyone else came in (no small feat, since he was a mountain of flesh and fat), he said good-bye, blew the other person a kiss, picked up his hamburger and a folder, and left the room.