back into her seat, blinked at the ceiling.
Aleena wrestled with all of her rationalizations until her conscience forced her to admit the truth. She was not a travel writer. Not really. That life ended long ago.
Aleena Visser was a professional smuggler.
She’d met Joost Smit at a conference for journalists in Madrid,
Joost had huge financial backing and incredible contacts around the world. In a few short years, Aleena had set foot in most every country on earth, writing wonderful travel features and loving her life.
While on assignment it was common for her to deliver an item or two to one of Joost’s ex-news pals, an ex- cop, diplomat, professor or some all-around shadowy figure. If the contact failed to show, she called the emergency number she’d memorized. Aleena was impressed by how many people Joost knew in exotic places from his journalist days. Joost paid her well for the favors. Of course, she’d heard the nasty rumors and jokes in the office about Joost’s mysterious past-that he was connected to the underworld. It gave rise to her own suspicions in the wake of some of her deliveries, but she’d always dismissed them. She was seeing the world, writing about it, making incredible money and having fun.
Until a recent trip to Turkey.
She was writing about Istanbul where she delivered a watch to Yuri, a former reporter with Interfax, the Russian wire service.
“And how is Joost, my old spy friend?”
After reading the shock on Aleena’s face, Yuri, who had obviously been drinking but was not that drunk, took her to a quiet cafe and, while hitting on her, confidentially told her, “reporter to reporter,” that Joost had once worked for Russian intelligence. All of Joost’s spy world friends knew that his magazine was a front for several global smuggling networks, specializing in small, critical items.
“For all you know-” Yuri tapped the watch Aleena had given him before laughing “-you may have just delivered the key to unleashing a biological weapon, or nuclear device.”
Yuri’s laughter haunted Aleena.
Later, when she confronted Joost, he let a long disturbing silence pass.
“Yuri’s weakness will get him killed one day,” Joost said before he confirmed everything: he was a smuggler. Then, very pleasantly, he asked about Aleena’s mother, her father, her older sister and her three little nephews, stating specific addresses and personal information that chilled Aleena.
Joost then subtly suggested how Aleena was implicated and it would be better for her to keep secret things secret. He knew about her bank account in Luxembourg, where she’d been hiding the large payments he’d given her for making deliveries.
The truth was sickening, overwhelming.
She wanted to get out of this business, get away from Joost.
Now, somewhere over the Irish Sea, Aleena confronted her guilt.
She took the ballerina music box from her bag, looked at it. There was nothing unusual about it. What could it be? She opened it and played the most beautiful version of Tchaikovsky’s
Tears streamed down Aleena’s face.
39
Cole forced himself not to cry.
Tiny prickles of sensation kept running up and down Cole’s body as he stared at three fat rats across the factory floor. They were licking the fresh blood streaks where the dead guy had been dragged away.
It got all quiet after they got rid of his body.
And the awful burning smell, whatever it was, was nearly gone now, but Cole was afraid, not knowing what the kidnappers were going to do next.
He didn’t want to cry.
His mom held him, rubbing her cheek against his.
“We have to brave, sweetie,” she whispered. “Think of all the fun things we’ll do with Daddy when we get out of here. Okay?”
She kissed the top of his head where they had jabbed him with their guns.
“Okay?”
Cole nodded, keeping his face pressed to his mother.
Cole wouldn’t cry. Not with one of the killers sitting in the chair about ten feet away. The guy kept scratching himself and yawning. Looking at him with disdain, Cole kept twisting the links of his chain; running his fingers along it was calming.
He just wanted this to be over.
When it all started he thought it was a movie or TV show, like some kind of joke. It happened so fast with these strange men showing them guns, shoving them into the car and sliding hoods over their heads.
But it
They drove and drove, bringing them to this scary place that stunk like a broken toilet, and handcuffing them with chains and sticking that goof over there to watch them. Cole had trouble understanding their accents as they demanded a backpack with a toy plane. Mom kept telling them they’d made a mistake, that his bag got mixed up at the airport with a bag that belonged to that weird guy, Hans Beck. She kept telling them that they traded bags back with him.
After that they went crazy.
They took Mom away.
Cole was terrified he would never see her again. But when they came back with her, they were even madder and Mom was really, really scared. Then when they saw Dad on TV with all those cops, and those pictures, the creeps freaked out and one of them was going to shoot him.
Feeling that gun on his head, he was never so scared in his life.
Then the leader with the beard killed the guy and told them that
Cole understood that.
He knew that everyone died one day. He was there when his baby sister died. He knew that Lee Ann had gone to heaven first because God needed her there to help get things ready for him and Mom and Dad.
Cole also knew that it was wrong to kill people.
Good people don’t kill people.
His mom and dad didn’t kill people. They helped people. His dad ran into burning buildings when people were running out. His dad was a hero who saved lives. His dad fixed things and Cole knew in his heart from what he saw
