“I get it.”
“Now, tomorrow will be more of the same. You and I have an appointment with Jeremy Bates at the bank. We’re going to wire Andrew Tam the money you stole from him. I’ll go over the details with you in the morning. All you have to do is cooperate, and by tomorrow night you’ll be on a plane back to Guyana or wherever else you choose to go.”
“I get that too. I already told you I was going to give it back anyway,” he said.
“Yes, I heard you, and maybe I believe you.”
“These cuffs, can you take them off now? What the hell can I do up here?”
“Don’t rush,” she said. “Tell you what, though, how about I buy you a drink? You want a drink?”
“Sure.”
“What do you want?”
“See if they have any Scotch.”
Ava walked into the galley. The bar was better stocked than the lounge at the Phoenix. There were three Scotches: Johnnie Walker Red, Black, and Blue — the premium one. “They have Johnnie Walker Blue,” she told him.
“I’ll take it neat,” he said.
She came back into the cabin. “I’ll get it in a minute. I have to go to the bathroom first.” She took her kitbag from under her seat and went to the washroom. On the way back she stopped in the galley, leaving on the counter two hundred-millilitre shampoo bottles filled with chloral hydrate.
Ava poured herself a modest shot of cognac, a Remy Martin VSOP, and then filled a quarter of a glass with Blue Label for Seto.
She walked back with the drinks and held the whisky to his lips. He slurped rather than sipped. “Give me a break with these cuffs,” he said.
“Too soon.”
“C’mon.”
“Look, I’m sorry it has to be this way. I can’t take any chances.”
She put the glass to his mouth again. The Scotch disappeared. “You want another?” she asked.
“Why not?”
In the galley she tipped half the contents of one shampoo bottle into the glass and then added the Scotch. The colour was all Scotch. She sniffed. The smell was all Scotch.
Seto was sitting up straight now. The liquor seemed to have revitalized him.
“Slow down,” she said. “I don’t want you falling-down drunk.”
“I can handle my booze,” he said.
He followed her advice anyway, and it took him about ten minutes to finish his drink.
She went into the galley and refilled his glass with more chloral hydrate and Scotch. When she brought the refill back into the cabin, he looked up at her a with stupid grin. His eyes were beginning to glaze over, and she realized that the second dose might not be necessary. What the hell, she thought. Why waste it? To her shock he managed to finish the entire glass before collapsing forward. Ava pushed him back against the seat. She figured he’d be out for at least five or six hours.
So far, so good, Ava thought, looking down at the comatose Seto. Another hour and a half and they’d be on the ground, and she’d have Derek to help. Any worries about getting Seto through Customs and keeping him under control were starting to ebb, only to be replaced by anxiety about the next day and the bank. Regardless of how docile Seto was, she knew it was going to come down to Barrett’s and her ability to handle Jeremy Bates. She opened her notebook and took the bank files from her bag. The email she had sent in Seto’s name had established the framework for the meeting; now she just had to be calm, controlled, and credible. The problem was, she knew that wasn’t going to be enough. Somehow, some way, she had to convince Bates to take a leap of faith. Not a blind one entirely, but for a serious banker a leap with a risk, however you cut it.
Ava reviewed the story she intended to spin, making notes as she did. Where were the holes? What questions would Bates ask? The basic premise seems plausible enough, she thought, and she had no trouble answering the questions she imagined Bates would ask. Then Seto snorted, and for an instant Ava thought he was having trouble breathing. She watched him until his body eased and he was quiet. She looked at her notebook again, but her concentration had been broken. She was tired, she knew, and the next hour might best be spent giving her mind a break rather than playing out endless scenarios with Jeremy Bates.
She closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat. One more day, she thought, that’s all I have to get through.
(32)
The plane’s descent towards Beef Island airport was rough, and Ava woke with a start, unaware that she had nodded off. She took a hurried glance at Seto. He was dead to the world.
The landing was smooth, the taxi longer than she would have thought necessary for a plane that size. When the engines were turned off, she looked out the window and saw that the terminal was still a hundred metres away. She reached over and unlocked Seto’s handcuffs.
The pilot opened the door to the cockpit and came into the cabin. “I called in and they were expecting us. But you can’t leave the plane until they get here and give you clearance.” He looked at Seto. “Is he okay?”
“He slept most of the way. I think he’s worn out.”
The pilot went to the exit door and pulled the security handle, then swung the door open and lowered the steps onto the tarmac. Ava felt the warm air rush in, the smell a curious mixture of oils and gases rising from the runway. She put her notebook in her bag, straightened her shirt, pulled back her hair, and reset the ivory chignon pin.
The pilot peered out into the darkness. Ava didn’t know what to expect from Customs; she just hoped Derek had acquired a wheelchair and that they’d let him bring it to the plane. She didn’t fancy carrying Seto to the terminal. She checked her watch. They had been on the ground for five minutes. What was causing the delay? The pilot must have been thinking the same thing, because he turned to look at her and gave a shrug.
Another couple of minutes passed, and Ava was about to join the pilot at the door when he said, “I see them. They’re coming.”
She stood and stretched. “Is there a wheelchair?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
They were still going to have to carry Seto to the stairs and down onto the tarmac. Ava said to the pilot, “My friend may need help to get him into it.” She reached into her bag, looked for her money stash, and counted out four hundred-dollar bills. “Here, this is for you and your co-pilot. Split it any way you think is fair,” she said, handing him the cash.
The pilot moved back into the doorway. Ava stood behind, looking around him into the darkness.
Three men were walking towards them. None of them was Derek.
Two of the men were in uniform, one of them pushing the wheelchair. The third man trailed behind, lumbering, the walk an effort. He was massive, a head taller than the others and twice as broad. Ava turned away from the door and leaned against the wall. Where the hell was Derek? Probably inside the terminal, she thought, fighting to suppress far more negative thoughts.
“Hello,” she heard a voice call. It had a distinct Bajan accent.
“We need some help with one of the passengers,” the pilot said. “You’ll have to carry him from the plane.”
“Not a problem,” the same voice boomed.
The pilot moved back and Ava found herself looking into a huge face that was all too familiar. The man had Captain Robbins’s bright blue eyes and large, fleshy lips. He lacked the Captain’s near-translucent skin, but his dark tan was accentuated by deep furrows that looked like white trenches etched into his brown scalp. The blue eyes flickered around the cabin before they rested on Ava. “You must be Ava Lee,” he said. “I’m Jack Robbins.”
“Hello,” she said.
