weren’t there for pleasure, it would be consistent with their cover to play the role of tourists on a romantic interlude.
Which brought her up short.
Feelings had been rekindled in her that she’d believed long dormant, and if anything, the attraction between them was more powerful than ever. She hadn’t pressed him on the idea of a future after they dealt with Grigenko, but it was on her mind. Would it be possible to settle somewhere and have a normal life together? Something that didn’t involve being on the run, or killing, or being ready to bolt at a second’s notice? They hadn’t discussed it, but with all the downtime she’d had traveling, an image of a life as a couple had gelled in her mind and now seemed attainable.
Jet hadn’t told him about the baby. There would be time for that. The scar from the caesarian had faded into the natural fold of her abdomen, and he hadn’t noticed it in the gloom of the rooms they’d been in, saving her a hurried explanation — an esoteric plumbing problem, perhaps: one of the mysteries of the female anatomy. Her physique had quickly returned to her pre-pregnancy fitness due to her rigorous exercise regimen and diet, and she’d been fortunate to inherit good genes — like her mother, who’d always leaned towards a slim, well-muscled figure.
David returned from the ticketing area a half hour later, interrupting her ruminations, and she beamed a warm smile at him as she rose from the screen and moved to pay the girl at the counter.
Whatever the future held, for the first time in a seeming eternity, she felt happy, even headed into the lion’s mouth.
For now, that was enough.
Chapter 25
The Jeep was a black two door with a soft top, and thankfully, the air-conditioning worked. The laconic agent at the rental car desk told them it would take around four hours to reach Punta Gorda and gave them a stained brochure with a map inside to guide them.
“Doesn’t seem to be too difficult,” Jet said as she studied it. “Head south. Keep going. Take the coastal road. Stop when the road ends. You are there…”
“You want to drive or shall I?”
“Either way. How’s the stomach?”
“Better every day.”
They placed their bags in the back, and Jet elected to drive, following the highway across the Belize River and into Belize City.
“What a dump,” Jet remarked as they threaded their way through the afternoon traffic. Most of the homes they passed had an air of disrepair and poverty that was completely unexpected after the relative order at the airport. Dazed inhabitants shuffled down the street in the heat, wearing little better than rags, and many of the cars surrounding them would have made a junkyard blush.
“I guess we can cross Belize City off our dream destination list.”
“But I hear the rents are affordable,” she observed.
“And there’s no shortage of opportunities to keep your combat skills sharp.”
David craned his neck, looking at the rough downtown business district with cautious trepidation.
“Pull over whenever you see an electronics shop. I want to get a phone so I can make calls. I have no idea how remote Punta Gorda is, but if this is any example of Belize’s biggest city, we’ll want a working cell.”
“Assuming there’s coverage there.”
“Good point.”
She braked in front of a shop with stereos and computers in the window, and David hopped out.
“I’m not going to leave the car unattended. Hope you don’t mind.”
“I don’t blame you. Be back in a minute.”
He returned, holding a cell phone aloft in a gesture signaling victory, and they got under way again. Once they were south of town, they were able to make decent time, although they would go for a mile or so at the posted speed and then come to a beaten vehicle chugging along at barely above walking pace.
“Look. Coastal Road,” she said, pointing at a small sign.
“What? That?”
“I…I think so…”
They turned onto the red dirt road and bounced along its rutted surface. A few miles from the highway, they passed an olive-colored horse-drawn buggy with rubber tires. The couple driving it were from a bygone century — the woman wore a long country dress, hair covered with a bonnet; the man in long-sleeved black in spite of the oppressive heat.
“Am I seeing things?” David asked.
“You mean the horses?”
“What was that?”
“Mennonites. A religious group. Like the Quakers. There are a lot of them in Belize.”
He looked at her without expression before returning his attention to the dirt road.
“I’m not going to ask how you know about obscure religious sects here.”
“I had time to kill after booking the car and hotel,” she explained.
David grunted.
Daylight was fading by the time they reached PG Town, as Punta Gorda was called by the locals, and after a couple of wrong turns, they found their hotel. Four hours of marginal roads in barely tolerable seats had taken their toll, and they were glad to stretch their legs, although when they opened the doors, the blistering humidity assaulted them with full force.
“It’s not the Ritz, is it?” David commented.
Jet shrugged and grabbed her bag, lifting his out of the back and hitting the door lock button as she made for the front entrance.
The room turned out to be comfortable, the air-conditioning efficient and cool. Jet used the bathroom to rinse off while David made a call from one of the payphones in the front of the hotel, preferring a landline over the cell out of habit. When he returned to the room, Jet was waiting for him, glancing through the local paper that had been left for their entertainment.
“I’ll meet up with our man here in an hour over by the cemetery,” he reported.
“Seems fitting. I’ll come with you.”
“I’d prefer if you didn’t. That way only one of us is at risk if he’s not playing completely straight.”
“And you’re going to meet him alone because…?”
“I should be able to manage this.”
They finally agreed that she would scope out the meeting place, which was easy walking distance from their room.
At the appointed time, David was waiting near the junction by the cemetery, eyes roving over the weathered grave markers in the small cemetery, when a Seventies-era Nissan truck rolled to a stop. The driver lowered the window and looked David over before gesturing for him to hop in.
“Tom?” David asked.
“The one and only.”
“Don’t suppose your air-conditioning works.”
“Sorry.”
David returned to the room half an hour later, apparently no worse for wear.
“How did it go?” she asked.
“Good. We’ll meet again tomorrow afternoon, and he’ll have the weapons. He’s not sure about the MTAR- 21s, though. The Hondurans use them, but the Guatemalans use the larger TAR-21. It’s whichever he can more readily get his hands on. I told him either one was fine, although we wanted them with silencers if possible. He also wasn’t sure about the 9mm versus the 5.56 NATO round. Again, whatever they have lying around is what he’ll
