Джеймс Паттерсон - Lost

As she reached her car, Hanna heard a man say, “Hold on.” It was the sailor.

She opened the car door as if she hadn’t heard him.

He raised his voice. “Perhaps I was a bit too blunt.”

Hanna glanced at him. “Too stupid is more like it.”

The man looked sheepish. Finally, he said, “I’ll do it. I can check on the container every day and bring them extra food. If I do it late enough, when most of the crew is asleep, I can even let them out onto the deck.”

Hanna thought about it, then said, “No. I’ll hire someone else.” She slid into the car.

The sailor stepped closer and said, “C’mon, I’ll do a great job.”

Hanna said, “For half the money.”

“You mean half the money up front?”

“No, nothing up front and half of our original price when the load arrives safely. That’s my only offer now. Consider it a tax on being reactionary and sexist.”

The man stood there, mulling over the offer. Finally, he said, “Damn, I thought your brother was the tough one.”

Chapter 51

Amsterdam

MAGDA ANDRUSKIEWICZ SAT on the edge of the bed. If she looked out the window, she could catch a glimpse of the moon. She’d turned sixteen a few months earlier, but to the other girls in the room with her, she was something like a mother.

Sitting next to her on the edge of the bed was a thirteen-year-old Belgian girl who couldn’t stop crying. The only common language they had was English, but the other girl’s accent was so thick it was difficult for Magda to follow what she was saying. As best she could tell, the girl was homesick. That didn’t explain why she was trying to get to the United States, but it did explain why Magda’s shoulder was soaking wet from the girl’s tears.

Magda didn’t know what else to do but put her arm around the girl and tell her everything would be all right. That approach had worked with the other girl crammed into the room with them. She was also sixteen and had been crying earlier, but Magda had gotten her to lie down quietly and close her eyes. The exhausted teenager had fallen asleep almost immediately.

Magda had left Poland with her older brother, intending to come to Amsterdam. They had met a nice man in Poland who’d said there was plenty of work in Amsterdam and easy transit to the U.S. from the Netherlands’ largest city.

The trip was a series of bus rides and hostel stays until they reached Germany. There, in a chaotic Berlin station full of refugees from various nations, they’d been caught up in a crushing crowd, and she’d gotten separated from her brother. Magda didn’t have any identification or a working mobile phone, and she was too scared to go to the police.

She waited in Berlin for three days, hoping to find her brother again, searching the streets; she’d even tried e-mailing him from an internet café.

Out of options, she had found a way to get to the United States, thinking she could get in touch with her brother from there. The lady who had set everything up, Hanna, had even given her a new backpack with clothes and a few other things. Hanna told Magda that she could get her into the United States and that all Magda would have to do was work for someone in Miami to pay off the expense. It sounded like a pretty good deal.

The girl Magda was comforting quieted down. After a few minutes, Magda realized she had fallen asleep in her arms. Magda looked through the window to see the moon one last time for the night.

She settled the younger girl on an air mattress, then lay down on her own thin mattress and stared up at the ceiling. It was only then, after trying to comfort the two other girls in the room for most of the evening, that she wanted to cry as well.

Magda wondered who would comfort her.

Chapter 52

Miami

I KNEW EVERYONE in Miami, and as more information came from Marie Meijer, that was really starting to pay off.

I had run down a dozen tips and confirmed some details, but we still didn’t know exactly how the load of humans was going to come into the United States. And as much as I wanted to know everything about the case and get it done as quickly as possible, I had other responsibilities.

That’s why at lunchtime I drove my FBI-issued Ford Explorer at incredibly unsafe speeds back to my home in Coral Springs. I was well aware of the FBI restrictions on vehicle use, but sometimes you just had to be efficient and flout the rules. In my case, sometimes was all the time. My sister claimed I had a complex about authority and enjoyed breaking rules. I could never admit to her that she was right, I did enjoy it. Breaking rules had become my hobby.

My mom had a doctor’s appointment, and I’d decided to take her to it since my sister had already done a lot more than her share of looking after her. I was also starting to worry about Lila’s drinking, but I was still working out a way to talk to her about it.

That’s why I didn’t mind taking my mother to the neurologist, just across the county line in Boca Raton.

My mom had been acting a little differently recently. I’d really noticed it since I’d gotten back to Miami. It wasn’t just being in the moment versus living in the past; she had started to get confused about exactly where she was and she wasn’t shy about expressing that confusion.

In the car on the way to the doctor’s office, my mom asked, “Are you going to bring those kids by the house again? It was wonderful having young people around.”

“I don’t think so, Mom. They were just visiting.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll be supplying me with grandchildren anytime soon?”

“Not unless I kidnap them. If I go the normal route, it could take a while. First I have to find a woman that I’m attracted to. Then we have to date and fall in love. We should share the same goals with regards to kids. And then, finally, we’d start the process of having one. I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

“Nonsense. A tall, handsome, educated man like you should have his pick of women.”

“Says his mom.”

She laughed at that. The laugh lines that formed around her eyes made me smile. It was just like when I was younger, when I could talk to her about anything.

We got to the doctor’s office and I checked us in while my mom took a seat in the lobby. There were a few people there, the usual assortment of elderly men accompanied by concerned wives or children. I had seen it all before in the three-year odyssey of my mother’s disease.

While we were sitting there waiting, out of the blue my mom said very loudly, “Where are we?”

“At Dr. Spirazza’s office.”

“Who? Why aren’t we at Dr. Goldman’s office? I like her.”

“Because Dr. Spirazza is a neurologist. He might be able to give us some tips on how to manage your issues.”

My mom said, “What issues?” Her voice got louder; it was starting to make me nervous. “The only issue I have now is that I’m not seeing Dr. Goldman.”

I could see in her posture and movements that she was getting agitated. I had no real response to it. The man sitting next to her slid over another seat. A woman who was accompanying her father gave me an understanding look. But my mom became more upset.

I held her hand and stroked her arm, but it had no effect. I kept my cool and finally thought of something. I looked at my mother and said, “What’s the difference between a jellyfish and a lawyer?”

The question immediately caught her attention and she calmed down. She was intrigued as she considered the options. Finally, she asked me, “What’s the difference?”

“One is a spineless, poisonous blob. The other is a form of marine life.” It was an old joke, but it made her laugh hard. And then, for no apparent reason, she went back to normal and started quietly flipping through an AARP magazine.