David Leadbeater: Caribbean Gold

Alicia took out her wallet.

The pilot blinked. “Oh, I can’t. I—”

“Yeah,” Alicia flapped the wallet as if it was a winning lottery ticket. “You can.”

The man’s eyes were hungry.

Alicia let him see the wadded notes. “An hour there. An hour back. Easy money.”

“Well, it’s a bit more than that.”

“But you get my company too.” Alicia gave him the wide-eyed grin. “That’s gotta be worth something.”

“Oh, of course.” The pilot was nothing if not polite. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Hey, loosen up.” Alicia gave him a friendly punch on the arm. “Sorry, hope that doesn’t bruise up too much.” She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and tried another tack.

“I wonder if that other guy over there could help me.”

A minute later and their deal was done. The pilot’s name was James and, despite his nervousness and clear reluctance, he soon had the ultra-modern bird in the air. A quick flight plan had been filed and Alicia was heading toward Healey’s last coordinates — the port at Montego Bay. For the first time she began to feel a little lighter — she was on her way to help her friends and less than an hour had passed. The sun outside was inching down the horizon, the heat slowly fading, but that was good too. Alicia preferred to arrive with the shadows.

Which also brought her back around to the situation she was approaching. Alicia had no weapons and no knowledge of the area save for what she could scavenge from the Internet. It appeared to be a relatively flat and open port, one side tasked to the docking of boats and the other a jumble of containers. At least one large gantry crane ran up and down one side. Alicia saw no real cover apart from the containers themselves, but still couldn’t put her trust totally into the hands of a map app.

James tried to make small talk as they skimmed beneath the clouds. “So what do you do over in Montego Bay? PR?”

Alicia almost chortled, but managed to stop herself at the very last moment. “You think I’d be good at PR?”

“I do. You have all the right moves, miss.”

Was that a little bit of flirting? Alicia missed those days — hadn’t seen them in so long she’d forgotten how it went. She managed to curb the crudity that was about to slip from her mouth and turned it into a half-true comment.

“My company needs me. Help them out of a bind.”

James nodded. “Well, settle back. We’re an hour out.”

Alicia nodded and began to prepare.

The chopper started to dip, then glide down. Alicia steadied her thoughts and imagined the possible outcomes. She combed her memory, ran through ideas. She fixed the main objectives firmly at the forefront of her mind.

Crouch. Russo. Caitlyn. Healey.

James landed sweetly and took his money with a grin, more confident now that his risks were over. Alicia considered inviting him on the next leg of her mission, but only for a private joke. It wouldn’t be right, and she was trying to change.

She made her way to the port of Montego Bay, stepping out of a cab near the entrance and into the shadow of the biggest cruise ship she’d ever seen. The area behind her along the dock was a hive of motion, too many bodies moving to get a bead on any one person. The area before her, however, as the dock turned more industrialized and less public, appeared almost deserted.

Alicia scanned the horizons. The sun was slipping low. Shadows were seeping free. It had been a very long day.

She had no weapons. But she didn’t need one.

Alicia Myles was the weapon.

Alicia used her cellphone to pinpoint Healey’s exact location. Of course, the altercations must have happened in broad daylight, but she fancied a determined force might just get away with it. Barring gunshots, the commotion and sheer noise around the busy dockside would mask an awful lot of sound. A walk around the perimeter revealed relatively easy access to the place, and minimal security. The security office looked unmanned. Alicia began to wonder if this area might be a private storage facility.

Readying herself, she walked inside.

Soon among the containers and feeling safer. CCTV cameras were mounted on poles at all four sides of the compound, but if they were anything like the security office then they wouldn’t pose a problem. Of course, the criminal element might be using them — they’d be somewhat lax not to. But maybe they were obsolete. Alicia could only hope.

It took her twenty minutes to find the place where Healey had sent his text. Hundreds of containers surrounded her. No noise penetrated what felt like a metal maze, a blinding-hot partitioned box. She searched the area but found nothing save boot prints and what appeared to be dried blood.

Healey? Where are you? Show me a sign now.

Time ticked and stretched out, the waiting part of her journey now at an end. This was where she could act. This was where she could make a difference. But short of getting herself noticed and potentially in the same boat as her teammates, what the hell was she supposed to do?

Time still spilled away faster than sand through fingers. What state were her friends in by now? How long could they withstand the pressure? Were they even now sat inside one of these metal boxes, wasted, dehydrated, just wishing for help to arrive?

Alicia began to think more desperate alternatives as darkness appropriated the land.

For fuck’s sake, guys, do something!

Zack Healey stayed as hard-faced as he could, as resolute as an ancient forest tree. Still, the men interrogating him knew his rawness. It seemed they could smell it seeping from his pores.

The fist landed again, smashing his head to the side. Healey felt an explosion of pain and the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. He knew about this though, knew how to fight it. The training had been much harder. The British soldier had to be ready for anything. Healey had figured at the moment of his capture that it was he that would be leaned upon. Didn’t take a genius to figure he was the weak link.

“Speak,” his aggressor growled.

“The more you hit my face, the less I can,” he replied.

Another punch.

Healey took it. Behind, he heard Caitlyn stifle a cry and just wished she’d remain quiet. The more low-key her presence the better. These guys clearly believed she was a civilian along for the ride, maybe a consultant, and believed she wouldn’t be privy to the more sensitive information that they were after. Fine. Let them think that. Let them think that and keep on hitting me. Because if they hurt her…

Healey looked up from the floor as a new voice made itself heard.

“Wait. For now. The boy is right.” It was a grating, highly accented voice, something eastern European.

Healey looked up. “Boy?”

“Ah, you have to see enough things to become a man. I feel you have not seen these things yet. But who knows? You do not know me and I do not know you. Not yet. Let’s change that a little, shall we?”

Healey just stared at the man, grateful for the respite for now. His jaw throbbed, his teeth ached.

“I am Jake. You call me Jake.”

Healey shuffled in his chair, but couldn’t go far. The legs were nailed to the ground, the arms colored with old blood. A regular questioning point, this then. A go-to method. Healey couldn’t think of any use of that knowledge, but then he usually left the real thinking to the others.

Men sat around, or idled with their backs against the metal sides of the box. A passable air-conditioner cooled the inside, and bottles of water were passed around. Healey longed for a swig but didn’t let them know.