~ ~ ~
Jet and David pulled themselves up onto the dock at the St. Raphael resort marina and waved goodbye to the deckhand, who was already gliding away in the tender, returning to the yacht a few kilometers offshore. The water was dead calm near the island, and within a minute, he diminished into a dot moving out to sea.
They shouldered their bags and walked to the main hotel building, where they could get a cab. No customs or immigration officials were in evidence, and whether that was typical or had been arranged, they didn’t know, but they were grateful for it. From this point on, things would get easier – it wouldn’t be necessary to skulk around.
Cyprus was a good choice as a gateway. A member of the European Union, the island nation was a business and banking center, and had a decent number of flights departing any given day. They could blend into the crowd of business or holiday travelers and not raise any eyebrows – key to a safe getaway from the region.
They approached the waiting taxi line, and a bellman blew his whistle, signaling the next in the queue to pull forward. The trunk popped open, and they dropped their bags in, and then gave the driver instructions to take them to the airport thirty miles away.
Traffic was sparse along the well-maintained road, passing through modern towns as well as villages that had been there since before the birth of Christ. The driver had the radio on low – listening to music that sounded like someone had tied percussion instruments to a cow and set it running down an alley. Jet took David’s hand and leaned into him as they watched the rugged countryside go by.
Once at the airport, they booked a flight to Madrid that was due to depart in an hour. They carried on their bags and submitted to the cursory and uninspired security precautions before settling themselves into their seats near the front of the plane.
Soon they were airborne, watching the island disappear beneath their wings as they banked west on the long route to Europe, the surface of the Mediterranean shimmering in the sun’s glow.
They dozed en route to Madrid, and David seemed better rested once they landed. After checking the departure schedule, they bought tickets on an Iberia direct flight to Mexico City departing the following day – the first nonstop available.
The eleven-hour flight to Mexico City was uneventful, and customs posed no problem. Within a few hours, they were boarding a flight to Cancun. From there, they would take a bus to the border, a six-hour ordeal, and then fly from Corozal to Belize International Airport, where they would rent a car and drive the hundred miles south to Punta Gorda. With any luck, they would make it by dark.
When they got off the plane in Cancun, the heat and humidity slammed into them, and within minutes, their shirts were soaked through with sweat. As David checked with the information booth on flights to Belize City – on the off chance one was departing that day –Jet chatted with a friendly baggage handler about the weather and the road to Chetumal, on the Belizean border. When David returned, he had a grin on his face.
“We’re in luck. Flight leaves in two hours to Belize City. An hour flight versus seven hours of bus and prop plane hell. I’m going in to book the tickets. There’s an internet café inside – can you go online and see about rental cars and hotels?”
“Sure. I’m guessing there aren’t a lot of choices in Punta Gorda. What is it, population sixty-five hundred?”
“If that. But I looked before, and there’s a handful to choose from. Pick something private,” he said over his shoulder before disappearing into the terminal.
She located the computers and booked a Jeep, and then searched for hotels. As she had suspected, the options were limited, and she eventually selected one a few blocks north of the cemetery, on the water. Even if they 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, or a cyst: 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 toward 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.