JET - Sanctuary (19 page)

He followed her lead and was cackling as they drove by the man in the Chevrolet sedan, who gave them a hard look and then returned to his cigarette. When they rounded the corner and were out of sight, Alejandro’s expression settled back to his typically serious one.

“So much for that idea,” he said.

“What about buying a cell phone? Or are there pay phones here?”

“Buying one isn’t a bad idea. But what we really need first is an anonymous vehicle and to get out of these uniforms now that they’ve served their purpose. Maybe we should go back, sneak up on our watcher, and take his car?”

She shook her head. “Unnecessary risk, and it might alert your enemies that something’s wrong if he’s supposed to check in. There’s nothing to be gained by doing it.”

“So we steal a car?”

“What do you think of that one?” she asked, considering an older tan Toyota van parked in front of a small apartment building.

“Looks good. What do you want me to do?”

“Is there a hardware or stationery store around here?”

Alejandro considered the question. “I think we passed a little office supply place on the main street. Why?”

“Find a grove of trees or some bushes so I can change into my own clothes, and then we’re going shopping.”

Fifteen minutes later they were back on the same side street, this time with Jet wearing her shirt and pants, a metal ruler in one hand she’d notched using Alejandro’s pocket knife. He dropped her at the corner, and she sauntered unhurriedly down the block, watching for any inquisitive neighbors. When she was alongside the van, she took a last look around and then slid the ruler down the passenger window. Five seconds later the lock popped open, and she slipped inside.

She reached beneath the steering column and felt for the ignition wires. When she’d located them, she sliced them free using the knife, stripped the ends, and crossed them. The starter cranked over, but no ignition. She tried again, and on the third attempt the little motor revved to life.

Jet pulled from the curb and drove to the end of the block, where Alejandro was waiting in the Jeep. They rounded the corner, and he ditched it in front of a vacant lot, and then quickly moved to the van’s passenger door, submachine guns and the handheld radio clutched to his chest. Jet was already rolling away when he slammed the door shut and set the guns to the side.

“Get into the back and change,” she said. “We’ll stop at a phone store on the way out of town.”

“Better yet, drive to Los Andes. There’s less chance of seeing anyone who might recognize me. I’m hardly ever there.”

She did as instructed, and by the time they stopped in front of an electronics store, he was out of the uniform, his shirt wrinkled and his trousers a shadow of their former immaculate glory.

He looked down at them and grimaced. “I look like a hobo.”

“That’s okay. I’m not choosy about the company I keep.”

“How do you manage to still look good?”

“Cheap synthetics. Wait here. I’ll get the phone.” She felt in her pocket and withdrew the ziplock bag with the passports in it. Alejandro’s eyebrows rose as she sorted through three and selected an Argentine one. Jet shrugged and slid the rest back into the bag.

“You need money?” he asked.

“I don’t have any Chilean, so yes.”

He handed her a wad of bills. “Good luck.”

“Easiest thing I’ve done today. It’s just a phone.”

When she returned after a long wait, she tossed him his change and a little Nokia with a mobile charger. “All right. You’re in business. Where to next?”

He checked the time. “Up at the next street, make a right. That will take you to the highway south. Santiago’s about an hour drive.”

Jet nodded and eyed the gas gauge, which thankfully indicated over a third of a tank of gas – more than enough to get them to the capital. She slid the transmission into gear and eased into traffic, keenly aware that every kilometer took her further from Matt and Hannah.

Alejandro was on the phone almost the entire trip, coordinating with his father’s subordinates and giving them sanitized updates on what had transpired. He warned them that Rodrigo had been captured by the Verdugos, so any calls or instructions from him were to be treated as though they were made under duress and reported to Alejandro immediately.

The news on Gaspar Soto wasn’t good. The attorneys had been stonewalled when they’d demanded to see him that morning; now it appeared that he wasn’t being held at the downtown headquarters jail, and no new information was available. They were escalating their protests to the highest levels, but so far there was no information about Soto senior and no specific time when any would be forthcoming – a testament to the amount of money the Verdugos must have spread around, besides being patently illegal. But apparently in Chile the law was a fickle mistress and could be flouted or ignored by those in power with relative impunity. The head of the legal team vowed to get to the bottom of the matter before the day was over, but Alejandro appeared unconvinced as he hung up and sat silently brooding for the final kilometers into the city.

Santiago was a hectic clog of cars, all honking and near misses and daredevil abandon that reminded her of nothing so much as Buenos Aires – the world capital of insane motorists, rivaled only by the Italians for sheer suicidal bravado. Alejandro directed her through the afternoon traffic to a privileged area of classic French-influenced buildings. After circling the nearby streets and seeing nothing suspicious, he told her to park down the block while he scouted out his girlfriend’s apartment.

“What does she do?” Jet asked as he slipped one of the soldiers’ pistols into his empty shoulder holster.

“Her family’s in banking and real estate. She helps manage their portfolio.”

Jet eyed the imposing building. “Is she likely to be there during the day?”

“She works from home.”

“And she won’t mind you showing up? With another woman?”

“She’s not like that – our relationship’s more informal than you’re imagining, and she doesn’t get involved in my affairs.” Alejandro swung the passenger door wide, stepped onto the sidewalk, and leaned into the open window. “I’ll be back. She has several rental properties that are vacant at the moment. I’ll borrow one until this gets sorted out.”

“Watch your back.”

“You too.”

Alejandro walked away, looking like he’d lost a bear-wrestling contest in his torn dinner jacket and ruined pants, and Jet wondered for the hundredth time whether she was doing the right thing in trusting him. Her self-reliant side hated depending on a man whom she barely knew for anything, much less Matt’s and Hannah’s lives, but she stifled her doubts as she watched him cross the street and approach the building. There were no other options she could see, so like it or not, Alejandro was her only chance at seeing her daughter and mate alive ever again.

Chapter 26

The van was running on fumes by the time Alejandro returned. Jet took in his crisp pastel blue shirt, leather jacket, and jeans, and nodded as he opened the passenger door.

“I see you found a set of clothes,” she said.

“Yes. I keep a spare bag at her place.”

“Were you able to find anything more out?”

He nodded. “I’m expecting a call.”

“We’re just about out of gas,” she said, eyeing the gauge.

“Doesn’t matter.” He held up a set of car keys with a BMW logo on it. “My car’s in the underground parking.”

“Is it wise to drive around in a vehicle that’s associated with you?”

“Ah, I should have said
one
of my cars. Normally I have an armored SUV and a driver for security reasons. This is one of my toys.”

“I see.”

“I’ll pull around. We can load up the guns and radio and be on our way.”

“And the van?”

“I’ll arrange for someone to get rid of it. Be right back.”

Jet killed the engine and studied her reflection in the rearview mirror. She looked tired and in need of a shower. She rubbed a smudge of dirt from her cheek and was running her fingers through her stiff hair when she was assaulted by a wave of light-headedness, accompanied by a vision of Hannah cowering in the mine, crying. Sour bile rose in her gorge, and her mouth flooded with saliva. She swallowed hard just as the muted roar of a large motor vibrated her window.

Alejandro peered over a pair of sunglasses at her from behind the wheel of a black BMW X6. Jet eyed the aftermarket oversized tires and wheels and the gleaming onyx paint without comment and reached behind her for the submachine guns. She opened the door, transferred the weapons to the rear of the BMW, and then hopped into the passenger side.

The little Nokia trilled as Alejandro pulled away. He punched the call button and listened intently, muttered a few words, listened again, and then hung up with an oath.

“Bastards. They have my father at San Miguel prison. It’s one of the worst hellholes in a system that’s as miserable as you can imagine. Why they put him in there…” Alejandro trailed off, the venom in his voice threatening to choke him. “He should have been in the central jail. I mean, they can’t even tell the attorneys what he’s being charged with, and he’s been transferred to one of the most violent facilities in the country?” Alejandro’s eyes blazed. “We have to get him out of there. You have no idea how dangerous that place is.”

“How? I mean, if you can’t get anyone in authority to answer the phone?”

Alejandro slammed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration as his temper flared. “It’s…I don’t know who in the organization I can trust besides a core of my father’s friends. There had to be inside information leaked for them to know he’d be at the restaurant at that particular time. I know you think it’s Rodrigo, but even if you’re right, there might be others.”

Alejandro gunned the engine and sliced between two cars and then swerved into a left-turn lane and hung a U-turn, tires screeching.

“Where are we going?” Jet asked.

“I want to drive by the prison.”

“What will that accomplish?”

“I need to think.”

Jet opted not to argue the wisdom of going by the jail, and let him stew in silence. She, more than anyone, understood the anguish he was feeling at having a loved one held prisoner, in constant danger.

The prison turned out to be a series of multistoried concrete buildings behind a tall wall in the center of the city with guard turrets every seventy meters or so. They circled it three times as Alejandro grew increasingly agitated. When he coasted to a stop at a traffic light, he turned to her.

“I have to get him out. Now.”

“Do you have any pull inside the prison?”

“Of course. We have pull everywhere.”

“With the guards or the prisoners?”

“Before this I would have said both. Now I’m not sure. But certainly among the prisoners. A fair number of them are our men.”

“And the Verdugos?”

“The cops have learned the hard way not to put the Verdugos into any prison in Santiago. Their crew goes to jail in Valparaíso.”

“How about breakouts?”

“There have been a number. But they aren’t reported.”

“Can you organize a breakout?”

Alejandro considered the idea. “The system here is like most of South America. The jails are basically run by the inmates. They have everything you can think of – weapons, drugs, alcohol, cell phones – everything but a means to easily escape. The guards have the attitude that they’re only there to keep the inmates in, not to control them. They’re afraid to go into the buildings, as they should be. But one thing they take seriously is keeping the animals, as they refer to the prisoners, in their cages. Anyone trying to make a break for the walls is shot. Even so, some manage to sneak out, but a man like my father…he’s not young.”

“It sounds like you should call whoever runs things inside and let them know he’s there. They may not even know he’s there if they have him in solitary. You need more information than just that he’s been imprisoned. Like where precisely he is in the complex, whether he’s hurt, whether he can move around freely.”

Alejandro nodded. “Yes. Excellent. I will relay the message. Hector is one of the trusted inner circle. You’ll meet him shortly. He can put that in motion.”

Alejandro made a call and spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, his tone as ominous as any she’d heard. When he hung up, he glanced at her.

“It is done. I should know something by the time we reach the rental.”

“Where are your men gathered? Are they staying out of sight, or do you have a headquarters of some sort?”

“Hector is at my father’s estancia. It’s south of the city. Of course, we have the offices for our shipping company. But I think it would be a bad idea to go there – it’s an obvious place they’ll have watched. The same for my father’s place. I don’t want to risk it, especially if there are doubts about my brother.”

“What about my daughter? Were you able to learn anything?”

“I’ve set wheels in motion. My contacts in the army are investigating. I expect to have news at any moment.”

Jet studied Alejandro’s profile, wondering if he was lying. She didn’t think so. But that didn’t mean anything. David had apparently spent most of the time he’d been with her lying, and she’d never suspected – a mistake that had almost cost her everything.

Ten minutes later, Alejandro parked in a multistory condo development’s underground garage and killed the engine. He circled around, opened the rear cargo door of the X6, and then retrieved a golf bag. Jet handed him the submachine guns, which he concealed in the bag before shouldering it. “This way,” he said, heading toward the stainless steel doors of an elevator.

The condo was a two-bedroom unit on the sixth floor, modern and sparsely furnished. He gave her a quick tour, and when she saw the washer and dryer, she nodded. “Does your girlfriend have any clothes here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve only been in this place once before.” They moved to the closet, where there was nothing but a cheap white cotton robe on a hanger that looked like it might have been left by the prior tenant. Jet examined it and carried it to the laundry nook. She eyed the soap and turned to Alejandro.