Chapter 10 #4
Aw, she’d been nicer than he was. So he’d nodded, grunted, and given her a sitrep.
They’d sat in the water and watched the immigration center while she talked through possible scenarios.
Like getting to the airfield, appropriating a plane, and escaping Cuban air space.
Although, he wasn’t a pilot, so he hadn’t known how she’d planned to accomplish that until she’d said, “I know how to fly.”
Which had seeded all sorts of ideas. Then she’d scanned the harbor and pointed out a couple of boats that looked capable of taking them out of the harbor and the ninety miles to Key West.
Meanwhile, a car had pulled up, and someone had gotten out and shaken Declan’s hand. Austen had seemed just fine as they’d gotten into the SUV and driven away. And that’s when he’d said, “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“Wherever that black car is going. It looks like it has embassy plates, so my guess is the US embassy.”
“Oh, perfect. Because it’s not enough that the Cuban police will find us—we’re gonna let the Americans grab hold of us too,” she’d said, looking at him. “For you, that’s not a problem.”
He’d worked his way over to a ladder in the water. “What, are you wanted in America too?”
She’d sighed. “Not exactly. But I don’t like people asking questions. And sure, I have contacts that could probably wheedle me out of custody, but... I just like to stay below the radar.”
He’d landed on the dock, and she came up behind him, still dressed in her whites, which did a great job of outlining her body.
“That should start with us getting a change of clothes,” he’d said.
“Will that do?” she’d said as she pointed to a nearby trawler. A pair of pants and a T-shirt hung from the line, small enough to fit her.
“That’ll work for you,” he’d said.
“Calm down,” she’d said. “It looks like a liveaboard. We’ll go shopping.”
His clothes plastered to his body, he’d hustled down to the trawler.
It looked recently docked, so maybe the owners were inside sleeping.
Or had gone ashore. She’d hopped onto the deck, walked over to the clothes, and grabbed them.
Then she’d stuck her head into the cabin area, motioned to him. He’d sneaked inside too.
Small space, dark. A single bench with a table. Small kitchen. A coffeepot sitting in the sink, a stained, chipped mug next to it. Tackle and nets and fishing rods cluttering the table and bench. Clearly they’d hopped aboard a big-game fishing boat, probably in from that day’s charter.
“I found some clothes that might fit you,” Phoenix had said. She’d held up a men’s Speedo, grinned.
“Oh, you’re hilarious,” he’d said. But he’d spotted a pair of black cargo pants, held them up. “Maybe a little baggy, but they’ll do.”
He’d started to slip off his pants, but looked at Phoenix. Circled his finger in the air.
“Oh my, you’re precious.” She’d rolled her eyes, then headed into the back cabin, shut the door.
He’d changed into the pants and found a black T-shirt as well. He’d left his clothes in exchange and was scanning the harbor from the steps of the boat when she emerged.
Phoenix simply had a way of commanding the room.
Sure, she could make herself invisible when she wanted to, but now that he was aware of her, he couldn’t imagine not seeing her if she entered his airspace.
With her short dark hair, big gray-green eyes, she possessed a fierceness that had once prompted him to call her Mighty Mouse, and he hadn’t been wrong.
She was smart, fast, tough. But she also could laugh and get under his skin, and for a second, he’d been back in Krakow, kissing her.
And then again in Mariposa, only two months ago, right before she’d saved his life.
Or gotten him nearly killed, depending on whose side of the story he stood on.
So yeah, she’d gotten inside him just a little bit.
But she could also betray him any second, so maybe he’d needed a good old cold shower.
“Where to?” Phoenix had asked as she joined him on the steps in his memory of their epic day.
He’d hopped onto the pier. He’d also found a pair of flip-flops, which wouldn’t go very far in a run, but at least they were something. She’d still had the Converse tennis shoes that she’d worn on the boat.
She’d followed him onto the pier.
“I’m pretty sure the embassy picked them up, so we’ll head up there and see if we can scout them out.”
“But first we need to get off this dock and out of this harbor without being noticed,” she’d said.
Then she’d picked up a cooler that was about the size of her entire body and started to lug it down the pier, as if she were a deckhand.
He’d grabbed one end and nearly tripped. “There’s nothing in this.”
“Still, you were a little impressed, weren’t you?”
“Phoenix, the truth is...” Shoot, he hadn’t been able to stop himself. “I’m almost always a little impressed by you. Scared, mostly, but still a little impressed.”
She’d found a pair of aviators and now put them on. “Of course you are.”
He’d shaken his head but grinned.
They’d lugged the cooler to the end of the pier and then set it down near a truck. The place had felt abandoned, although this late in the day, probably most of the fishermen had come in.
The sun had hung halfway down the horizon, and they’d probably had three or four hours of daylight left.
“Over there,” Phoenix had said, and he’d followed the gesture she made with her head.
The chain-link fence had unraveled near one of the posts, rusty and probably easily breakable.
“Come on,” she’d said, “while nobody’s looking.
” She’d jogged over to the fence and kicked it before he could stop her.
Pushing it open, she’d made a space wide enough to scoot through.
Then she’d held it back, and he’d ducked and wiggled through as well.
It had led out into scrub brush and then to a road that ran along the harbor.
Because he hadn’t wanted anyone asking questions, he’d taken her hand and they’d walked out of the harbor together as if they were out for a stroll. She’d seemed to catch on and hadn’t pulled away as they’d walked to the street and woven their way through the city.
As they’d come into Old Havana, the crowd had grown. Tourists had walked hand in hand, and people had sat at the cafés that ringed the big center square.
Steinbeck had stood in the shadows under the portico of one of the shops, watching the fountain as it sprayed kaleidoscope drops into the air.
“Stay here,” she’d said. He’d turned, but she had slipped out of his grip, already gone.
She’d walked down the row of shops, bumped into somebody, held up her hand in apology, kept moving all the way to the end, turned, and strolled around the square.
He’d lost sight of her in the shadows across the cobblestone street.
A number of buskers had stood in the square, a couple of them playing guitars, another doing tricks. A few pigeons had darted about.
“Miss me?” she’d said. She’d grinned at him, wearing a gimme cap, then handed him one too. And a pair of shades. “Also, I scored us some cash and a phone.” She’d pulled out a burner phone, still in the package.
“Where did you get that?”
“There’s a guy selling burner phones across the way there.” She’d opened the package, turned it on.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to figure out a way out of here.” She’d held the phone to her ear.
“Who are you calling?”
“My boss,” she’d said. “She’ll know what to do.”
“I’ll find the embassy.” He’d walked away from her to a street map attached to a wall. It featured the Old Havana area as well as a larger metropolitan map. He spotted the embassy located along the shoreline, about six miles away. So, a little bit of a hike.
“I have a plan,” Phoenix had said. He’d turned, found her standing next to him. “Get to the airport, fly out, and my contact will pick us up.”
“Where?” he’d asked.
“The Bahamas. A little place called Alice Town on North Bimini Island. All tucked away and quiet, about 250 miles from here. My contact should get us where we need to go.”
“The Keys are closer.”
She’d given him a tired look.
“Fine. But first we need to get Declan and Austen.” He’d pointed to the embassy on the wall map. “The problem is, we have a small window of time. If we don’t get there before they leave the embassy, we lose them.”
“No problem.” She’d indicated a rack of rental bikes. Then she’d pulled out a wallet and produced a card. “I think that Thomas McKnight would just love to take a ride on a rental bike.”
Nice. He’d have to find Thomas McKnight and apologize, but, right now, yes .
She’d run the card and released the bikes, and he’d gotten on.
“You do know how to ride a bike, right?” she’d said.
“Are you kidding? Try to keep up.”
“Challenge accepted.” She’d grinned.
Aw. He’d gotten on and maneuvered his way through the square and then out to the street, where he’d followed the road along the coastline and through the city toward the embassy.
He’d turned into a tourist, glancing back at her as she’d pedaled, grinning at him.
And for a second, he’d been in Krakow again, sneaking out of their safe house, working together as they went to the café to meet his team.
Stop. He couldn’t go there. Because it would only end up in darkness and pain and fury.
They’d reached the embassy, the tall white building with the long windows and the gate around the perimeter. An American guard had stood at the entrance.
Stein had kept pedaling, found an alleyway, and parked the bike. Then they’d set up shop in a nearby café, and he drank black take-the-roof-off-your-mouth coffee and they watched people come and go.
“Who did you reach out to?” he’d asked.
She’d sat opposite him, the street traffic mirrored in her aviators.
“My boss, Mystique,” she’d said. “She has connections. We’ll figure out how to hustle Declan and Austen away from their overlords, sneak up to an airfield, and find some wings.”
“You hope.”
“According to Mystique, there’s a remote airfield with small planes. It won’t be the first time I’ve hijacked a plane.”
He’d shaken his head, rolled his eyes. “I don’t think I want to know.”
“Oh please,” she’d said. “Like you never did anything sketchy during your time as a SEAL.”
His mouth had pursed and he’d looked away because he didn’t like to think about that life anymore.
“You miss it,” she’d said.
He’d nodded. “I miss the teams. I miss the teamwork and the camaraderie. I miss knowing I’m doing something for good. The tip of the spear.”
He’d sat up then, seeing Declan and Austen emerge from the embassy.
They’d gotten into an SUV, and by the time they’d pulled out, he and Phoenix had retrieved their bikes.
They’d followed them through the congested traffic toward Old Havana to an old-style colonial Spanish hotel.
There they’d parked while Declan and Austen wandered around Old Havana, shopping like they were on a date or something.
Steinbeck had wanted to grab them then, but he’d spotted their tail, and Phoenix had talked him into holding back.
Then they’d nearly gotten caught. Maybe they’d ventured too close, maybe the tail had seen them, but Phoenix had grabbed him and pulled him into the shadows between shops.
“What?” he’d said as he braced an arm over her.
“I think you should kiss me,” she’d said.
“Really?” he’d said. “I feel like we’ve been here before.”
“Then we’ll know how to do it right,” she’d said. And she’d leaned up and put her arms around his neck.
And it had felt like the first time, when he’d kissed her in Krakow.
Surprising and sweet, although this time he’d known her better.
Known that he’d started to trust her a little, maybe.
And he’d wanted her to trust him too. He’d blamed the fatigue and adrenaline of the last few days for the way he’d stepped up, put his arm around her waist, pulled her to himself, and kissed her back.
Maybe put a little more oomph into it than necessary.
But she’d asked and he’d wanted to deliver.
She’d tasted sweet and smelled of the salty ocean and felt, well, a little too right in his arms for his own good.
Then she’d let him go, palming her hands on his chest. “I see you’ve upped your game,” she’d said quietly. “You’ve been practicing?”
“It comes naturally.” He’d given her a smile and stepped back, grabbed her hand.
Declan and Austen’s tail had started moving again, and Stein had kept his hand in Phoenix’s again as they followed. They’d stopped at a souvenir shop, and she’d pretended to look at a dress, which he’d suggested might look great on her.
“In your dreams, sailor.” But she’d smiled, as if...
Stop. Not a date. Surveillance. And she was good, very good, at the pretending game.
When Declan and Austen had gone out for dinner, he and Phoenix had a meal on a terrace as if they were actually on vacation.
Ceviche and fresh chips and pulled pork, and they’d drunk a couple of lemonades, lingering until Austen and Declan had finally made their way back in.
The tail was still on them, so Stein had suggested separating and using himself and Declan as decoys.
Never in his wildest dreams had he thought that that would be the last time he’d see her.
Now, with the darkness bleeding in through the stateroom windows, with Austen sitting on the bed, her jaw tight, well, whatever sacrifice Phoenix had given, he had to make it worthwhile.
He simply wouldn’t think any further than that.
Footsteps finished pounding up the stairs, so Stein got up, held his hand out to his sister. “You ready?”
“Let’s get off this stupid boat,” she said and got up.
He opened the hatch that Declan had pointed out, and sure enough, below was the lower deck. Austen angled herself through and dropped. He followed.
It was almost too easy to scurry along the side of the boat down to the swim deck and unlatch the lifeboat. He flung it out into the ocean, holding on to the attached rope. As it inflated, he reeled it back in, safe in the darkness of the blown stern lights.
“Get in,” he said.
Austen crouched, looking up at the bridge, her expression broken and hollow.
“He’s gonna be okay,” Stein said.
She looked at him then. “Whatever. I don’t care.”
Yeah, that’s what he’d said about Phoenix too. “Move.”
She turned and jumped into the bottom of the life raft. And then he threw the rope in and pushed it off.
“Stein! What do you think you’re doing?” She leaned over the edge, trying to paddle back.
“Trust me.”
Then he turned and made his way back up the deck. Oh, he hoped his gut was right. Because he’d finally figured out exactly the memory that he needed to latch on to.
And he was betting everything he had on the fact that Declan was exactly who he said he was.