02_Coyote in Provence (19 page)

He didn’t have long to wait. Just as the bartender brought him his drink, Slade walked in. He sat down at a table and gestured for Pierre to join him. He got off the barstool and joined Slade. “Well, any luck with your phone calls?”

“Yeah, let me get a drink. I could use a couple, but we gotta take it easy, might have a long night ahead of us.” He gestured to the waitress and ordered a beer. “Here’s the deal. We got a meetin’ at 8:00 tonight in a seedy little beach bar down the road. Woulda gone to Kaibo Beach, but it’s too far to walk and I don’t want anyone payin’ attention to what we’re doin’. Limousine don’t xactly say ‘not doing nothin’,’ particularly at some sleazy bar. Think they know ‘xactly what we’re doin’.”

“And so just exactly what are we going to be doing?”

“Hirin’ drug runners.”

“What?” Pierre said, as he choked on his drink. “I’m not getting involved in drug running. Why in the hell would we do that?”

“Don’t get your shorts in an uproar. Ain’t runnin’ drugs. Just hirin’ drug runners. Big difference.  See, here’s the thing. Few years ago one of my clients had some things he needed to get out of the Caymans and get into the U.S. We knew there was gonna be problems, so I found some drug runners who took him into a lil’ airport in North Carolina. These guys fly low, under the radar. Paid ‘em a lot of money and knew they’d ‘member me. And they did.”

“I still don’t see what drug runners and planes have to do with us.”

“Those little girls gotta get to the U.S. Miami’s out. Can’t bribe nobody there. People at this little shithole North Carolina airport are on the take, big time. We’ll fly the girls from Marseille to here in the Caymans, then you and one of my men will fly with the girls in two planes to the North Carolina airport where Mike and the Gulfstream will be waitin’. Once they go thru U.S. Immigration there, they’re home free. Can fly into any airport ‘round LA and just sashay off the plane. No sweat.”

“Okay, I have a question. If this airport is so small, why does it have a U.S. Immigration office?”

“Tobacco, my friend, tobacco. Need bodies to work the fields and when it’s time to harvest, that damn airport is up to its eyeballs in banana and coconut island people. Gotta have someone makin’ sure they can get in the U.S .- legally,” he said winking.

“But where’s the drug connection? I hear you talking about tobacco, but what about the drugs? And these planes? Who owns them?”

“Ya don’t wanna know. Runners fly in there with drugs that are offloaded to waitin’ cars. Plane lands and people are paid off. Immigration and customs are both on the take. I mean, what the hell? Who’s gonna know in that small airport? Been doing’ it a long time.”

“And no one’s ever been caught?”

“Nope. Just kind of sumpin’ everyone knows ‘bout, but the pays right, and even the dear City Fathers are gettin’ their share. Them elections are the most highly contested elections in the U.S. Some yahoo had them ‘dopt term limits, so every eight years it’s a feedin’ frenzy in town. Anyway, we’re meeting Arsene later. Let’s get somethin’ to eat.”

“Wait a minute. What if we’re followed? And who does Arsene work for?”

“Why would we be? Just a coupla guys having a drink with one of the locals. Probly think we’d like to get us a coupla coconut honeys. Don’t worry, security’s my job. I don’ know who Arsene works for and I don’ wanna know. He’s just Arsene – the man who can get them little girls to the land of milk and honey.”

“It’s show time,” Slade said after they’d finished eating. He signed the credit card bill the waitress gave him. “Here you go honey. Might be back a little later. Wait for me. It’ll be worth it.”

Pierre and Slade walked through the lobby and took the steps leading to the beach. It was a beautiful night. When they opened the glass door, they were greeted with the smell of the tropics, suntan lotion, salt air and a whisper of island flowers. Well-lit yachts formed a skyline against the dark blue of the Caribbean.

“How far is it?” Pierre asked. “If we’re going to walk in the sand, I think I’ll take off my shoes.”

“Don’t wanna ever take your shoes off in coconut land. Never know when you’re gonna have to run. The Caymans are lookin’ good for the tourists, but you scratch the underbelly and the maggots come out. Keep ‘em on. It ain’t too far. ‘Bout a coupla city blocks. Actually, looks like Roberto’s palapa up ahead.”

In the distance Pierre could see twinkling lights covering a small thatched roof hut. As they got closer, he could make out the word Roberto’s etched on a wooden plank attached to a stick in the ground with an arrow pointing to it.

Roberto’s was just a round open-air bar in the sand with a thatched roof covering it. Candles on the bar provided the light. It was a perfect place to meet someone when you didn’t want to be seen.

Slade walked up to a dark-haired man sitting at the bar. Everything about him said he was a local, from the color of his deeply burnished skin to the surf shorts and flip-flops he wore. He turned around on the bar stool and smiled at Slade.

“Nice to see you, Mon. Grab a beer and we’ll go sit down on the chairs on the beach.”

“Arsene, I want you to meet my friend Pierre. Pierre, this is Arsene.” The two men shook hands. They got their beers from the bartender and followed Arsene.

“Join me,” Arsene said as he sat down in a beach chair. Roberto’s was a little too seedy for the upscale tourists who frequented Seven Mile Beach, but the locals loved it, and Roberto made sure he didn’t miss a drink sale because there was no room at the bar. Near the shoreline, beach chairs had been haphazardly arranged.

“Okay, my friends. You’re the ones who wanted to see me. What do you need?”

Slade had taken notice of every person in the bar and the two women sitting in beach chairs a few yards from them. He didn’t see anything that set off the alarm bells that were always on alert in his head.

“You and some of your people helped me out a few years ago. Got a little problem that’s going to be ongoing. Need to get about fifteen or so little girls outta France from time to time and into the U.S. Pierre, here, will have their passports so they can get into the U.S. They’re from an orphanage in Afghanistan. Here, take a look at these pics,” he said, handing the graphic pictures of the mutilated little girls to Arsene. “Here’s a flashlight so you can see ‘em better.”

Arsene was quiet as he leafed through the photos. It was impossible to look at the pictures of the little girls without wanting to help them. “Okay, Slade. What do you have in mind?”

“I know you got some contacts with people who have planes. Thinkin’ we could bring the girls here and then you could fly them to that little airport in North Carolina where your people got immigration and customs on the take. Know those planes aren’t big enuf for all of ‘em, so thinking we’ll need two planes. Pierre can go with one group and my other man with the second group, say maybe ten minutes or so apart. Got someone with a big plane that will meet ‘em at the North Carolina airport and take ‘em to California,” he said, finishing off his beer and putting the empty bottle in the sand as he lit a cigarette. “Whaddya think?”

“It’s going to cost you. It’ll be $10,000 each plane, each time, half down and the other half when we land, plus $2,500 each plane for immigration.”

“Sweet Jesus, Arsene, you’re twisting my balls.”

He shrugged. “You want to get those girls into the U.S or not? Your choice, Mon. That’s the deal.”

“How safe is it?”

“Never have had a problem. Immigration rarely checks on that airport. Everyone knows illegals are probably coming in to work the tobacco crops, but the owners almost singlehandedly elect the politicians, so everyone’s real quiet about what goes on there. The word’s out to leave it be. Kind of nice for us. Allows for a little drug action as well. So, what do you want to do? I’ve got another meeting in a little while. You’re not the only one who needs something.”

“Ain’t got no choice, do I? Yeah, we’ll take it. How much notice you gonna need?”

“One week will be fine. You have my number,” he said, standing up. “Nice to meet you, Pierre. Good seeing you again, Slade. Always nice to do business with a repeat customer. I’ll wait for your call.” He looked at his watch and hurried off.

Slade dropped his cigarette into his empty beer bottle. “Bingo. Good to go,” he said as he started walking back to their hotel, Pierre following.

“Slade, you left your bottle in the sand.

“Yeah, let some local kid get the cash back on it. He can use it more than Roberto can. You okay with leavin’ tomorrow? I’ll call Mike and tell him. Need to get back and get some place for them little girls to stay once we get ‘em to California.”

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA   APRIL, 2007

CHAPTER 29

Pierre, Slade and Darya sat at the conference table in her office the day after the two men returned from the Cayman Islands. Pierre filled her in on what had taken place.

“Nice job, gentlemen. I think everything’s in place with the exception of what we’re going to do with them when they get here. Slade, you talked about a church you thought might be interested. Have you done anything further with them?”

“Doll, they’d like to see me hangin’ from the highest tree. Just say I had a little somepin’ to do with their beloved Reverend havin’ to leave rather sudden-like. Pierre, like I tol’ you before, you’re gonna have to do this one. I’ll give you ‘structions,’ on what to do.”

“Slade, I don’t know a damn thing about kids or adoptions. Are you sure I’m the right person for this?”

“Yeah. You’re a natural. Here’s the deal. I’ve written down the name of the church. It’s evangelical and they don’t cotton much to Muslims. Know it ain’t politically correct to say, but it’s the truth. Call ‘em and make an appointment with the minister. Tell ‘im there’s some little orphan girls who are bein’ smuggled out of Afghanistan and show him the pictures. Tell him they need homes to stay in until they’re ‘dopted. Tell him there’s a humanitarian group that’s doin’ this, but you can’t give him their name.”

“Everyone else has their hand out. Will he?”

“Don’t think so. ‘Member, this is a church. Think they’d be doin’ it for God and for some of their members who are having a hard time ‘doptin. If he talks about money, tell him they could get some from the ‘doptive families. Actshully, they could probably make this into a little business for the church. Total difference from human trafficking. These little ‘uns will be goin’ to lovin’ homes, not sold into sexual slavery.”

“I just hope it works.”

“Well, better get to know this guy cuz you’ll be the one deliverin’ little girls to him in the future as well.”

“Okay. I might as well get started. Let me have that paper and I’ll see what I can do.” As he left the room, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and placed the call.

A few minutes later he returned with a big grin. “I’ve got an appointment this afternoon. If we can put this last piece of the puzzle in place, we’ll be good to go.”

Pierre continued, “Miss R, I was on the phone with the contractor in France before I got here this morning and since there’s already running water in the barn, he thinks it’s just a matter of putting up some interior walls and installing a bathroom. He doesn’t think it will take more than two weeks. He’s already started. Plus, I hired two women who are old family friends. They’re retired and bored. The thought of a little extra money helped. They’re getting some clothes and bedding. When you first told me about it, I never thought this thing would work, but now I think it’s going to.”

“Great. Please call me after your meeting and keep me up to date with what’s happing at your parents. Slade, anything else?”

“Not for now. Got a little honey I got to check out for hubby. He’s pretty sure the pool guy is hosin’ his wife. One of my men’s over there now, scopin’ it out. Pierre, call me,” he said as he left.

Pierre took a deep breath and sat back in his chair as he said, “Well, Miss R. This has been a good couple of days. You’re doing a very good thing and each one of those little girls owes you her life.”

“Thank you, Pierre, but they owe my aunt their life. Next week when we’re in Kabul we’ll need to figure out how the orphanage can go on when she’s gone. By the way, I’m almost out of food at the house and also here at the office, so please make some meals for me. Oh, and I’m having a dinner party at the house tomorrow night. Some big investors. Would you do something spectacular, like maybe marinated leg of lamb with all the trimmings? They kind of expect lamb, me being from a Muslim country.”

“No problem. I’ll make a meal for them they’ll never forget and they can just open up their checkbooks. How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” she said, smiling.

PART THREE

PROVENCE, FRANCE   SEPTEMBER, 2010

CHAPTER 30

Jordan and Elena left Avignon and drove the short distance to Orange, and then on to Travaillan. Chef Bernard’s directions were excellent. Within minutes they were looking at a very small rundown little house with a dilapidated barn barely visible behind it.

“Do you hear children’s voices?” Elena asked as they got out of the car and picked up the two sacks of food. “I swear I hear kids, but I can’t imagine where the sound is coming from.”

Just as Chef Bernard had said, there were several rusted appliances in the yard and chickens roamed freely. Faded tattered clothing gently swayed on a clothesline.  Litter and trash were scattered everywhere.

“Elena, be careful and watch where you step. There may be some broken glass.” They gingerly made their way to the glass-paned blue front door which was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. The glass was too grimy to see through it. Everything cried out to be repaired or cleaned. Jordan knocked on the door.

While they waited for his knock to be answered, Elena looked around. The dilapidated house and the neglected yard reminded Elena of her childhood home where her family still lived. She shuddered, glad to have escaped the barrio and its terrible memories.