Survival Read Free

knit seaman’s cap pulled down over his head, three days of scruff darkening his swarthy face. They waited by the entrance as the seaman continued past them unsteadily, the sour tang of stale beer following him like smoke. Igor raised an eyebrow as Fernanda’s stare followed the man and eyed the door.
    “Shall we?” he asked in perfect Spanish.
    “Nobody’s getting any younger.”
    The interior of the dining room was century-old beams overhead and dark driftwood walls. Black-and-white photographs of tall ships hung in cheap frames between paintings of whaling vessels and scowling unnamed seafarers, mutton-chop sideburns and gin blossoms the common feature aside from haunting eyes. Fernanda surveyed the room in a quick glance and settled on an olive-skinned man wearing a black leather zip-up jacket and a chocolate dress shirt. She smiled as she approached him and he returned the smile, but it never reached his eyes.
    “Carlos?” she said in a low voice as she neared the booth.
    “You must be Christina,” he said, using the alias she’d given him. “A pleasure. Please. Sit. And this is…?” he asked, giving Igor a once-over.
    “My friend,” Fernanda said, ending that line of inquiry.
    “I see.”
    Fernanda slid across from Carlos. Igor took the seat next to her, the bulge of the Glock he’d bought from a street dealer obvious beneath his windbreaker. Carlos glanced at it in passing but seemed unconcerned that Igor was armed as he waved the tired-looking waitress over.
    “What would you like? Coffee’s not bad,” he suggested.
    Fernanda regarded the waitress, noting the discoloration beneath her eyes and the deep frown lines that framed her thin mouth, and held up two fingers. “Two cups.”
    “Breakfast?” Carlos asked.
    She shook her head. “No, thanks. Just the drinks and conversation, for now.”
    Nobody said anything until the woman returned with a pair of chipped oversized mugs of steaming brew and set them on the hardwood tabletop. A sheet of glass protected the hundreds of whittled names that covered every inch of the wood surface. Both Igor and Fernanda sipped theirs black while they waited for Carlos to open the discussion. He glanced around the café and leaned toward them, his voice barely more than a whisper.
    “I have what you requested. Or at least as much as it’s possible to get.”
    “What does that mean?” Fernanda asked, an edge to her words.
    “It means that I know that my organization arranged for some people to be smuggled aboard a cargo ship bound for the United States last week. I’ve got the ship schedule, as well as blueprints of the boat. And a piece of critical information that will be of great interest to you.”
    Igor put his coffee down. “Really?”
    Carlos offered him a crooked grin. “Really.”
    “Care to elaborate?” Fernanda asked.
    “Once we have a deal.”
    Igor caught Fernanda’s eye. “How do we know your information is what we’re after?”
    “Gee. Let’s see. You’re looking for a woman, a man, and a kid. I have confirmation that the passengers include a man and a kid.”
    “What about the woman?”
    “I haven’t been able to get confirmation on that, but when you hear the final bit of info, you’ll understand why I believe this is what you want.”
    Igor shook his head. “I don’t like it.”
    “Fine. Then you have my number. Think it over. But every hour, the boat moves further north and your options narrow.”
    Fernanda’s eyes narrowed. “Why? It’s a long way to the U.S.”
    Carlos gazed slyly at Fernanda. “That’s where the information comes in. They’re to be smuggled off during the voyage.”
    “What? Where?” Igor demanded.
    “That’s all I can tell you. But wait too long and they’ll be out of your reach.” He sat back and regarded them calmly. “That’s it…until we have a deal.”
    “Will you excuse us for a moment?” Fernanda asked.
    “Of course,” Carlos replied. Igor slid out of the booth and Fernanda