17

Suz

 

 

Che Legarto Student Hostel, Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil

 

 

Sleep.

Suz stared at the phone text. Sleep? By command? Was that possible? She turned her light off and lay on her back under the white cotton sheet, dressed in a fresh pair of underwear and t-shirt she had found rolled up tightly in her zombie bag. She had rinsed today’s clothes as best she could and hung them over the shower rod in the bathroom.

She didn’t have a clue what she was doing. She wondered if Jack ever really did. Jack went to the various SEAL schools and specialized trainings. They helped him do the technical stuff. But his job wasn’t all technical, some of it was more finesse. He had to convince locals to give him information, help him, and to shut up when necessary. Did the military teach him how to maneuver through all that? Probably not. But Jack had an aptitude for people. Suz had an aptitude for people too, little people. She liked kids best. Grownups were much harder – they carried baggage and agendas. Maybe that’s why she had had such a hard time fitting in since her move to the East Coast.

At home in California, she was with her friends that she had had since her grade school days. Five steadfast friends like fingers on a hand. Suz had read a psychological study somewhere that said you can’t have more than five good friends at a time. And she had felt re-affirmed about her tight circle when she had read that. Her friends didn’t want her to move. They had probably been right. Suz flipped over onto her stomach balling up one pillow to put under her hip and balling up the other under her head. If she stayed in California, she wouldn’t be here now in stinking Brazil. But her heart would still be broken, since Jack wouldn’t be there. He’d be swimming with the SEALs somewhere far from her.

What did she think she was doing in Brazil, playing at Jack’s job? When she saw the video of the kids, her first instinct was to help. She had immediately agreed to go. But lying here in the dark with sounds of cars puttering down the street and the distant whine of sirens and gunfire, Suz knew that she had agreed because she had been terrified. Two men had burst into her house. Both men towered over her. Both men had obvious skills. Both men wore gloves, even when they had taken off their coats. Surely, if someone was careful enough not to leave finger prints anywhere, they were careful enough not to leave witnesses either.

It had never been said. It was never even implied. But the gloves were a signal for sure that she either followed along or would suffer the consequences. By flying down here, by aiming to help the kids, Suz was prolonging her life at least for a little while. She thought about what Jack had always told her about living on the sharp edge of survival, the colors were brighter, every nanosecond was significant. Suz didn’t feel that way. All Suz felt was fear. Fear, to her, was a cold grey place.

Suz didn’t think she’d ever be able to fall asleep. For all she knew, this was her last night on Earth.

 

When her phone alarm rang, and she discovered that it was morning, Suz was hugely surprised. She had slept eleven hours straight. It was nine o’clock on Thursday morning. She was also surprised at how hungry she was. The day before all she’d been able to get down was the bottle of juice. Today, her stomach insisted on something substantial. She hurried to dress in yesterday’s clothes now dry and stiff. She hoped the manager hadn’t packed up breakfast yet and she could still grab something down in the common room. She scurried down the stairs wondering what today would hold. The phone buzzed.

Finally up? The text read.

Suz glanced up the stairwell and didn’t see anyone.

The old man from yesterday is at the desk. You are to engage him in conversation. Tell him about your day yesterday, and that there was so much to see, you plan to go back. You are planning to stay to see the dam lights. Be specific about this point.

Suz trembled at the buffet table as she lifted the fruit onto her plate and tried to spoon the eggs. What was their plan? She could be a red herring. She could be there to draw attention away from where the children actually were and to have people spend resources and time on her rather than actually finding the children. They could be taking her to the dam to make her disappear. That seemed unlikely. Why would they go to this much trouble? They could have put her in a car back in Maryland, driven her to a boat, motored her out into the International waters of the Atlantic and thrown her over the side. Done deal. This whole taking four separate flights to get to this particular place, it was too specific. She could probably scratch the top two off her list. Not a herring — red or otherwise.

Maybe she actually was here to care for the children. How improbable was that? Why would they take her and not someone else? Someone local and convenient? The thing her mind kept coming back to was that they needed someone the boys knew to keep them calm and safe and eventually, if what the bad guys wanted to have happen happened, she would escort them home safe and sound. The other and much more horrific thought was that she was there to witness the negative outcome of the kidnapping and be sent home to share what she saw. Like the teacher, Christa McAuliff, heading out into outer space so she could translate the experience for others. She died in the explosion.

Suz thought back to the house and was pretty sure that when the foreign men had walked in, they had actually believed she was a CIA operative. A few minutes with her would dislodge that idea from anyone’s thought processes. She was about as far from operative material as one can get. Then, they were trying to figure out Jack’s role. They seemed to let that go pretty quickly once she had said he was disabled and in the hospital. Did they let it go too quickly?

And why were they laying this odd trail—what Lynx would call bread crumbs—for people to follow. If they were indeed following her? Suz took a bite of blueberry muffin. She was sure on a normal day that it would be delicious, but she had lost her ability to taste, and it was like chewing a sponge. She didn’t know fear could do that. If Iniquus was following her, what would they see? Suz scrolled back through the texts on the phone to read her directives, looking for a clue. She didn’t watch crime shows on TV. She didn’t watch much TV at all and her taste in books was more Regency than modern. Elizabeth Bennet would never have faced this kind of thought process. Suz didn’t feel equipped to think this through with any kind of accuracy.

But her eye did catch on the smile text.

When you get out of the taxi, smile. When you thank the driver, smile. Smile as you walk into the complex.

Who was she trying to fool with a smile at the taxi? Not the driver. He was only paying attention to getting her where she need to go, taking her money, and moving on to his next paycheck. Not the people at the ticket counter; it said nothing about smiling at them. Smile as you walk into the complex. Someone who would be watching her on the walk from taxi to building. Who would do that? No one could get out in front of her from the States. They’d have to figure out where she was going – that was easy enough to do. Jones had made her leave her computer open on the page where she had purchased her tickets. Then she was staying at a hostel and going to a tourist attraction. It looked like a vacation. A vacation where she smiled. Who was she smiling for? She had scanned the roofline for security cameras all along her path, hoping that some camera would pick up her face and someone could at least say she had been there on a specific day and at a specific time. Smile as you walk into the complex. That was really odd. Suz couldn’t figure that one out.

She looked down and what had been a heaping plate of food was empty. Again, she was surprised. Her body seemed to be on autopilot and that was a good thing.

You ate well, now go and speak with the old man.

Where was this guy? Suz got up and deposited her plate and utensils in the bus bin. She wiped her mouth and fingers on a napkin and put that in the trash. Now she was out of stalling tactics. She moved over to the desk manager.

“Hi,” she said, wishing she knew what was going on and what piece of information she might be able to slip to this man that might be helpful if someone was coming after her. She had no idea. So she stammered along, talking about the impending rain. Yesterday had been muggy; the clouds weight, oppressive. But today looked like the sky’s wanted to open into a deluge.

“It is an odd time to come to Brazil – the rainy season. The most heat. Prices are better. There are few visitors, so competition is aggressive. You are a student? You are travelling in February?”

“I took a semester off. I’m listed as an education major, and I’m just not sure that that’s what I should do with my life.”

“Travel is the best way to find yourself. I agree that you have made a good choice by travelling. Just not here in this city,” he said pointedly. “Your friend has not yet come?”

You are meeting your friend; can you have their key please? You will be getting in late from the dam lights.

How could he see her? Hear her? She closed her eyes for a moment. “Oh, I’m headed back to the tourist center like yesterday. We’ll meet up there. Can I have the other key? It might be late when we get back, we want to see the dam lit up at night.”

The man tilted his head and considered her, then slid the other old-fashioned metal key toward her.

You’re taking off early in the morning. What time will someone be at the desk?

Suz repeated the question for the man who now leaned back against the cupboard and watched her through squinty eyes.

She rolled her lips in and blinked back the tears that burned her lashes.

“Six in the morning. If you leave sooner than that, just slide the key into the slot here.” He pointed to a small hole cut into the top of the counter.

Suz knew he was wondering what her story was. She wanted to tell him something. Pass some kind of message. If only she could figure out how the person on the other end of the phone seemed to see what she saw and hear what she heard; maybe then, she could find a way to circumnavigate their system and leave word that she wasn’t on vacation; she needed help. She needed Jack. But Jack was in the hospital.

Emma would be flying to St. Martens. She would be there alone. Emma would try to call to figure out where she was, probably sometime tonight. When she didn’t answer her phone, then Emma would call Jack’s number. Jack’s number was for emergencies only. Would Emma read this as an emergency?

Jack would send an ISO to the house to check on her. She wouldn’t be there. Then maybe Lynx would be called in. Surely, Lynx would look around and find where Suz had hidden her phone under the picture of Jack after Jones had put it upside down in her bathroom. Would that be enough of a heads up that something was wrong? Her purse was there. Her car was there. It had been a lot more than twenty-four hours since she had been seen by anyone. Tonight was the first time Suz had reasonable hope that people would be worried about her.

Jones made it look like she had gone on vacation. Suz hadn’t mentioned her Emma trip to Jones. She had explained her suitcase of summer things away – she was getting rid of some clothes that didn’t fit anymore. But others would see she had planned two vacations at once. That was weird wasn’t it? Maybe that was enough to raise an eyebrow and some concern. Emma would be panicking.

There. She was doing it again. This was why she was always frantic about Jack’s safety. She’d have no information about where he went or what he was doing. None at all. So what would she do? She’d chew on all of the possibilities. Chew all the meat from the bone, then chew on the grizzle that couldn’t be broken down any more. Ruminating. Hashing through. Rehashing. He tried to convince her that she’d never know more by turning over the same stones. She knew that, of course she knew that, it didn’t stop her mind from whirling. She so wished she had a crystal ball and a means of reading it. Not knowing even the most basic of facts upped her anxiety. Jack said she should meditate — learn to quiet her mind. That conversation had gone badly.

Somehow, Suz had come to the conclusion that thinking about Jack kept him spiritually if not physically close. Her worry painted him with a protective coating of love like shellacking her dining room table protected it from water rings. Her thoughts went to dark and scary places where he was concerned because that was his playground. It was a kind of sick act of love to fear for his safety while he was downrange, some kind of heart-shaped self-flagellation. A prayer. He hated that for her. He didn’t like how it polluted their relationship. It had become a habit. A way of life. And Suz was done with it.

No stone left unturned. Since she had walked out of her house and sat in the back of Jones’s car, that’s all she’d been doing, looking for answers when there were none. What was happening was happening. What she knew was miniscule. She could guess. She could speculate. It didn’t make a darned bit of difference to what was happening here and now. Her mind should be “mission specific” like Jack’s. Eye on the prize. What was the prize here? Ha! That was going to start her speculating again. It was like that show on TV she watched as a child where you could pick door number one or door number two, the players didn’t know which door to pick or even if they wanted what was behind either.

Walk out the door. Get in the cab. Smile. Wave good bye.

Suz did as she was told but there was no effort and no conviction in her actions. The guy hadn’t moved from his scrutinizing stance. As she shut the cab door, she saw him reaching for the phone. A tiny spark of hope flared that he’d be calling the police to go check her out. On what grounds? she asked herself. If this was the dangerous place he kept telling her it was, would the police care that a tourist was acting weird? She let the hope-ember die. Tonight, she pinned her chances there. Tonight, people might start looking for her – no way anyone would get down here before the weekend. Who would Jack send? The team was downrange, and Lynx wasn’t field qualified. Would Jack try to come on his own? The man couldn’t even walk. . . See? Doing it again. She should be paying attention. Her thoughts should be mission specific. She told herself, again.

When Suz looked out the taxi window, she didn’t recognize where they were. This wasn’t the same route she had taken yesterday. She tried to talk with the driver, to ask him where he was taking her – he either didn’t speak English or had been told to ignore her. Suz didn’t know a single word of Portuguese.

They arrived at the river. The driver made scooting motions with his hand. She held out some money, and he shook his head. He brushed his hand through the air again. More emphatically this time. It read very clearly as get the heck out of my cab. She skootched across the seat to the curb side and climbed out.

A woman on a yellow blanket, sitting under a tree, motioned her over. “Suz, hello.”

Suz moved slowly in the woman’s direction. Her eyes scanned the area. She felt asthmatic – functionally unable to process air. Her eyelids stretched wide. As she moved closer to the woman smiling and beckoning her, Suz saw her zombie bag leaning up against the tree.

How did they…?

Somebody probably picked her room lock and brought the bag out the back door while she was at breakfast. The doors didn’t seem flimsy, but she had seen Jack open doors for her when she had forgotten her keys in less time than it took her to use a real key. She had known all along she was dealing with formidable people.

Give the woman the two room keys and take the pad and paper.

Suz read the text then fished the keys from her pocket and handed them out to the woman. The woman in return, handed her a small pad of paper with a kitten on each pink page, and a Bic.

Write the following: Thank you! We had a fun stay. We’ve decided to head to Rio on our next adventure. I appreciate all the information you gave me. You were right, though, the city didn’t feel safe. Suz Molloy

She was headed to Rio? She wrote what the text had asked. The woman took the phone and the page and compared the two. She put the note in an envelope with the two keys and licked it shut. The woman handed her some money folded in half.

Suz opened it up and looked at it. It didn’t look like the real she had been using.

The woman raised her arms over her head as if she were stretching.

A motorcycle stopped at the road and beeped its horn. Suz was standing at the edge of the yellow blanket, wondering what she was supposed to do. The woman pointed toward her pack then toward the motorcycle. “Go now,” she said. The words sounded like they had no meaning to the woman just sounds that she was repeating. “Go now,” she said again and nodded her head then pointed to the motorcycle.

Suz pulled her pack on; she moved toward the man. He was dirty, his hair slick with grease. Suz lifted her leg and swung onto the seat behind him. The weight of the pack pushed her into his wiry body. She didn’t know where to put her hands. She rested them on her knees. He gunned the engine and shot out into the traffic. Without thought, she reached around his chest and held on for dear life. They moved over the bridge. Ponte da Amizade, the sign said. Lots of traffic. Lots of people. There at the end was an official looking building. Suz looked back over her shoulder. She recognized where she was from a map she had studied yesterday at the tourism building. Suz had just left Brazil and was heading over the river that bordered Paraguay.

So far, Suz had left a trail. For the first time, she was being directed in a way that would thwart anyone from following along. If anyone asked, the desk manager would indicate she’d be back at the tourism building today. And tomorrow, they would think she was having an adventure in Rio. If they showed pictures around, people might recognize her from yesterday – yes, they had seen her. Would they think to check in with the border guards in Paraguay? This was bad. Off-grid was bad. She’d heard enough stories to know that for sure.

Suz’s brain was spinning now like the car tires that rubbed way to close to her calves. Would Iniquus care enough about her to come after her? They’d gone after Lynx when she disappeared – but Lynx was one of their own – and Suz was peripheral. Maybe the FBI or CIA? Would they go after the children? Wait. They had no idea that she was being sent to care for the children and keep them alive. All they’d have was … nothing.

The motorcycle kept up with traffic and did not stop. She did not get a stamp on her passport. No official would know she was in their country. On this side of the bridge it was Ciudad del Este, she had been warned by the hostel manager not to go there under any circumstances. And she had promised him she wouldn’t – and yet, here she was.

As traffic slowed, Suz panicked. She planted her booted foot on the macadam and shifted her weight to swing her other leg free. From here she could easily jog back across the bridge to Brazil. The motorcycle guy turned his head in her direction, slammed an elbow into her ribs pushing her back into place, and zipped forward, lacing through the traffic jam at breakneck speed. Now all Suz could do was hold on for dear life.