beneath some papers she retrieved a Smith & Wesson revolver. Out of habit, she opened the chamber to make sure it was loaded, then snapped it shut and slid it into a trim holster strapped around her right ankle. If trouble came, whoever brought it would find out just how nice a girl she was.
CHAPTER 6
H awker arrived in the lobby dressed in black from head to toe, just as she was. “I assumed this would be something formal,” he joked.
She glanced at him for a moment and then signaled for the valet, trying not to appreciate how well he cleaned up. For certain he looked a damn sight better than he had in the sweaty hangar in Marejo.
As they drove off together Danielle thought about the meeting.
A friend of a friend of someone who owes me a favor
. That’s how Moore had described Medina. The thought made her smile; in all their travels, she couldn’t recall a place they’d ever been to where Moore didn’t have a friend of a friend of someone who owed him a favor.
She turned to Hawker. “How well do you know the waterfront?”
“Is that where we’re headed?”
“We’re going to see a man about a boat. Our charter, actually.”
“And you’re expecting trouble?” he said.
“Just being cautious. The guy is docked at one of the smaller jetties, out near the old harbor somewhere, butwe’re meeting him at pier nineteen and following him back.”
Hawker grew quiet for a moment. “Nineteen’s one of the big commercial docks at the west end. It’s a cargo pier, pretty wide open, but just up from there everything gets cluttered. Narrow alleys and blind corners. A lot of small buildings. The locals tie up over there, fishermen mostly, and some of the ferries. If this guy’s a local, that’s where he’d be.”
Danielle had expected as much.
It took twenty minutes to get from the hotel to the harbor, and another five to find their way to pier nineteen. But even so, they arrived on site ten minutes earlier than Danielle had promised. She pulled up against the wall of a massive warehouse that ran along the waterfront.
At this hour of the night there was little activity. A few slips down, a Liberian-flagged tanker was offloading a shipment of crude, while out in the channel, a blue-hulled cargo vessel sat idle but making steam, its decks stacked high with multi-colored containers, its crew waiting patiently for a river pilot to come aboard.
Hawker eyed the empty pier. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but couldn’t you meet this guy during normal business hours?”
“It’s all part of that low-profile thing.”
A few minutes went by with no sign of Medina.
Hawker adjusted his mirror to see behind him and then tilted his seat back a bit.
He seemed calm, relaxed enough to take a nap. She fiddled with a pen, clicking it repeatedly. Something didn’t feel right to her. “Are you armed?” she asked.
“No,” he said, quietly. “But you are.”
“Good of you to notice.”
He laughed softly. “You either need a smaller gun or bell-bottoms.”
She smiled in the darkness, half angry, half amused. “This guy isn’t my contact. He’s my old partner’s. I’m not sure what to make of him yet.”
Hawker nodded and the interior of the Rover grew quiet as the two of them scanned the surroundings for any sign of the contact or trouble. Several minutes later, headlights appeared in the distance, moving toward them along the wide frontage at the water’s edge.
Hawker straightened up.
The sedan slowed as it approached them, stopping under a streetlight ninety feet away. A man stepped out of the car, squinted in their direction and then waved. When they didn’t respond fast enough, he reached through the driver’s window, flashed the headlights and leaned on the horn for a couple of long blasts.
“So much for the low profile,” Hawker said.
Danielle smiled and flashed her lights. As the man walked over, she put her window down.
“Señora Laidlaw?” the man said. “I am Medina, at your
CHAPTER 6
H awker arrived in the lobby dressed in black from head to toe, just as she was. “I assumed this would be something formal,” he joked.
She glanced at him for a moment and then signaled for the valet, trying not to appreciate how well he cleaned up. For certain he looked a damn sight better than he had in the sweaty hangar in Marejo.
As they drove off together Danielle thought about the meeting.
A friend of a friend of someone who owes me a favor
. That’s how Moore had described Medina. The thought made her smile; in all their travels, she couldn’t recall a place they’d ever been to where Moore didn’t have a friend of a friend of someone who owed him a favor.
She turned to Hawker. “How well do you know the waterfront?”
“Is that where we’re headed?”
“We’re going to see a man about a boat. Our charter, actually.”
“And you’re expecting trouble?” he said.
“Just being cautious. The guy is docked at one of the smaller jetties, out near the old harbor somewhere, butwe’re meeting him at pier nineteen and following him back.”
Hawker grew quiet for a moment. “Nineteen’s one of the big commercial docks at the west end. It’s a cargo pier, pretty wide open, but just up from there everything gets cluttered. Narrow alleys and blind corners. A lot of small buildings. The locals tie up over there, fishermen mostly, and some of the ferries. If this guy’s a local, that’s where he’d be.”
Danielle had expected as much.
It took twenty minutes to get from the hotel to the harbor, and another five to find their way to pier nineteen. But even so, they arrived on site ten minutes earlier than Danielle had promised. She pulled up against the wall of a massive warehouse that ran along the waterfront.
At this hour of the night there was little activity. A few slips down, a Liberian-flagged tanker was offloading a shipment of crude, while out in the channel, a blue-hulled cargo vessel sat idle but making steam, its decks stacked high with multi-colored containers, its crew waiting patiently for a river pilot to come aboard.
Hawker eyed the empty pier. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but couldn’t you meet this guy during normal business hours?”
“It’s all part of that low-profile thing.”
A few minutes went by with no sign of Medina.
Hawker adjusted his mirror to see behind him and then tilted his seat back a bit.
He seemed calm, relaxed enough to take a nap. She fiddled with a pen, clicking it repeatedly. Something didn’t feel right to her. “Are you armed?” she asked.
“No,” he said, quietly. “But you are.”
“Good of you to notice.”
He laughed softly. “You either need a smaller gun or bell-bottoms.”
She smiled in the darkness, half angry, half amused. “This guy isn’t my contact. He’s my old partner’s. I’m not sure what to make of him yet.”
Hawker nodded and the interior of the Rover grew quiet as the two of them scanned the surroundings for any sign of the contact or trouble. Several minutes later, headlights appeared in the distance, moving toward them along the wide frontage at the water’s edge.
Hawker straightened up.
The sedan slowed as it approached them, stopping under a streetlight ninety feet away. A man stepped out of the car, squinted in their direction and then waved. When they didn’t respond fast enough, he reached through the driver’s window, flashed the headlights and leaned on the horn for a couple of long blasts.
“So much for the low profile,” Hawker said.
Danielle smiled and flashed her lights. As the man walked over, she put her window down.
“Señora Laidlaw?” the man said. “I am Medina, at your
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