Hardbingers

10

"All you've got to do is get yourself to South Florida," Abe said. "From there everything will be taken care of."

During the few hours they'd been apart Abe had accessorized his wardrobe with a mustard stain on his white shirt and a sprinkle of powdered sugar on his black pants.

"Can you be a little more specific than 'taken care of? What's going to be taken care of and by whom?"

"My Balkans contact. We'll call him Mischa for now."

"For now?"

"With his real name, of course I trust you. But him, I don't know. I've vouched for you but that doesn't mean he'll want you to know the name his mother gave him. If he does, he'll tell you. If not, it's Mischa. Professional courtesy."

"Gotcha. All right, I'm down in South Florida. What next?"

"Before you go I'll be given the number of a slip at a marina in Palm Beach. You go there first thing Tuesday morning and the owner of the boat in said slip will take you across to the Bahamas and drop you off on West End, one of the out islands."

"How far is that?"

"About seventy miles. Hell be piloting a sport fisher that can make the trip in three hours."

"Deja vu."

"Yes. Reminds you of a similar trip you made with your brother last month, I'll bet. Only this is much shorter."

Right. Bermuda had been 650 plus. After that, seventy was around the corner.

"From said island you'll be ferried into New Providence where one of Mis-cha's associates will sneak you aboard a cargo plane."

"Not in a crate I hope."

"Not so bad as that, but a pretty stewardess you shouldn't expect. Brown bag it if you want to eat."

"Seems kind of roundabout, don't you think? Why don't I just call the Ashes and have one of them fly me straight to the Bahamas?"

"Because this is the way Mischa wants it done. It's the procedure he uses for moving certain commodities back and forth between here and Sarajevo or Kosovo. Everyone knows their parts. Like a well-oiled machine it works. He doesn't like to mess with a winning formula."

Jack shrugged. He understood. Perfectly.

"Okay. It's his show. The plane takes me to Bosnia-Hurtslikegonorrhea. Then what?"

"Not so fast. You're expecting a nonstop? Don't. The first plane takes you to Nouakchott International Airport."

"Jeez. Where the hell is that?"

"Mauritania."

"Swell."

"Less than an hour you'll be there. Then it's onto another cargo plane to Sarajevo. That's when you'll be crated up. Another of Mischa's associates will get your crate through customs and truck you to a warehouse where you'll meet Mischa himself. And that's when you'll pay half the fee."

And a hell of a fee it was.

"He's agreed to take Krugers, right?"

"Yes. Of course." Abe smiled. "They're as good as gold."

"Ha-ha. How long am I there?"

"A day, two at most. Mischa will settle you into your new identity, get you through immigration, and you will fly to JFK tourist class on Bosnia Airlines."

"And that will be it."

"That will be it."

"Next week I'll be Mirko Abdic."

"Next week you'll be Mirko Abdic."

Something squeezed in Jack's chest.