Lost(44)

The man started to ramble about how he’d gathered the birds over several months during a trip to the western coast of Africa. He had an agreement with the captain and first mate to split the money. That’s how he’d been able to get back and forth to the container so easily. “We needed a big payday here in America,” he said. “I already spoke to a pet-store owner in Miami and one in West Palm Beach. Between them, I was going to be able to sell almost my entire shipment.” The man sounded wistful and depressed. I let him talk. I hadn’t placed him under arrest, and these were voluntary statements. Although I kind of wished he’d shut up.

A few minutes later, an SUV with two U.S. Customs agents rolled up next to us. I identified myself, explained the situation, and told them about the man’s confession. The older agent, a tubby man about fifty, said, “We appreciate getting good cases like this, but why the hell didn’t a Miami cop working on an FBI task force call us about these concerns beforehand?”

“I was afraid it was just a wild-goose chase. Excuse the pun.”

The younger agent, a woman, said, “More like you didn’t want to share the credit for any arrest on human trafficking.”

Her partner said, “Why didn’t you follow protocol? We don’t bother you at your office.”

I looked over at the scared Dutch sailor and said, “Looks like you don’t bother people at your office either.”

U.S. Customs was not amused.





CHAPTER 64





AFTER ARRIVING IN Miami and checking in at the Miami Gardens Inn, Hanna and Albert rushed downtown. They spoke with several jewelers in the Seybold Building, trying to find a buyer for the diamonds that would arrive in Miami with their load of human cargo. Albert also made inquiries into where he might find a gun quickly.

They were directed to a pawnshop on Seventh Avenue near Twenty-Fifth Street, just east of the airport. Jeff’s Pawn and Gun was in a tiny strip mall with multiple vacant stores. The area looked like a ghost town.

Hanna checked the time. The sign on the shop said it was open until eight p.m. They still had half an hour.

Albert strutted into the place like he owned it. This was his area of expertise. Hanna thought it was only fair to give him some leeway in this side of their work, since he listened to her in business matters.

Albert smiled at the thin, older man behind the counter and said, “Howdy, partner. How are you this evening?”

The pawnshop clerk just stared at him over the frames of his glasses pushed to the end of his long nose. A pack of Camels sat in the front pocket of his plaid shirt. If this was Jeff, whatever money the store made was not due to the owner’s sparkling personality.

“You’re not on drugs, are you?” the man asked Albert.

Albert looked astonished and shook his head. “Just a visitor. I guess I’m a little too friendly. Sorry.”

Maybe-Jeff said, “I can deal with friendly visitors. It’s the drug addicts that traipse in and out of here all day that I have no patience with. What can I do for you?”

Albert looked into the glass case and pointed to a black semiautomatic pistol. “Could I take a look at that Beretta?”

The man retrieved the gun and racked the slide to be sure it was empty. “There’s a three-day waiting period, and you’ll have to show me ID.” He looked at Hanna, then back at Albert. “Where the hell are you from, anyway?”

Albert didn’t hesitate. “Belgium.”

“Good. You don’t look like it, but I wanted to make sure you wasn’t one of them Muslim freaks always interested in blowing something up.”

Albert chuckled and said, “Nope, not a Muslim. And anything I blew up, you would approve of.”

That comment earned a quick cackle from the older man.

Albert handled the gun briefly, checking the barrel and the breech. Then he shook his head and said, “Wish I could buy this right now. I’m afraid we’ll be on our way to Disney World in a few days. The only ID I have was issued in Europe.”

The pawnbroker said, “Yeah, even if they call it a gun-free zone, you hate to be unarmed when others are packing. More innocent people die in gun-free zones than anywhere else.”

“Guess I’ll be helpless too. Just want to protect my family.” Albert watched the man closely.

Finally, he said, “I got nothing against Belgians. I hear you’ve loved Americans since the big war. You seem to know your guns pretty well. And I hate how the government is always interfering.”

Albert muttered, “Me too.”

“I have a way to get you a gun right now, but there’s a premium.”

“How much of a premium?”

“A hundred percent of the cost of the gun.”

Albert held up the Beretta and said, “This gun?”

The pawnbroker nodded.

Albert smiled and said, “Done.”

A few minutes later, they walked out of the store with the Beretta and two boxes of ammo. Albert turned to Hanna and said, “America really is the land of opportunity.”





CHAPTER 65





HANNA DIDN’T WANT her brother to see the tremor in her hands. She was as nervous as she’d ever been. It was just before nine o’clock and they were sitting at a booth in a bar called Glow inside the massive Fontainebleau Hotel on Miami Beach. The luxury of the place was mind-boggling to Hanna. The bar was on an outdoor deck with a shimmering pool and view of the Atlantic. The people at the bar looked like movie stars. Every one of them, men and women, could have been a model or an actor.