Black Rain

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, but we’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 service.”

Danielle introduced herself and then pointed to Hawker. “He’s our transportation specialist. He’ll be doing the inspection.”

Medina seemed unconcerned. “Isso bom,” he said. “That’s cool.” He waved his hand toward his sedan. “Ride with me. I’ll take you over.”

“Just show us the way,” Danielle said. “We’ll follow.”

“Okay,” Medina said. “No problem. Stay close, then—there are many streets but not enough signs, you know? Easy to get lost.”

Danielle assured him that she would stay close and Medina began walking back to his sedan.

“When did I become the transportation specialist?” Hawker asked.

“Just now,” she said. “You’ve been promoted. I hope you know something about boats.”

“They go in the water, right?”

She smiled and started the engine while Hawker watched Medina.

As the man climbed back into his car, Hawker scowled. “He’s not alone.”

Danielle had scanned the car earlier, but there was no way to see through the darkened windows. “Are you sure?”

“He looked into the back when he opened the door. A brief pause as he made eye contact with someone.”

The headlights of Medina’s car came on and it began to move, making a wide circle, swinging close to them and then heading back the way it had come.

“Do you think that’s a problem?” she asked.

“I don’t think it’s good. Then again, you didn’t come alone either. Maybe he’s afraid of you.”

She took her foot off the brake. “He wouldn’t be the first.”

Hawker glanced at her. “Or the last, I’ll bet.”

Danielle followed Medina through the narrow maze of streets. In a few minutes they had passed by the Puerto Flutante, the floating harbor built by the British in 1902, with its amazing system of docks and jetties that rose and fell with the level of the river. From their vantage point the docks appeared low, near the limit of their downward travel, the result of a rainy season now a month overdue.