She did and held it out.
Stewart pressed the stamp to the page. “It’s an exact copy of the stamps they use at the airport customs when people enter the country. I dated it a couple of days ago.”
Marta shook her head. “You think of everything.”
“The devil is in the details,” he murmured. “Name,” he demanded, directing his attention to the keyboard and screen.
“Truman Getty,” Crusher answered without hesitation.
A minute later, Stewart handed him a passport, stamped the first page and crossed his arms over his chest. “Royce also asked that I secure a safe place for you two to hole up in for the night while I arrange for your transportation out of Panama.”
Marta stared down at the passport in her hands. “It’s all well and good to have a physical passport, but they run these through automated systems. There’s also the matter of facial recognition software.”
Stewart held up a hand. “That’s part of the service of securing your transport out of here. I’ll need a few more minutes to work magic and make sure the passport numbers appear in the passport database. Meanwhile, you can stay in my mother’s bed and breakfast.”
“She’s okay with it,” Crusher asked, “considering we’re being targeted by a cartel?”
Stewart’s lips pressed together. “She knows, and she’s okay with it. We owe Royce big time for getting us out of Chicago alive and for our new lives here in Panama. Mom’s never been happier.” He motioned toward a corner of the room. “Before I take you to my mother’s place, you’ll want to get out of those clothes and into something less conspicuous. I brought a few things from the house. We can arrange for alternate clothing once we get there.”
Marta crossed to the gym bag. If the bag contained some of Stewart’s own clothing, there wouldn’t be anything inside that could fit either one of them based on Stewart’s lean build.
She opened the bag, pulled out the first item on top and smiled at the colorful, tiered skirt with a matching blouse.
“Mom’s idea,” Stewart said. “The men’s outfit was left by one of Mom’s guests. Royce said you were built like him, so we figured it would do for now.”
Marta dug out a white guayabera shirt and a pair of Bermuda shorts with an elastic band and a drawstring. They were big, but that would work in Crusher’s favor. She handed him the items and looked around.
“Bathroom’s in there.” Stewart pointed toward a door on the other side of the small room. “It’s functional. I made sure everything was working in this part of the building. I didn’t see any need to renovate the exterior. I like that it looks abandoned. It serves the purpose of keeping people out.”
“Smart,” Crusher said.
Marta ducked into the bathroom, made use of the facilities and stripped out of the coveralls. She pulled on the skirt and blouse, admiring how light and breezy they felt after wearing the same outfit for the past six weeks, and then the coveralls that smelled of aviation fuel and oil despite having been cleaned. Her shoes were the serviceable loafers she’d worn with her slacks and blouse when she’d been abducted. They didn’t really go with the skirt, but the hem hid them well enough. A quick glance in the ancient mirror over the pedestal sink made her grimace. She’d washed her hair before they’d boarded the plane. Normally, she pulled it back into a tight ponytail at the back of her neck. Without anything to secure it, it had dried in a mass of curls and waves. She ran her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it into something that didn’t make her look like a wildling. After a few moments, she gave up.
When she emerged, she found Crusher had changed into the white shirt but had rejected the shorts, preferring the cargo pants he’d worn under the coveralls.
Stewart handed Crusher a cell phone and a piece of paper. “That’s a burner phone, and on the paper is the address where my mother lives. It’s within walking distance. When you arrive, knock on the back door. She’s expecting you. I’d take you there, but I have more work to do, and the internet speed is faster here.”
“We can manage.” Crusher took the paper and entered the address into the burner phone’s GPS. He held out his hand to Stewart. “Thank you for everything.”
Stewart took his hand. “No problem. I’ll bring your travel itinerary with me later.”
Marta glanced toward the computer on Stewart’s desk. “Is it possible for me to use a computer and the internet either here or at your mother’s?”
The younger man frowned. “It’s possible.”
“I assume that since you do your own share of hacking, you have safeguards in place to keep anyone from tracing you to this location.” She met Stewart’s gaze and held it.
Stewart nodded. “I do.”
She gave him a brief smile. “I’ve done a fair bit of hacking myself and need to get into a research database. I could use help, if you have time. I promise, it’s not to conduct illegal activities.”
He waved his hand. “When I get back to my mother’s, I’ll help. The computer there is similarly secure.”
“Thank you,” she said and met Crusher’s gaze.
“Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
