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As Randall drove, he thought of his friend. Where are you, John?
~*~
John and Ariel huddled together on the sofa as Dessaline gave orders in Creole to the other Haitians. The captives’ hands were flex-cuffed at the wrists, in front of their bodies, and both Young Anson and Jean Claude held pistols as they sat across the living room from the two captives.
Young had a large Band-Aid on his forehead at the hairline, and the light, pinkish color of it stood out almost comically against the Haitian’s black skin. Young gently massaged his chest where the chair hit as he half-listened to Dessaline. He never took his eyes off John and Ariel, like he was watching two loose cobras in the corner.
Ariel leaned to John and whispered in his ear, “Seven ships coming in tonight, all loaded with people and drugs.”
John whispered, “Did they say where?”
“Yes, three in Dania, four in Homestead. The ones in Dania are Haitians in two boats, and people from Syria, Pakistan, and Iran in the third. The four in Homestead are all drugs and something called…yellow cake?”
John felt his stomach go cold. “Yellow cake is weapon’s grade uranium.”
Ariel’s eyes widened.
Marc and the others continued talking, and John said, “They don’t care that we hear.”
Ariel said, “They intend to sacrifice us in a vodou ceremony, so they aren’t worried about us talking.”
Ariel listened for several more minutes, then said, “Five of them will be at Dania to oversee the ships when they land.”
“Which five?”
“Dessaline, Bazin, Villard, and Anson, and a woman they call Rosalie. I believe she is the sòsyè I saw in the warehouse as Marienette Bois Sèch. The others will be in Homestead, waiting with trucks for the drugs.” She listened some more, “Dessaline says this is his biggest operation, and they can all retire after it is over.”
Marc Dessaline approached them and said, “It is time.”
John said, “Let Ariel go. You have me, you don’t need her.”
Dessaline leaned down in front of them, smiled, and blew powder into their faces. John jerked back, then convulsed and slipped to the floor. Ariel did the same a second later. Dessaline straightened and said, “Jean Claude, take them to the Everglades camp. Call Rosalie and tell her to prepare it for the ceremony.”
As they walked away, Ariel silently let out the air she held in her lungs and inhaled a sweet, shallow breath, making sure not to disturb the few grains of white powder around her nostrils and mouth. She opened her eyes a slit and saw the men paying her no attention. She slowly wiped her face on the back of John’s shirt, and breathed again.
She had mentally read what Dessaline was going to do before he did it, had seen it in a sudden vision right before he leaned down to them. She held her breath even before he lifted the hand with the powder, then thought fast and mimicked John’s reaction so she, too, would appear unconscious.
Ariel looked around for something to cut her cuffs, but saw nothing close at hand. The Haitian men walked off from the kitchen, and she eased to her knees, listening hard for any sound of them coming back. They were evidently in the garage, because she heard a door open and close with a click, then only silence in the house.
Working her way to her feet, Ariel eased to the kitchen. She was terrified of being seen and the fear almost petrified her, but she pushed ahead and with every step she felt sure they would catch her. Ariel’s heart was beating hummingbird fast and so hard that she heard blood pulsing in her ears like water squishing through a hose.
She felt exposed, and try as she might, couldn’t find knives anywhere. The kitchen counters were clean. Ariel eased open a drawer, praying it would not clatter or squeak, hoping to find something sharp.
The garage door clicked as someone twisted the knob.
Ariel made a blind grab in the drawer and raced out of the kitchen and across the opening, her heart in her throat with fear of being seen.
She slid down behind John’s body and rested her head on his back like she had been before, then heard the men coming into the room. Ariel had to fight her own breathing to keep from showing she had exerted herself.
Young Anson said, “When will the boats arrive?”
Dessaline said, “about twenty-four hours from now.”
“This hurricane is a category three. Twenty-four hours is cutting things very close, and then we have to unload and get to safety.”
Ringo said, “Cutting it close also provides excellent cover for us. No boats or witnesses out to see.”
“What of the Coast Guard?”
