covered with lids. They seemed to be heavy. The giant handled them easily, but the little guy was working hard and yapping loudly.
She watched as they hauled the buckets down the hill to the dock. They put the buckets down, not far from where the speedboat was tied up.
The two men began to talk between themselves, some kind of discussion. Then the small man pried the lid from one of the buckets, picked it up, and carried it to the end of the dock. He upended it and dumped out whatever was inside, spilling it into the sea.
An angry shout came from somewhere up the hill, just out of Marivic’s sight. The men on the dock stopped and looked up toward the sound.
Now the shouting man stepped into view, right below Marivic. He gesticulated, pointing with a sweep of his left hand. Around back! he seemed to be saying.
The two men didn’t argue. They just carried the three remaining buckets into the speedboat. The giant cast off the lines; the other got behind the wheel and started the motor.
From his sharp bark and the way the others had obeyed him, Marivic guessed that the man who stood below her must have some authority. Maybe he was in charge. He stood watching as the boat backed out and headed around the island, and he didn’t move until the boat was out of sight.
Then he turned just long enough for Marivic to glimpse his face. It was the foreigner who had sat beside her in the plane. He walked back the way he had come.
She wished that he would stay. She had some questions for him
Where is Junior? she wanted to ask. What have you done with him?
But he was gone, and the boat was gone too. There was just the path and the hillside down to the empty dock.
She climbed down from the top of the wall and went back to her cot.
Seven
Favor was wrong about the Gulfstream 550. For a transpacific flight, the charter operator needed six hours’ notice, not three. And since the plane was based in Oakland, Favor would save time by meeting it there instead of routing it to Lake Tahoe. He suggested that they drive down together, have a good dinner, and board the plane when it was ready.
Stickney and Mendonza needed the extra time to get their passports. Mendonza’s wife sent his by courier to Oakland. Stickney’s housekeeper, who had a key to his home, found his passport in his desk; her son agreed to bring it down to Oakland.
All this came together in less than twenty minutes as the four of them sat in the gazebo along the Tahoe shore. Arielle handled most of it, down to the dinner reservations and the catering details for the Gulfstream.
“One thing we ought to talk about,” Mendonza said. “I was wondering what you want to do about logistics in Manila. Maybe we ought to have somebody on the ground handling arrangements.”
“You think we need that?” Favor said. “I figure we book suites at a kick-ass hotel, the hotel sends a limo to meet us at the airport, after that we play it by ear.”
“It could get complicated,” Mendonza said. “I need to get to Leyte right away. See the mother, get the story. We all ought to have cell phones. A couple of cars with drivers would be nice. We could do all that ourselves, but it’d be easier to have somebody else hassling the details.”
“You’re right. Yeah, let’s do it,” Favor said. “You have somebody in mind?”
“How about Edwin Santos?” Mendonza said, and in unison Arielle and Stickney yelled, “No Problem Eddie!”
They all remembered Santos. Bravo One Nine had once spent several weeks on assignment in Manila, and Santos was the team’s local contact and logistical source—a critical asset. He boasted that he could supply whatever they needed: weapons, documents, electronics, vehicles.
“No problem!” he would crow.
It wasn’t an empty claim. What he promised, Santos had always delivered.
And not just tangibles. Santos also dealt in access and knowledge. His contacts seemed endless. He moved among politicians and gangsters, bishops and pimps, Red guerrillas and right-wing vigilantes, brokering services and esoteric transactions. Edwin Santos was incredibly useful.
“Is Eddie still around?” Favor asked. “I wouldn’t know where to find him.”
“He’s around. I used him last year,” Mendonza said. “I handled security for a client on an Asian tour. Eddie took care of the crap at the Manila end. You know, the endless little wrinkles that bog you down. Crap