port city of Las Palmas. They were shuttled by van to a small resort right on a stretch of pristine beach with a view of the blue waters of the Atlantic in severe contrast to a line of stark white cruise ships.
Kyle and Jack Gridley were to take Kelly Fielding and Sven Tolar and check in with their Spanish liaisons downtown, as well as secure reserved transportation, while the rest of Jason’s flight was left to explore the picturesque town nearby with its numerous watering holes and restaurants. The brick streets and bright-colored plaster storefronts looked like a patchwork quilt of different cultures: Portuguese, Spanish, and old Morocco. They were to return before nightfall to connect with the other members arriving on later flights and to go over the plans for the subsequent days.
He walked with a group including Coop, Fredo, Jake, Damon, and the brothers-in-law Tyler and Trace. Several other groups went ahead separately.
Damon left a message for Martel while Jason did the same for Kiley. “They’re shopping. I think that’s what she said they were going to do. Martel turns her phone off.”
“I got a message from Kiley that there’s a little wrinkle in her plans. I’m kind of worried about her. I would think she’d want to be available after that, but who knows?”
“I’m sure they’re fine. She’ll call. We’re what? Five hours ahead here?”
“Yup.”
“Might be late, but she’ll call,” reassured Damon.
Jason walked with his hand in his jacket pocket, gripping the cell he hoped would vibrate soon, connecting him to Kiley’s world. He wished she’d gone into detail about the concern he heard in her voice, but there wasn’t anything he could do but wait.
Worry over Kiley’s phone call made it difficult to play the part of a casual tourist. The fact that all the guys were excessively built and inked didn’t help either. Their sunglasses matched, being Navy-issue, which was a dumb mistake someone should have caught.
Though they were on an island with miles of beautiful beach rimming the perimeter, it didn’t feel anything like Jason’s homeland. For one, the foliage was scarce, not because it wouldn’t grow but because every stick of wood was harvested and made into fence posts, used to patch a wall, or turned into some small trinket at the tourist stalls. It was cleaner than he remembered Cape Verde had been, and it had more of a European population of visitors, mostly young twenty-somethings in beach attire. Jason’s teammates wore too much clothing and didn’t smile.
Well, not until they were eating fresh fruit from a street vendor and a local burro peed on Damon’s shoe. That started a series of pranks until they found a pork barbeque stand that served ribs, of all things. The dinner was simple. It consisted of ribs, red rice, beans, and pitchers of some local drink made from coconut milk. In fact, Jason couldn’t recall seeing a green vegetable anywhere.
The pork was divine, dripping in hot barbeque sauce with chunks of pineapple in it. They ate steamed yams seasoned with cinnamon, brown sugar, and butter for dessert.
The sun was hanging low in the horizon, so the group commandeered two donkey carts and had a race back to their hotel. Dusty and smelling of alcohol, they entered the lobby to a room filled with newly arrived team guys who were tired, cranky, and lacked any sense of humor.
A list of room assignments were given out. Jason and Damon had been placed together, so they headed to the second floor to unpack their minimal load.
“Have you heard anything from Martel?” Jason asked on the way up the stairs. He was taking them two-by-two, the alcohol in his system giving him an extra spring in his step.
“Not yet. I’m sure she’ll call tonight. Might be late.” Damon unlocked their door and stepped into a huge room with a balcony overlooking the blue Atlantic. “Wow. This is hella better than last trip.”
“Well, you forget, this isn’t Africa. It’s part of Spain,” reminded Jason.
“Would you look at that?” Damon said, opening up the sliding glass door to the balcony.
Jason looked out. A gentle warm breeze blew from the ocean. The surf was flaccid but rolled in nearly a half mile. “Damn, if the surf was any bigger, this would be perfect. I’ll bet it is during storm season.”
“You’re probably right. Just look at all the blue water and beach. Does this remind you of Hawaii?”
Jason listened for a minute and then shook his head. “Not a bit. You can barely