Francois got out and shut off the engine. He left the keys in the ignition and headed toward the back of the Jeep, opening the tailgate. "Can I help?" Jordan asked.
Francois looked at her carefully for a moment, then nodded. "Sure," he said, sadness in his voice. They quickly unloaded our bags, the same duffel bags we'd used all week to carry wood, along with Francois's footlocker, taking them over to the plane. I got the bundle of swords in their cases out of the back and carried them over to the SUV where our agent's representative got out.
"You boys are right on time," he said in thickly accented English. He sounded like he was most likely a Mexican national, which I would not be surprised by. The Mexican Cartels knew plenty about how to move things and people both into and out of the United States. "Ready to go?"
"Not quite," I said. Jordan, who was packing the plane with Francois, wiped her head and turned to go back. I pointed at her with one of the sword cases, one I'd marked specially. "How much for her to join us?"
"You must be crazy,” the man replied. He was wearing a Tecate beer t-shirt and blue jeans, along with what looked like light boots, but that wasn't overly important. I was more concerned with his face, which was simultaneously surprised and greedy. I had a chance. "You bargained for two people."
"And I want to make a change," I said. "How much?"
"How much are you offering?" the man asked, curious. "That is one fine senorita."
I flipped the sword case in my hand over, offering it to him. "Our agent is supposed to get seven blades. This is number eight. It was supposed to be my personal memento of this job. It's complete, battle ready, and the finest blade produced in Japan in the past decade. She comes along — it's yours."
The man considered it, then looked at the plane. "That's a four-seat Cessna. The range is going to be shorter because of the extra weight, and your pilot is not going to be a happy man. You kick in another . . . ten thousand, and you have a deal."
I nodded. It was a rip-off, I knew, but for Jordan, it was more than worth it. "Before I agree, let me do one thing."
The man nodded, and I turned. "Jordan? Jordan!"
Jordan, who was standing by the Jeep, looked up, her eyes glittering with tears in the light of the headlamps from the SUV. "What?"
"Come here!" I called, waving. Francois looked up from where he was arranging his items in the plane, a shocked look on his face. He knew what was going to happen, even though he couldn't believe it. He started over, his face written with outrage. I had to move fast.
"What do you want, Felix?" Jordan asked, trying to hold back her tears. "A hug goodbye?"
I shook my head. I took her hand and looked her in the eye. "I want you to come with us. Would you be willing to give up your life in the States to come with us?”
Before she could answer, Francois shoved me away. "Vous êtes fou, Felix? êtes-vous sur de votre putain de tête?"
"Surveillez votre putain de langue, Nicolae. Je suis le roi, tu te souviens?" I yelled back. I hated to use my position for such a personal need, but I had no time to debate this with him. "You will not be put out financially from this. I will cover it all from my share."
Francois stared at me with hate in his eyes for a second, then shook his head. "No, it will come equally from both of us. You're putting our lives and hers at risk, but so be it.”
He stalked away, heading toward the plane. I took the few steps back to Jordan, who was still standing there with a shocked look on her face. "Well, what do you say?"
Jordan nodded dumbly, her voice failing her. I took her hand again, and pulled her in close. “I know this is the right decision,” I whispered in her ear. “Somehow, I just know.”
"But I don't even know your full name yet, Felix," she replied. “And I’m running off to another country with you.“
I chuckled and led her away from the Mexican, who was watching us with a sort of bored curiosity. "My full name is Felix Gudada Hardy," I told her softly. "I will tell you anything else you could ask me, as soon as we are away from these men. I don’t trust them."
She looked me in the eye, then nodded. Pulling my head down we kissed, and I held her tight for a moment. "Hey, Romeo, time's ticking," the Mexican said. "Save that shit for when you're actually in Mexico, okay?"
I nodded and let go of Jordan, pushing her lightly toward the plane. "Go. Francois isn't upset with you — he wants you just as much as I do. Go find a seat, I'll be there in a moment."
I turned back to the Mexican and handed him the sword. "The Jeep has a clean title, decent wear and tear, and a half tank of gasoline. It's yours as well."
"My employer will still expect the extra money. I will inform him while you are in the air still."
I shrugged, not caring. “It can come out of our share of the money. The Jeep you can keep as a personal thanks to you."
Chapter 13
Jordan