Chapter 23

Escape from Punta Arenas

It had been an easy Sunday. The trio checked in to the Santiago airport, presented their customs clearance papers and by 1100 hours were airborne for Puerto Montt, 570 miles south. It was a quick flight on a LAN 737. They'd arrive at 12:35 local time and transfer to an Airbus A320 for the flight to Punta Arenas, 810 miles to the the Straits of Magellan. They'd arrive about 3:30 p.m.

Steve called and briefed Corky on their flight connections and arrival time. He'd meet them at the Presidente Carlos Ibanez International Airport in the arrivals area and help them with luggage and a taxi ride to the public docks where the Ocean Endeavor waited.

They'd gotten lucky on both flights: they were able to sit three abreast on the 737 flight to Puerto Montt, and three abreast in the A-320's coach seating. They were cramped but all together with Marie sitting by the window. Mike and Steve discussed their plans for the ship.

"The weather's been a little rough, but nothing to worry about. Corky said he had a rough ride across from the Falklands, but the weather front has moved on and it looks fair for the next few days. I forgot to ask: do either of you get seasick?"

"I don't, but there's no way to guess with Marie. She's never been on the ocean before," Mike answered.

"That's something we'd better plan for, then. I think Corky will have something for sea sickness. But the best preventative is for her to eat some ginger the minute she goes aboard. That's the most effective. That, with fresh air and staying above decks where she can see the horizon. Going below into a closed compartment would be a very bad idea," Steve advised.

They relaxed into their seat backs. There was little to do but wait. They'd done all their planning; now it was a matter of enduring yet another boring flight. Steve had another disposable cell phone that he picked up during their layover in Santiago. He'd used it to confirm their connection with Corky, and he'd hang onto it until they were at sea. Then he would drop it over the side.

"The boss said they'd be on the 15:20 flight from Puerto Montt. There's not a lot of traffic here, since it's a Sunday, but we'll need to keep our eyes open. Arrivals attract a gang of 'meet and greet' family and friends, so be heads up," Max briefed his two men.

"Kurt, you and Slim hang around the luggage area, but keep the approaches from arrivals in sight. I'll stay by the main exit as a backup. You've got copies of the mugshots the boss faxed; we only got the two guys, our agent Barringer, and Michael Hawthorne. Santiago reported there was a young woman with them, a native American, but we don't have a photo of her. Don't assume you can recognize her—there's a good chance she'll look like just another of the hispanic ladies getting off the plane. So focus on the guys, ok? They don't know we're waiting for them, so it should be easy to ease in and get the jump on them before they can do anything about it.

"Now remember, no guns. Leave them holstered. We'll take them by surprise and get them into restraints before there's any commotion. If airport security raises a fuss, or if one of our prisoners starts yelling, we'll show our arrest warrants. That should satisfy the locals. But, hear me on this! We sure as hell don't want to get tangled up with their police, or their federal guys. It would take forever to get untangled from that, and I don't want to spend one hour longer in this cold hellhole than I need to."

They left the cafe where they'd been loitering over a slow lunch. They didn't notice the old guy wearing a wool seaman's coat and a battered Greek fisherman's cap. He'd noticed them over his folded newspaper while sipping a cup of coffee. Once Max had glanced toward the corner where the old sailor sat, but the man's face was obscured by his paper. He seemed to be catching up on the news while ashore.

Mike led their party while Steve escorted Marie down the ramp to the terminal. He felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket; he almost ignored it. This was an awkward place to walk and talk with a cell phone. But after four buzzes he decided that only one person should be calling at this moment; Corky would call if something was wrong.

"Yes?" he answered.

"Duck and cover! Bandits in the building!"

Steve cursed and flipped the phone off and into his pocket. He grabbed Marie by her shoulder, half spinning her to face him.

"Ladies room, now! Go quickly and stay there. We'll come bang on the door when it's clear. Find a stall, hunker down, and wait for us!"

"Mike!" Steve hissed, reaching forward to tap him on the shoulder. "You and me, to the john, right now. Don't run, but walk to the first one; go inside, get into a stall, and lock it. I'll be coming in right after you. We've got bandits in the building."

Marie looked straight ahead and asked the closest attendant for the women's facility.

"En línea recta, a la izquierda, Señora," (straight ahead to your left) the attendant replied.

"Gracias." Marie adjusted her carry-on bag as she walked, flipped her long hair to her other other shoulder, and entered straight into the women's room entrance set in the left wall of the corridor.

"A la derecha" (to the right) Mike was told when he asked about the men's room. He walked purposefully but without hurry, looking down to his shoulder bag as he strolled down the corridor.

Steve was a moment behind; he'd taken time to stop and glance at some brochures he carried in his hand that wasn't holding his briefcase. He scanned ahead, down the exit hallway to see who might be posted there. He saw no one except other passengers moving in a scattered crowd down the hall. He pushed through the door. One man was at the sinks, rinsing his hands. Another was at the urinal. Steve waited for the room to clear. He rinsed his hands in the sink as the last man left.

"Mike," he hissed.

"In here," Mike answered.

"I think we're clear. Nobody was looking up the passage when we ducked in the restrooms. Hang in there while I call Corky and see what set off the fire alarm."

Corky answered on the first ring.

"Hey buddy, were you expecting any helpers from your funhouse on this little junket?" Corky asked.

"No. Nada, nobody. Who did you see?"

"Three guys, waiting here, cooling their heels in the cafe, like they were expecting to greet somebody off the plane. This flight, I think. They all got bulges under their coats. Are you sure you're not expecting a welcoming committee?"

"Not only no, but hell no! We're running free, no minders. We should be invisible. Nobody but trusted friends should know we're here," Steve protested.

"Well, do you remember that guy we picked up in Belize, the guy we dropped off with his team near the coast of Comrade Castro's playground a few years ago? That arrogant bastard who damn near got his whole section chopped up and turned into shark food? What the hell was his name... ?"

"Max? Max Saunders? You saw that asshole, here, in this airport?"

"In the flesh, buddy. And time ain't improved his looks any. And those guys with him? They're even uglier and meaner lookin'."

"Ok, Corky. If Max is here, then something's gone lopsided on us. We've got to get around those guys. If he spots us, all hell's gonna break loose. I'm not only on unfamiliar ground here, but I'm trapped in the men's room and we can't go wandering down the hallways, you know? We need some help. I think there might be a way, but I need you to hustle outside to the cab stand, and grab a cabbie with some local knowledge..."

Corky listened with a small smile that became a huge grin, until he turned to face the wall before some passerby thought he was having a drunken laughing fit. After Steve explained his plan, Corky shook his head, pocketed his phone, and left the terminal toward the waiting taxis.

It's a damn crazy idea, but if it works, poor ugly Max will be praying to see the drizzling grey skies of the great outdoors by spring. It'll take him that long to get out of jail!