“Why did you offer me so much money?” I shifted in my seat, searching for a nonexistent, comfy position. “Are you so rich that you don’t know what to do with your money or is there someone sponsoring your trip, carelessly tossing cash around?”
“Octavian Global and I have worked together for a long time. We believe rare historic objects belong in a museum, and recognize that making that happen can be a costly endeavor.”
“Are you saying you don’t have a single thing in your house that is historic and unique?”
“I own a few things, but they aren’t necessarily extraordinary or…” He sighed. “What I’m after is a fortune that was hidden from people for hundreds of years.”
A stupid grin grew on my face. “Tell me,” I said, leaning forward in my seat, “do you own a whip?”
“What?” Andrew’s eyebrows went up.
“And a brown Fedora?”
He stared at me as if I had turned into an ogre, then smiled. “For a moment I thought you were changing the subject to some fetish you have.”
My face lit on fire, but I said, “You didn’t answer my question.”
Andrew laughed. “No, I don’t own either.”
“Too bad.” My lips stretched into a huge smile. “I think you’d look good in it.”
I was flirting with him. That wasn’t me. I wasn’t a flirtatious person. This must have been the result of constantly fearing for my life during this flight.
The pilot yelled something in Spanish.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“We’re out of fuel,” Andrew deadpanned.
Say what?
I gaped at Andrew; my muscles tensed so hard they hurt.
“You should see your face.” Andrew chuckled, shaking his head. “He said we’re approaching the airport and should land in the next five minutes.”
“Oh my god! You’re such an asshole.” I smacked Andrew’s arm.
* * *
The landing felt like coffee beans shaken vigorously in a can. We were the beans. Nonetheless, we landed. And any landing I could walk away from was a great one.
Andrew turned on his phone, and dings of incoming messages poured in like a melody. I left my mobile on airplane mode to avoid the fifteen-dollar daily charge. I’d check my email when I found Wi-Fi. Andrew pressed his phone to his ear.
“Hi. We just landed,” he said, looking out the window. “It was fine.” He laughed weakly. “Yeah, not as bad as St. Helena… I’ll talk to you later. Kiss Lulu from me. I love you.” He hung up, faced me, and caught me staring.
Crap.
I averted my eyes, pretending to peer over his shoulder at a sun-beaten yellow and orange control tower.
We wheeled our luggage on an uneven cement sidewalk toward a one-story blue building with a few white pickup trucks parked next to it. As soon as we walked inside an air-conditioned space, my eyes immediately watered from heavy cigarette and cigar smoke. I hoped we didn’t have to stay long. A hefty man, wearing a dark green uniform and a sour attitude, sat in a booth behind a tall plexiglass wall that had a narrow opening at the bottom for documents. He barked something in Spanish and Andrew replied warmly, sliding our passports into the opening, a thin stack of money squashed between them.
WTF!Was that a bribe?
Of course not, right? Andrew was just purchasing our visas. Was Colombia one of the nations that issued a tourist visa on arrival? Nausea roiled in the pit of my stomach, and I wiped clammy hands on my dress. It could have been nerves or the nasty air.
After what seemed like forever, the Colombian officer stated something, then gave me a long stare, then William. Andrew spoke again, his beaming smile never leaving his face. With a loud boom, the man stamped all three passports and slid them back. Andrew thanked him and nodded for us to follow him outside through the main entrance.
“Is everything okay?” I hurried after Andrew, who was marching in the direction of a row of parked cars. “He didn’t look pleased.”
