Chapter 76 - The Strait of the Smugglers
By dawn, the Atlantic had flattened into a sheet of slate gray. Through the narrow porthole of the steering locker, the towering rock of Gibraltar emerged like a tooth rising from the mist, with the dark shoreline of Morocco stretching across the southern horizon.
The *Navegador* was not clearing customs in Europe. Lind’s contact had negotiated a transfer before the ship entered the narrowest point of the strait.
"We don't dock in Tangier Med," Lind explained, rolling up a nautical chart on top of an oil drum. "Customs is fully monitored by Vance's corporate logistics arm. He owns half the maritime inspection contracts from Algeciras to Port Said. We get off on a bunker tender two miles outside Moroccan territorial waters, ride it into the old port of Tangier, and disappear into the Kasbah."
"And from there?" I asked.
"A private airstrip outside Tétouan. I have a twin-turboprop Beechcraft registered to a dummy charter company in Gibraltar. It has the range to cross Spain and land at an unmonitored grass strip near Annecy, France—just twenty miles from the Swiss border."
The cabin door creaked open. The first mate stepped in, carrying two tin mugs of lukewarm, bitter black coffee and a loaf of hard bread. He looked pale.
"You have a problem, senhor," the mate muttered, checking the corridor behind him before latching the hatch.
Lind stood up immediately, his hand drifting toward his waistband. "What kind of problem?"
"The captain received a commercial dispatch from Lisbon ten minutes ago. Maritime authorities issued an alert for two fugitives wanted for an armed assault in Cascais. The description matches you both." The mate set the mugs down on the drum with a clatter. "There’s a fifty-thousand-euro reward posted for any vessel that detains you until a private security cutter arrives."
Lind’s eyes narrowed. "What did the captain do?"
"He hasn't answered yet," the mate said slowly. "He is greedy, but he is also superstitious. He knows my family in Porto. But the second engineer saw you come aboard. He has a radio in his bunk."
I stood up, adjusting the strap of Arthur’s bag across my chest. "Then we don't wait for the bunker tender."
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The mate looked at me, astonished. "Senhora, the water here has rip currents that will pull a horse under. You cannot swim to Africa."
"I don't intend to swim," I said. "Where are the lifeboats?"
