In the cool shade behind the terminal, Mas leaned close to La Croix, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Why am I being picked up by the entire Haitian army?”
La Croix smiled at her remark. The colonel had just taken them out a back door of the office to a security courtyard behind the terminal, formed by three blank concrete walls. The safe space was designed for the exclusive use of the Salle Diplomatique. The narrow driveway led to a barbed-wire gate, manned by armed guards sporting body armor and Kevlar helmets.
A fleet of five white Mercedes G550 SUVS was waiting for them. The vehicles were fully armored with run-flat tires, and displayed the blue decals of the PNP. They were idling with their drivers behind the wheel, and a senior guard was riding shotgun. Each guard had their ballistic window rolled down and their Street Sweeper automatic shotgun sticking out, as if they were daring anyone to get stupid on them.
Twenty PNP troops formed a protective cordon around the caravan. They held their M-16 assault rifles unsafetied and at the ready, keeping a wary eye on the surrounding rooftops. The only windows looking onto the courtyard were the small ballistic panes of smoked glass that flanked the back door of the Salle Diplomatique.
VIPs, government officials, diplomats, dignitaries, and criminals under extradition could be routed into and out of the courtyard, without creating a ruckus in the main terminal or generating a security headache. Beyond the gate lay several of the poorest neighborhoods in Haiti. Armored vehicles bristling with firepower had to be employed, piloted by lead foot drivers who stopped for nothing and no one. There were no speed limit signs in Haiti, but even if there were, the drivers would have ignored them anyway, and would have done so with impunity.
The troops weren’t actually expecting an assault; it was mostly a demonstration of Haitian pride to show the American federal agent that they had their act together. Mas was suitably impressed, but she wondered what was up.
“They’re the Presidential Police, madam,” La Croix explained to her. “They’re taking you to the White House to be briefed.”
She was surprised. “About what? I’m just here to see an American priest.”
La Croix simply smiled once again, and indicated that they would be riding in the middle SUV. One of the troopers snapped to attention and opened the rear passenger door. As Mas and La Croix got in the back seat, two troopers got into a pair of rear-facing jump seats in the back cargo area, with her carry-on between them and their assault rifles stuck out their open side windows.
In all the excitement, she completely forgot that someone had called her.
Inside the Salle Diplomatique, Agent Francine peered through one of the smoked glass windows and watched Mas getting into the vehicle, along with the gentleman in the white linen suit and the armed troopers. She was still on the phone with Kaddouri.
“She’s been picked up by the PNP,” she told him.