Morris Bay.
The skids of the Quest Kodiak single-engine floatplane touched down in the calm waters of Morris Bay. Water sprayed from them in protest. The plane taxied toward a small, private dock. From the rear passenger seat, Karim Zahir pressed his dark sunglasses further up. He glanced out the windshield at Rojas’s estate and eyed two armed men standing on the dock.
Zahir wore a long-sleeved, button-down shirt which was open several buttons. The light-colored suit jacket and slacks stood in sharp contrast to his dark features. A beautiful young woman with bronze skin sat quietly next to him.
Zahir ran his eyes down her body and grinned. He leaned to her. “If you want to be alive,” he whispered, “you will stay very, very quiet.”
Her lower lip began to tremble.
“Mr. Zahir?” the pilot said when he saw the men at the dock carrying automatic weapons. “This is MorrisBay, Antigua, sir. But are you sure we’re in the right place?”
“Of course I am sure. Do not let the crudeness of my business associates’ security detail disturb you. It is all for show.”
The pilot swallowed. “Yes, sir.” He steered the craft until it floated gently to the dock, where one of the guards took hold. The guard opened the plane’s side door and held it.
“Stay here,” Zahir said to the pilot, “and be prepared. I do not like to be kept waiting.” He stepped onto the plane’s float then onto the dock. The woman followed him, yet, in her high heels, she nearly slipped. “My business will be concluded within the hour, then I will depart.”
“Do you mean you both will be departing, sir?” the pilot said.
Zahir looked down the woman’s dress. “No, I will depart alone. My associate here has other business to conduct and will remain.”
When she saw the grin on Zahir’s face, she shrunk from him.