“Great. Look I don’t have money—” There was a sharp frown at that. “But I’ve got these,” he hurried to add as he pulled out the pouch of gemstones.

The woman’s brown eyes lit up at the sparkle. “That will do nice.”

She ground out her cigarette in a bucket of sand, stood, and sauntered over to him. Her white blouse was unbuttoned enough that he could see the swell of her tanned breasts. She was obviously a fan of sunbathing topless and Franny felt a reaction. She smelled of soap and cigarettes and rose perfume.

“Where you want to go?”

“Someplace with an international airport. Could you get us to … uh…” Franny thought about the maps he’d studied before he and Jamal had started on this mad journey to rescue the jokers. He considered Russia but given Baba Yaga’s concerns about the KGB, or whatever it was called today, he decided against that destination. “Ukraine or Turkey?”

“Sure. Have to file flight plan. Give me jewels and I’ll go do that.”

“Let me think about that. Uh … no. You go file the flight plan, you’ll get the jewels when we land.”

Perhaps it was the fact she was a pretty woman. Or that he was past the point of exhaustion. Or the pain pills he’d swallowed, but he missed the signal, the warning in her eyes and body so the toe of her cute ankle boot took him right in the nuts. Screaming, he doubled over, clutching his abused balls as agonizing pain shot straight through the top of his head. Vomit filled his mouth and he fell onto his knees.

The pouch fell out of his hand, jewels glittering like multicolored rain drops cascaded out and went dancing across the tarmac. The woman went scrabbling after them. Franny wanted to grope for his pistol but couldn’t make his hands release his throbbing balls. The emeralds, shit! If she searched him they’d be gone, too. Groaning, he reached back, grabbed the pistol grip, and pulled it free.

The woman paused, hand in her pocket where she’d thrust a handful of gems, saw the gun. Her face twisted with fury and she didn’t look so pretty any longer. She spat out something that sounded like curse words and bolted like a greyhound hearing the starting gates slam open.

Groaning, Franny climbed to his feet. There were a few gems glittering on the ground. Moving like he was as old as Baba Yaga he tottered around and picked them up. Of the woman there was no sign. He just hoped she wouldn’t go and alert the soldiers. If the military was as corrupt as the cops he was probably safe.

One thing the experience had taught him—he wasn’t going to be able to negotiate a deal then go back and get Baba Yaga. He needed her with him while he found a pilot so they could leave right away. He returned to the van for the old lady. She was conscious, but barely.