“All right, fine. Where is this Ilsa—Isla…Goddammit, what the fuck is that island’s name?”
“Ilha da Queimada Grande,” I said. “Island of the Great Burning. It’s off the southeast coast of Brazil. You got the money?”
“Yeah, I’ve got it.”
“Then all we need to do is get to Rio. We know of a captain who won’t have a problem sailing us to the island.”
“Why the fuck should he have a problem? If he can’t sail—”
“He can sail fine,” I snapped.
Drew slid an arm around my waist. “The Brazilian Navy don’t like it when people go to that island—they takes it personal.”
“What do I care about them? But I don’t need your captain. I’ve got a contact in Brazil. Manolo Viejo will see I get a good boat and a captain who knows what he’s doing and isn’t afraid of any Navy anywhere.”
This was going to put a spanner in the works, unless…I’d get in touch with Dad later and see what he could do about making sure Viejo wasn’t around to find Malossini a boat and a captain. I shrugged. “Your call, gov.”