It was a usually hot and humid day in Cuba, tourists strolled through the historic downtown and soaked up the atmosphere while street vendors tried to sell their wares, fruits, and souvenirs to their unsuspecting victims. What was really going on in the streets of the city, however, was hidden from most visitors, unless they got lost in the hidden side streets. Then they got to know the true face of this actually so beautiful city. They saw poverty and criminality, people struggling day in and day out to survive, to find the right to exist, to live, the unvarnished reality of these streets. There were no tourist guides, no historical distractions. It stank and one could not deny from the condition of the houses that on this island, not only a two-class society existed. Either you were at the top end of the food scale, or you were at the bottom, and you hoped you weren't just finding moldy bread or fruit in the garbage cans, and that you weren't being kicked out like a street dog if you were caught rummaging through the garbage cans for edibles. You could be considered lucky if you didn't go hungry for a week, or if said tourists took pity on you and slipped you a few pesos. If you were extraordinarily lucky, some tourists would hire you as a local tour guide for the duration of their stay and pay you 'princely' wages.
Such luck did not have that young girl with the black curly hair, the dark brown eyes, and the olive skin that like almost every day hanging out in front of the Francis Drake Museum. Not because she was trying to make honest money, to begin with, but because, against all expectations, she had not been a local. Most tourists wanted to be shown around by a local kid that fit the bill, not by an American girl who had decided for herself what were really the interesting and historic parts of town.
For this reason, this girl was at the very bottom of the food chain. A street kid who had to learn to keep her head above water by picking pockets. An ugly reflection that the city tried to disguise by having cops keep kids like her away from tourist-friendly places, which included the Drake Museum, that magically attracted this girl.
She stood outside the entrance as she did almost every day, breathing a sigh of relief as there was no guard at the entrance. "All right," she breathed and carefully pushed the door open, ready for the fact that she would be caught trespassing already in the entrance hall. "here we go." She looked at all the exhibits. Display cases with model ships and sea routes, cannons and massive cannonballs salvaged off the coast, half-rotted figureheads, coins, and things assumed to be eating utensils. Things that never really interested the girl, but she did look at them. Curiosity always got the better of her, and for that reason, she had never really gone far into the museum. But on this day, she had resolved, she wouldn't be distracted by anything insignificant. She walked deadpan out the stairs to the second floor, being deliberately ignored by a guard, as he was one of those who deliberately let her slip into the building and slip her money and some food at the end of a day's work, and smiled as she finally entered the actual sanctuaries of the exhibit once again. She walked straight to one of the many display cases and stopped in front of it, almost pressing her nose against the glass while eyeing personal briefs and items belonging to Sir Francis Drake. She instantly gained distance as a slightly stocky man approached the display case and had the feeling that this man was not one of the conventional tourists, watching from a distance as he tried to open the display case with a key while smiling at the other visitors.
She winced as she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder, squeezing relentlessly and dragging her by the collar towards the stairs. "You dirty bait," scolded the museum guard in Spanish, which the girl knew all too well. "Back to the street!"
"Let go of me, son of a bitch," the girl scolded back in Spanish while she was rather thrown out of the building like trash onto the street, few people, not even the tourists reacted. She patted the dirt off herself, even if it wouldn't have made much difference in her current state, and turned her head as she spied her newest victim leaving the museum. "Oh, there he is," she whispered to herself. "Where's he going?"
She followed the man, ducked behind a parked cab, and crept inconspicuously after him until he arrived at a building that housed a well-known locksmith in town, who not only did legal business if the money was right, preferably American dollars.
She crouched right under the open window without being seen and tried to catch what the stranger was asking the locksmith. "That's the key," she heard the man say, apparently American just like her. "Adios, amigo."
She hurried to a fruit stand as he re-emerged from the building, meanwhile holding her breath, hoping she hadn't been busted. "Okay," she whispered to herself. "I got to get the wallet." She followed him to the market, which was highly frequented by people and tourists, and was about to flee in the other direction when her 'victim' spontaneously looked around but stopped when cops blocked her only escape option. "Shit, I can't go there." She paused as the man was suddenly greeted intimately by a woman, sure he hadn't spotted her. "Oh ..." she whispered, "who's your friend?" She watched the two at a drink stand as they were engrossed in a conversation and decided it was the best time to strike. "Okay, it's right there in his pocket. This is my chance." She sauntered up to the two, watching for any reaction that she hadn't been spotted while carefully doing the pickpocketing. Then she calmly walked on to the nearest side street and surveyed her loot, pleased with the American dollars and a key in the wallet that she assumed was a better copy for the showcase, but letting her surroundings out of her sight, a mistake she didn't normally make. She looked up and was about to run back to the market when she saw her 'victim' coming from a side alley. "Oh, damn," she gasped as he grabbed her by the collar. "Sueltame, viejo!"
"Let's try that again," he replied almost amusedly in English.
The girl wriggled like a fish on a hook. "Let go of me!"
He let go of her and smiled. "Ah, that's what I thought. Don't try to run away. You're a long way from home, girl."
She looked at him defiantly. "Don't call me that."
The stranger looked at the child anxiously, knowing full well he would be wrong with his next statement. "I'm sure your parents are worried about you."
The girl snorted contemptuously. "Yeah, probably not."
The man pursed his lips and put his hands on his hips. "Okay, sore subject. That was a nice lift back there. You're pretty good."
She looked over her shoulder as if to make sure no cop was around. "I don't know what you're talking about, old man."
The American took a step toward the girl, but his eyes were still soft. "Hey. Don't call me that. Your technique is really sloppy, though. You're telegraphing all your moves."
She took a few steps back, smiled almost uncertainly, and said, "You're crazy."
"Yeah? You've been chasing me all over town. Thought I was an easy target, I guess. But you picked the wrong guy, girl. Uh-huh."
She laughed artificially. "What?"
"My wallet. All right, maybe we just call the police."
"Go ahead," she replied with her confident grin that she had spontaneously found again. "They might wonder why a middle-aged tourist is following a young girl through the alleys. "
The man laughed, almost impressed. "You're a sly little beggar, aren't you?"
" I know how to take care of myself," the girl replied, lowering her shoulders, her sign that she was relaxing a bit. "Anyway, I'm pretty sure you don't like the cops any more than I do."
The man smiled. "Good point." He turned serious again and approached her. "Girl. The wallet."
She lifted her shoulders with a grin and handed him the wallet. "I had to try."
"Of course you did," he replied with a smirk before turning on his heel and leaving the girl behind like any other of the 'tourists'.
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She climbed through one of the museum's open windows and listened patiently to the sounds and to make sure that she hadn't accidentally set off the silent alarm. She knew the place like the back of her hand and also that there were museum guards who didn't take security too seriously, even on the night shift, and left a window or two open. She took a deep breath and heaved herself through the window, smiling confidently. "Telegraphing all my moves, huh?" She backed away into the safe shadows of the room as she saw a cone of light in the hallway." Whoa." She waited patiently and then slipped back up the stairs through the hallways to the second floor and slipped her victim's key into the lock of the display case and opened it. She felt a tingle on her skin and picked up a golden object and a ring and put it into some sort of indentation and winced as the object began to work. "What?"
"Damn it, girl," a familiar voice suddenly said and she flinched in fright, bumping into the legs of a person who had approached her from behind.
The woman from the market stood next to the American and smiled mockingly. "Vince, look who's here. That dirty little stray that made off with your wallet."
The man named Vince sighed loudly and took a step toward the girl. "Come on, girl. You haven't got a chance. Just give it to me."
The girl took a deep breath and handed him the golden object.
The woman now held out her hand. "Now... the ring."
The girl raised her hand and opened it, which was empty. "What ring?"
The woman's face darkened and before the girl knew what was happening, she caught a heated slap.
"Victoria!" the American said in horror.
"Who do you think you are, girl?" the woman named Victoria growled dangerously, "You're nothing but a dirty, outcast little beggar. You're not fit to touch those objects."
The American stood in her way. "What the hell do you think you're doing? She's just a child, after all!"
The girl recognized and seized the opportunity and took off running towards the stairs, weaving past the woman's bodyguards towards the exit.
"Stop here!" the woman screeched almost hysterically.
The girl meandered out of the museum, past locals and tourists who looked at her in wonder, checked their bags, but paid no further attention to what was happening, even though a young girl was being pursued by several shady men. Everyday life in this section of this city.
She stopped in a secluded side street and tried to catch her breath, assuming that she had escaped her pursuers. She stiffened as she sensed another presence in the alley.
"Look what we have here," laughed one of Victoria's men as he pushed the girl further into the corner. "Oops. Are you all right? Why are you shaking?" He pulled out a gun and pointed it at the girl. "Just close your eyes. This won't hurt a bit."
She backed away and inevitably closed her eyes, preparing herself for the shot and the pain even though the man had assured her it wouldn't hurt. However, she did not hear a gunshot, nor did she feel any pain in her small body. She opened her eyes and saw how the American, whom she had stolen from before, had a chokehold on the man in the suit and didn't let go of him until he turned blue and his body became lifeless.
The American finally let go and looked at her for a long time. "Come on. It's all right, kid."
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The American sat down at a table in a booth and pushed food to the girl, smiling when she hesitated. "You can relax, kid. We're safe here. Go ahead. Whatever you want, if you don't want -"
She looked at him urgently. "What do you want from me?"
The American frowned, then smiled. "A little gratitude would be nice. I saved your ass back there."
"Thank you," the girl replied and reached for the beer bottle, lifting a shoulder as he beat her to it. "But what's in it for you? I mean, you're a crook, right? You must have a reason."
The man scratched his chin with a smile. "You're a piece of work, kid. What's your story, anyway?"
"Look, mister, no offense, but I don't even know you."
"Easily remedied, Vince Korsak", he replied holding his hand out patiently. „This would be the part where you introduce yourself." He sighed and leaned back in his chair when the girl didn't react. "Okay, tell me what's so special about this ring."
The girl fingered the silver ring on the leather cord around her neck and frowned. "It's mine. I'm just returning it."
Korsak nodded slowly and smiled. "Inherited from Francis Drake himself."
She nodded. „That's right."
Korsak cleared his throat and looked at her for a long moment. "I don't know how to tell you this, little one, but Drake had no heirs. No children."
The girl looked at him challengingly. "At least not with his wife in England."
He smiled appreciatively. "Okay, good point. Let me take a look." He reigned in immediately as she backed away. "Come on, kid, if I wanted to take it away from you, I would have done it already." He nodded slowly as she handed him the ring. "Thanks. So, what's this? Parvis Man."
"'Sic Parvis Magna.'" she said slowly. "It means, 'Greatness from small beginnings.' That was his motto."
"Yes?"
The girl slid forward a little and frowned. "You know, Queen Elizabeth gave it to him in 1581 when he came back to England after sailing around the world. That's when she made him a knight."
He looked at the girl long and hard. "You certainly didn't learn that on the street. Where does a child your age learn Latin?"
"The nuns sort of insisted on it."
"Ah, so it's like boarding school?"
"That's a nice word for it."
Korsak cleared his throat now. "All right, then. What was that earlier about the ring and the astrolabe?"
The girl's face hardened. "You tell me. You work for them."
He laughed heartily. "Listen, kid, when a customer wants something, I get it... For a price. I don't ask any questions. It's just a job."
"Looked pretty friendly to me."
"Yeah, well. Anyway, I'm pretty sure I'm fired."
She took a deep breath, hesitated, licked her lips, then spread out a travel card. "Okay, look... First of all, this wasn't an astrolabe. It's some kind of decoding device. Take a look at this. On his way around the world, Drake sailed through the East Indies. Only he says it took him six months to get from here to here."
Korsak stared at the map and frowned. "Yeah, so?"
She tapped a specific spot on the map. "So it doesn't add up. He was too good a sailor for this. It would have taken him a month at most. He was hiding something. Something big."
Korsak's eyes snapped upward. "How big?"
The girl was grinning broadly now. "Like a secret a mission from the Queen, big. Like a looted treasure worth millions that hasn't been recovered yet."
Korsak leaned back with a sigh. "That big?"
The girl nodded slowly. "That big."
Korsak exhaled slowly. "And that decoder has something to do with it."
"I'd bet my life on it."
"Oh, great. And Nolan has it."
The girl grinned mischievously. "It's not much use to her without the key."
"So it's a stalemate."
"For now."
Korsak now leaned forward again. "You still haven't told me your name."
The girl looked at him dead in the eye, skeptically. "And you still haven't told me what you want me to do for you."
He took a big gulp of beer and looked at her for a long time. "Okay, look, you've got talent, but you've got a lot to learn. If you stay with me, I'll teach you a few things."
The girl grinned in amusement. "Thanks, but I'm doing fine on my own."
"Yeah," Korsak sighed, holding out his hand again. "How about we try this again? My friends call me Korsak."
The girl looked at his hand for a long moment before shaking it. "Jane Rizzoli."
Korsak raised his brows. "Jane, huh?" He took a sip of beer. "Okay. I see big things in our future, kiddo. Big things.