Chapter Text
Montréal, Pierre-Elliott- Trudeau international airport.
Mary sat in the nearly deserted airport bar with a half empty pint of stout for only company. Her finger lazily traced the rim of the glass, as she allowed her mind to roam freely. Like always, her thoughts wandered off to faraway shores and to the memories of things, places and people long gone. She let melancholia settle over her like a fog, welcoming it.
Lost in the numbing haze of her memories, she barely heard her phone vibrating against the wooden counter. Returning abruptly to the present moment, Mary quickly reached for the phone. It wasn’t a number she recognized, but she picked up regardless. After all, many of her friends relied on burners. A wise choice when one didn’t want to be found.
“Hello!” greeted a familiar voice. The voice’s ironic tone and it’s thick British accent made the caller easy to identify.
“Hey, Shaun,” she greeted a bit more dryly than intended. “Oh, I see someone is in a good mood today,” replied the Englishman. Shaun Hasting had a unique talent to aggravate people and never skipped an opportunity to use it. Most of the time, Mary found it charming. In this instant, she was about ready to strangle him.
“Anyway,” continued Shaun without waiting for a reply. “Are you at the airport?”
“Yes,” she answered. “The flight for Tegucigalpa leaves in three hours.”
“You might want to change flights,” said Shaun enigmatically.
“Why ?” asked Mary intrigued.
“How long has it been since you last talked to your old friend Tatcher?” asked Shaun, completely ignoring her previous question.
Mary frowned in annoyance. Nowadays, the terms “occasional colleague” or “pleasant acquaintance” felt more appropriated than “old friend”. In fact she hadn’t heard a word from him in almost a year.
“Well, I’d get in touch if I were you. He just got the most interesting contract. The client is none other than Abstergo.” He paused for a moment to let the information sink in. “Now you might wonder why a company with the resources of Abstergo would hire a treasure hunter with a slightly shady reputation and what are they after. The truth is we are not 100% sure, but I do have a theory…”
“You think they’re after the Jackdaw?” whispered Mary, her voice almost trembling.
“Like I said, we can’t be sure,” insisted Shaun, cautious as always. “But whatever it is….”
“Whatever it is, we don’t want them to find it,” she finished. Mary took a deep breath. Already she could feel the adrenaline rushing through her veins. "I assume one of our mutual friends has already booked me a flight."
"Who do you think you’re dealing with?" teased Shaun. "You’re leaving for Havana in in an hour and a half."
"Thanks," said Mary. "Before I go, did you or Bishop find anything?" The question was asked in a neutral tone, almost casual, although it was anything but. It was the same question she always asked and, as always, Hasting grew quiet, searching for the kindest way to break her heart.
"Sorry," he sighed. "We have nothing. We don’t even know if he’s… here. Even if he was, he might not be able to remember."
"I know," she said in a whisper. "Thanks you, Shaun." Mary paused a moment, taking a second compose herself and swallow her emotions. "Well, gotta go. It looks like I’m heading for Cuba."
She hung up without any further ceremony and threw a 10 dollar bill on the counter and rushed out of the bar humming. Already her mind was wandering the brightly coloured street of the old havana and echoing with an long forgotten chant:
"Running down to Cuba with a load of sugar,
Weigh, me boys, to Cuba!
Make her run you, lime juice squeezes,
Running down to Cuba…"