by Rachel Renee
I can’t help the laugh that escapes. “Wow, I feel really confident in the people I’ll be corresponding with.”
“It is what it is.”
I chuckle once more. “Should I trust you?”
“That is yet to be determined.”
Once more, I laugh. “Thanks for the honesty.”
One side of his mouth turns up.
“So, since I can’t trust anyone, maybe not even you, what should I do with the intel I gather?”
“Until we call you home, that is up to you to decide. If you think you’ve found your man, and with one hundred percent certainty that he could be captured, report back. We will send a team.”
My confidence in this mission continues to dwindle. There’s a chance that Lieu may be hearing from me sooner than he realized.
“On the flight, you’ll find a pack filled with necessities. A weapon, or two. A laptop, a cell phone, files that will need to be destroyed upon departure of the aircraft. Money—thought some pesos might be important.” Thompson’s hand goes to his forehead, his fingers pulling together the skin from either side. “Oh, yes, a list of slang words used in the drug trade. You need to be knowledgeable, so study up.”
“I should mention that my Spanish is quite rusty.” Probably should have mentioned that well before now.
“It’ll be useful to reacquaint yourself with the language, but not entirely necessary. You’ll find many who speak English quite fluently and those will be the majority of the citizens you come in contact with.”
“Well, that’s one positive in this whole thing.” I smile at the man but his look is stern and unyielding. I don’t change my expression when I ask, “Is there anything else?”
“When was the last time you flew cargo?”
“Cargo?”
“Steerage, freight…”
“In the military.”
“One and the same. An Army plane is set to leave with you on board. It will make a routine stop at an airstrip just outside of Chihuahua, to drop supplies to troops on the ground in Mexico. Waste no time embarking and finding your contact. That airstrip is monitored quite closely and we’re trying to keep the fact that we are sending another man into the fray under wraps. If you know what I mean.”
“Understood.”
“Well, you should be on your way. Good luck to you, Cauley.”
I reach my hand out to shake Thompson’s outstretched one. “It sounds as though I might actually need it.”
His lips upturn slightly, but once he releases my hand, his face turns solemn and he waves the same hand toward the exit.
MY LUGGAGE IS WAITING for me when I board the C-130J Hercules military transport aircraft. The commander shows me to my spot, reports to me that flight time is around six hours, and dismisses himself for the remainder of the flight. There are a few soldiers milling about the aircraft after takeoff, seeming to check provisions continuously, counting crates, opening boxes, moving articles from one place to the next. I watch them for a few minutes, their robotic behavior mesmerizing me. I catch the eye of a younger soldier, fresh from boot camp, by the looks of him. After he salutes, my hand automatically goes up to reciprocate, bringing me out of my absorbed state and back to the task at hand.
A military-grade backpack has been left on top of my suitcase, and I assume it’s what Thompson referred to as my “supplies.” Upon further inspection, I’m impressed by the number of items stuffed into the canvas case. I grab the military-grade handgun and shove it in the holster hidden beneath the camo jacket I was presented with upon my entrance at the airstrip. Gone is the suit jacket I arrived in, the tie thrown to the wayside and the top button of my shirt undone. I’ve yet to change my slacks but will have to before arrival in Mexico.
Setting handgun number two next to me, I rifle through the papers shoved in the manila folder, glancing for the secure typehead and pulling those articles out for study. There’s quite the list of supposed individuals involved in the cartel I will come in contact with. So many men, skin darkened from sun exposure and heredity. Some are missing quite a few teeth, others look as though they’ve spent quite a fortune, once upon a time, getting that million-dollar smile. Names range from Jose and Jorge to Michael and Jason and ages just as varied. After the first couple of pages, I get to five men marked with a red star. Information about their families, the cars they drive, and the address to their humble abode is typed out in bold print. Memorize and destroy. I spend a full hour truly studying those five men. That’s all I allow myself since there are other items to get through before this flight comes to an end.
There are maps to study, drug slang to memorize, Spanish phrases to refresh myself with. Six hours is no time at all when there is much to learn and a multitude of information to cram in.
“Sir, we’ve got something in the hold to take care of those.” The young soldier is pointing to the stack of papers that have piled up since our imminent landing was announced. “Would you like me to destroy that?”
Staring up into the sincere brown eyes of the young man, I think to tell him yes, but I know this is one task I have to make sure is taken care of myself. “Would you mind pointing me in the right direction? I’ll take care of them.”
He lowers his head and sweeps his right arm in the direction of the smoke I’m now smelling and noticing polluting the air. Wasn’t expecting an open flame on the aircraft, but hey, whatever works. I grab the items that need to be discarded and follow the man and the shadow of the flames on the aircraft walls.
The fire is licking the air above a tall metal tub near the exit of the plane. Two soldiers are standing around it, tossing items of their own into the receptacle. Pieces of ash float up as I drop half of my files into the overheated tub. I watch as the fire blackens the edges before completely engulfing the papers. After sufficient burning, I toss the last of the files into the blaze, staring into the flames until the last of the words I now have ingrained in my mind are nothing but particles burnt to a crisp.
Making my way back to my seat, I remember to change my pants, tossing on a pair of jeans and storing the dressier ones in my suitcase for a later date. By the time we’ve landed, a rather smooth landing for such a big bird, I’ve repacked my suitcase and duffle, and I’m armed once more. As I stand, waiting for the hatch to open and release its passengers, I close my eyes and ingrain all that I’ve learned thus far into the photographs of my mind.
The cargo hold lowers slowly, allowing the heat of the late-afternoon sun to build in the aircraft. I shield my eyes from the bright light that nearly blinds me once the door is fully open. I’m blasted by the heat radiating off the blacktop, a drastic change from what I’d just come from. Reaching for my Ray Ban shades in the mesh pocket of my pack, I put them on before disembarking. I know I’ve got to move quickly and I know I need to find Dom. My eyes scan the perimeter as I saunter off the plane, pretending like I know exactly what I’m doing.
In the distance, I spot a pickup truck speeding toward the landing strip. I know immediately it will be my ride and by the time I’ve reached the side of the asphalt, the vehicle is upon me. The tires squeal as he makes his approach. So much for incognito. The driver’s side door flies open and a man who looks suspiciously similar to me steps out. I tilt my head upward, signaling a hello, when he looks my way. His smile is big and genuine as he hurries in my direction, one hand outstretched.
“Dom?” I call out my question.
“Si, señor.”
His tanned skin reveals his heritage, and his accent and language back it up. I’m going to assume he speaks English, but I converse with him in his native tongue as he reaches out with his hand and shakes my own. “Thank you for picking me up. As I understand it, we will be spending some time with each other while I’m visiting.”
“Si,” he answers, his happy demeanor never changing. “May I help you with your bag?” he asks in broken English, reaching toward my suitcase.
“Thanks.”
Dom hoists the oversized
suitcase into the bed of the truck, but I bring the pack in the cabin with me. The note said he’d be taking me to my apartment and around the area for the next several weeks until I get my bearings and can obtain my own vehicle. The information said there are a lot of checkpoints and until I’m known in the area, it will be better for me to have an established contact to keep the harassment to a minimum. Personally, I don’t believe it will take me that long. This isn’t the first time I’ve worked in a foreign country, or the first time I’ve taken up a new identity.
Since he never turned off the ignition, the nineties pickup truck is put into drive the moment Dom’s door is fastened shut. “Our first checkpoint is not a mile down the road. Hablo español?”
“Si, un poco.” Yes, a little.
“That will be fine. It is obvious you are military.” He tilts his head in the direction of my jacket. “They like the American military in this area, good traders.” Dom’s mouth turns up somewhat. “They will like you even more if you can speak their language.”
“I’ll do my best,” I tell him in his native tongue. “Why so many checkpoints? What is your government trying to patrol?” I’m assuming drug runners.
“Not the government at checkpoint. Drug king at checkpoint. Disguised as government.”
Oh, I see. I nod my head to let him know I understand. “How far is the apartment?”
“Twenty miles, about. Once we get out of the desert, you will find the area very civilized.”
I spent some time during my flight exploring pictures of the city of Chihuahua and the area I’ll be living in. It looks modern in some aspects but ancient in others. It’s quite populated and rather large, which will make it a bit easier to blend in. Plus, this part of Mexico is so close to the American border that if I find myself in too much trouble, it wouldn’t take much to get myself home.
My pocket vibrates and I reach my hand in to retrieve the new phone. Unsure of who has this number, I’m interested to see what type of message I’ve received. The Prez lights the screen, his words unreadable until I swipe on his name and open up the message. Hope you found your supplies invaluable and your information plentiful. I’ve found neither useful as of yet, but I’m sure they will come in handy soon. I type out a message and press send.
“You have your papers ready?”
I tear my eyes from my phone and look at Dom, who is staring my way.
“Yes.” I unzip the top flap of the duffle and grab the passport and signed document, nervously handing them to Dom whom I don’t know but has his arm outreached to retrieve them.
There are armed soldiers, one American and one Mexican standing in the middle of the road, their hands pressed forward in the stop position. The truck comes to a halt and Dom pushes the lever up to park it.
“Buenos Dias,” he offers to the Mexican soldier who approaches his side of the vehicle. He pushes my documents as well as his own out the now open window. The soldier stands stoic, staring down at the paperwork. In the next instant, the American soldier moves in close to me, his automatic rifle raised. I haven’t heard a word spoken between the two, but there was obviously some sort of nonverbal communication because by the time the man is parallel to me, the gun is pointed at my temple. He motions for me to roll my window down and I don’t waste any time doing it. I’m unaware of my offense, but I certainly don’t want to make these soldiers discharge their weapon by not obeying.
“What is your business here?” the man with the gun at my head asks.
“Visiting my cousin.” I tilt my head in Dom’s direction.
“This man is your cousin?” the soldier out the other window asks.
“Si. Do you not see the resemblance?”
Both men peer into the truck, squinty-eyed and looking between Dom and I. After a few seconds, the rifle is lowered and the papers are handed back to my counterpart. Thank goodness for dark hair and facial coverage. My skin is nowhere near as brown as Dom’s but my beard does a good job of camouflaging it.
“My mother is very sick and he is coming to pay his last respects.” Dom’s voice rings out. I nod but don’t speak.
“Very well then,” the soldier outside my window speaks, “be on your way.”
Dom hands me my papers and we simultaneously roll up our windows. You’d think we planned that cover-up, but neither of us spoke a word about what we’d say if we were asked. Being this man’s cousin was not part of the plan, but it worked and I can see it remaining effective for the rest of our time together. “You did a great job at thinking on your feet,” I tell him.
“I had the thought before you even arrived. Once my mission was set in place, I knew exactly how I would make sure you fit in. Interesting that you also had the same thought.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Is it because we have the same name you thought of this?”
“My name is not Dom…” I trail off, looking down at my passport once more. “Our surnames. You’re Sanchez as well?”
“Dominico Sanchez.”
“Nice to officially meet you. Liam Sanchez.” I hang my name out there. I thought it was odd they kept my first name but changed my last. I’ve not gotten to use my real name in one of these missions before and it’s kind of nice to hang on to a part of me.
I wasn’t previously aware that Dom was an agent, although I assumed, but it’s obvious now—and, he seems to know quite a bit. He knew my name before I knew his, so that’s saying something.
The Toyota Hilux veers left a quarter of a mile after the checkpoint and we find ourselves off the road and in the dirt. The tires rumble along the unpaved road, the man behind the wheel pressing the gas pedal to the floor. I grab ahold of the handle on the door as we’re tossed this way and that. I don’t typically get car sick, but the jostling of the truck on an empty stomach is making me queasy. If my face shows it, I don’t know, but after Dom looks over at me, he releases the gas a little and we slow.
“Bypassing some of the more hazardous checkpoints. You get out a map so I can point them out to you.”
“Yes, sir,” I answer and immediately open my pack once more, grabbing for the maps that were left for me.
“You find the airstrip and mark it and we will go from there.”
I rummage through the different maps, looking for the one that will be most beneficial, finally opening up the road map and beginning my hunt for the airstrip where I landed. “Marked the airstrip. Went up about a mile and marked the one we stopped at.”
“Si, that is a good start. Next, go up three miles and mark that with a large X. Many men have been shot there, or looted.”
“The government allows this?”
“They are unaware, or turn the blind eye is more likely. Until the cartel began taking over, we never had to worry. There are not as many driving laws here as there are in the United States.”
“Have you ever been?”
“Si. I’ve crossed the border many times. Texas is one of my favorite places to visit. My wife has family there.” He smiles fondly as he talks of her and goes on about his two children, Maria and Ana. “They look just like their madre.” He goes quiet for a moment and when I open my mouth to speak, he asks, “Do you have children?”
“No. Not yet,” I add. Even if I did, I’m not sure I would inform Dom of them. I don’t even plan to tell him of Eliza, which is why my wedding ring was shoved into my case on the plane.
He drops the conversation as if he knows my thoughts. “If you go up another five miles from the X, right at the intersection you see there.” He’s looking at the map, pointing at a specific road and not bothering to look at the path we’re traveling on. “You should never travel that way if you can help it. Lots of trucks go in and out of a factory there. More guns and angry men than you will want to deal with. I’d cross that out completely.”
I’m thankful there’s not much on the desert road besides us because he doesn’t look up from the map until he has watched me scribble out that area. “What kind of factory?” I thi
nk to ask.
“Medical. But they are not only exporting medical instruments, if you know what I mean.”
I take a second look at the area I just crossed off the map, knowing that it will not stay hidden permanently. If I’m to delve into the cartel, their extracurricular exports will be of interest to my cause. And if Dom is telling me to stay away, he knows the real reason I am here. Or, maybe he’s already trying to sabotage.
My silence is my answer. The map is laid open in my lap. “Anywhere else I should mark?”
“I think that should do it for now. Those are the two major ones that you should avoid on the route from the airstrip to the city. Once we get close to civilization, there aren’t any checkpoints. Cartel is smart and they have a better chance of being discovered if they are close to the majority of the people. Out in the desert area, the real police aren’t as active so they can get away with it.”
The moment I take my eyes off the dirt road and begin to fold the map back up, I’m thrust forward in my seat, the belt digging into my chest. My head immediately pops up so that I can look out the window only to see that there is a barricade set up right before us and the reason for the hard braking. Lights are flashing and many men are standing outside of unmarked vehicles with weapons drawn.
“What is this?”
He doesn’t answer. “Hang on.” Dom jerks the wheel all the way to the right, forcing the truck to grunt against the maneuver. His foot presses firmly on the gas as we pull out of the turn and head back in the direction we just came.
“I thought there were no more checkpoints?”
“That is not a checkpoint. That is suicide. I don’t know who they are waiting for, but with that many guns, I do not want to find out.”