by Rachel Renee
It’s such a small device, not much bigger than a saltine, and the shelf camouflages it, all except for that little red light flickering off and on. When I’m done discovering the camera, I go back to my desk and slam the lid to the laptop, making it apparent I’m done for the day. Grabbing my bag, I leave the office, not bothering to even shut the door as it obviously isn’t keeping anyone out.
The building is quiet, and most of the people have left for the evening. The R&D office is bare, and there’s almost always one or two people still lingering in there at all times of the evening. Even Rosamaria’s desk is empty, that constant figure missing from the picture. I lift up my empty arm, looking at my watch, and realize it’s after 7:00. No wonder the office is silent.
I feel like there would be a missed opportunity if I didn’t take this chance to search some of the offices and desks. I’m not positive where the cameras are, so I have to look like I know what I’m doing, not like I’m snooping.
Heading back in the direction I just came from, I peer into the first office on the right. It is spotless, not one item out of place, not one paper lying on the desk. Could be an empty office, but I’m pretty sure I saw a woman behind the desk when I walked past this morning. People may think a messy office would be a good place to look for evidence, but in my experience, it’s usually the nice and neat ones that hold the best clues.
I bend down and pretend to be tying my shoe, to be able to look around the hallway and ensure no one else sees me slip into the office. The door is open, but I close it gingerly after taking a quick once over for more flashing camera lights.
This office is set up pretty similarly to the one I’m in. There is a desk, filing cabinets, and a bookshelf covered in books. Not the kind you’d enjoy reading, but would use to find out information on a product or machine. Manuals dating back to the very first car manufacturing. I could scour through them but there won’t be anything that I need within the bindings of those books.
I’m surprised to find the filing cabinets unlocked. The squeak of the top drawer opening makes me pause. It was loud, but if it was loud enough for someone to hear outside the room, I’m not sure. When I don’t pick up on any voices or footsteps, I pull the drawer the rest of the way out. The files are labeled alphabetically, and the names of people and companies are found on the flaps. Most of the stuff seems to have been computerized, except for the few files that I’ve been given under the radar, so I’m not sure if there’s anything recent within the folders. I pull one out and take a look at the last file, realizing the date was merely last week. Apparently, they still do some things the old school way.
I close the top drawer and open the next one, finding more of the same, further down the alphabet. It would be good to know who the players are in this mission so I could narrow down the search, as the next two drawers are filled as well. Sanchez is one name I’m familiar with, so I open the third drawer back up and hunt for it. There are multiple Sanchezes, so I grab all three, pulling them down to the floor with me so I can get a closer look.
The first one is thin and has only one carbon slip inside, hardly worth keeping. The next, only a few slips dated a year ago. The third one is the jackpot, the file so thick it almost needs another folder to hold it all in. Riffling through it quickly does not help, the words and papers jumbling together. Going back to the beginning, I slow down and inspect the documents more carefully. Jose Sanchez seems to have placed multiple orders for engines in the last two years. In the beginning, it was only a few, sent to a local car manufacturer. Over time, the numbers rise, requests for different engines make way for larger shipments and within this year, the shipments are now heading to Texas and no longer going to the local car company.
Is Jose Sanchez the leader? Could it be that easy? If Dom has known this all along, why is he stringing this mission on when he could have stopped it from starting before I arrived? There has to be more. Jose Sanchez, the man whose name I got from Dom in the not so roundabout way, may not be the leader but maybe he’s the way to the one I seek. It’s now more important than ever I speak to Dom. Getting an audience with Jose and his men could be the direction that will lead me home.
After closing the file and standing quietly, even though I’m positive no one is around to hear me, I place the items back in the cabinet, making it look as though they were never removed. Taking one last glance around the room to assure all is the way it was found, I pick up my own bag and slowly open the door. It’s still outside the room, the only noise coming from the air being forced out of the vents, but the moment my foot is beyond the door, someone’s words hit my ear.
“I’m not sure he can be trusted.”
“Why are we telling him so much?”
“We know how to get rid of him if he doesn’t do what we need him to.”
“He’s a lot smarter than Diaz. I’m not sure it would be as easy.”
“Since when has that stopped me?”
The voices are getting louder, so I slink back inside the office, pressing myself tightly to the wall. They will pass by at any moment and I don’t want to be caught eavesdropping on the conversation I’m almost certain is about me.
“Did you leave the gift where I told you to?”
“Of course.”
“I wonder what he’ll think of it?”
The sinister laughter coming from the familiar voice sends a chill up my spine. The other man chuckles but he’s not as amused as the first. I can only imagine what was left and it’s not going to wait until morning to be discovered. As soon as the coast is clear, I’m heading back to my office. The voices eventually trail off and I’m able to leave. My door is closed upon approach, which tells me someone has visited. I don’t bother taking my time to open it, just in case someone who’s watching or listening decides to come back.
Nothing looks amiss. Everything seems to be right where I left it, but there is a weird smell lingering in the air. The further I move into the room, the worse it gets. The worse it gets, the more familiar the stench is. My chair is moved back further than I left it and I see why the moment I’m close enough to look at the seat. A rather large knife is sticking straight up from the leather, only it’s not directly protruding from the chair but from a hand that’s grasping a piece of paper. There’s dried blood where the body part was severed, but it’s blackened from time.
Whoever belonged to the hand has been missing it for a while. It’s stiff, and one might think it was a gag if they didn’t know any better. I do, though. This was left as a warning. Maybe the paper will tell me what exactly I’m being warned against. Carefully, I pull the limb from the seat, by way of the knife handle I’ve covered with my shirt sleeve to keep my prints off the ones left. I pull the paper from the fingers that are grasping it, tearing it somewhat because of the rigor mortis holding it in place. It’s a document with the company letterhead on it. Blood is smeared in a couple of places so it’s not as easy to read as I would have liked.
To whom it may concern,
I’m writing in accordance to the handbook, stating that if there are any grievances against an employee they should be documented on paper as well as spoken of in person.
I’ve done everything in my power to create the engines that have been asked of me, but my refusal to continue designing parts that don’t have the ability to perform as a customer expects is causing me both frustration and are a waste of my time and energy. I’ve been belittled, threatened verbally, and even reported to the vice president. I cannot continue to work under these conditions. This is my letter of resignation and…
The rest is undiscernible and covered in blood. My guess is this hand belongs to Diaz and this letter was probably his last act as the engineer. I know it was left to frighten me, but it only angers me, fueling my desire to obtain the men responsible. Thiago is one of them, and he’s been on my radar from day one. This is more proof that he plays a role in the cartel that is bigger than simply a drug runner.
I remember seeing a bag in the
bottom desk drawer, so I pull it out and place the hand, knife, and note inside before placing it in my computer bag and leaving the room. Thankfully, no one is around because the knife is protruding from the plastic bag and my own. By the time I’ve reached my truck, there’s a message started to Thompson. I’ll need someone to pick up the evidence and get those prints traced. Before I’ve arrived at the apartment, there’s an address on my text messages for me to drop off what I’ve been gifted. Plugging it into the GPS, I reverse the vehicle and head to the secure location.
The instructions say to knock three times before placing the items through the doggy door at the bottom of the front door to the home. It’s a small white house on the outskirts of the city, turned yellowish over the years of sun and desert exposure. The pale shutters are either falling off or completely missing and there’s even one broken window pane on the front of the house. I’d never believed someone lived here, the weeds overgrown and the sparse grass almost touching the bottom sills. There are also no cars parked nearby, the closest at least a football field’s length down the street in front of another house in the same condition.
Double-checking the address, I do as I’m told and leave the items inside the door. After messaging that it was delivered, I delete the note and contact. I also erase the address from the GPS log. Before I pull away, the door opens slightly and a face appears from the doorway. He doesn’t look familiar but his eyes stare at the truck until I’m out of range. The number of unknown operatives in the area interests me. How many of these places are stationed within a short drive? It’s nice to know there’s some sort of backup around even if I don’t have an exact idea where they’re located.
14
I’VE FIXED myself some dinner and the plate is empty and cleaned before the knock on the door comes. “I was beginning to think you disappeared again.”
“I didn’t disappear.”
“You fooled me. When we have plans and you don’t show up until days later, I’d consider that disappearing.”
“I told you I had to take care of something.” Dom kicks the door shut, handing me a beer bottle before tipping the other one back, the yellow liquid flowing quickly into his mouth.
“That was after the fact. Couldn’t let me know before you took off?”
“Never time. Someone knocks on my door, I go.”
We hash out the details of his abrupt leaving and he still refuses to tell me why he couldn’t just fill me in on Natalia. I brush it off, knowing it’s something I need to bring up again, and move on to a more pressing issue. “How long has my office been bugged?”
“It’s recent.”
“On whose order?”
“Sanchez.”
“You’re Sanchez, I’m Sanchez, and there’s Jose Sanchez…there are a lot of Sanchezes in this situation.”
Dom cringes. “I know. Seems confusing. It was supposed to be a cover if we needed it”—he points a finger between the two of us— and my way to have something in common with Natalia. Quite redundant if you ask me.”
I nod in agreeance. “Is Jose the cartel leader?”
“No.” He stares me straight in the eyes when he answers, no hesitation in it what so ever. “Not in the sense you’re considering.”
“Do you know who is, since you work for them?” I throw that last part in for good measure and to see if he will elaborate.
“Jose knows. I feel like I’m close to it. To finding him. Jose trusts me. He only calls on me for the big dealings.” The fact that he didn’t answer my question or comment on my statement doesn’t escape me.
“I want an audience with Jose. Show him my design…”
“Absolutamente no.”
“No? Why not?”
“He will be suspicious. Why would the engine designer want to meet him?”
“He’s the one making the call. If I can show him my design, he can tweak it if need be.”
“You’re not to know he’s the one making the call.”
“What’s the big deal? He’s a man who wants some specialized engines made. I’m designing them.” I shrug this time. “I want to make sure he’s pleased with the product he’s going to receive.”
“He’ll check over the blueprints.”
“I want to meet him.” I’m not going to let this go.
“It’s your ass if he discovers your true identity.”
“That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”
Dom has clenched his teeth, his eyes glaring at me in exasperation. “Go through Thiago. I will not be a part of this.”
Nodding my head, I agree to his terms, uncertain of why the man Jose Sanchez trusts is unwilling to take me to meet him. I’m onto Dom. He’s giving me the runaround again, only this time I’ve caught up a little quicker.
Changing the subject, I’m curious if Dom knows about the gift that was left for me. “You have any idea who would have left me such a present? And why?”
“That’s Thiago’s game. He likes to frighten people.”
“He didn’t accomplish his goal this time.”
“No, I assume not.”
Dom hasn’t released the tightness in his jaw and I’m speculating about what has him so worked up. What’s his real reasoning for me not meeting Jose? I’m going to guess whatever it is, that’s the culprit for the anger. He was upset before I mentioned Thiago’s gift.
“I’m going to phone Thiago, get the ball rolling on this meeting.”
“Don’t you need to finish the design first?”
“It’s done.”
“Did you already turn it over?”
“Not yet. I want my meeting.”
A low growl comes from the man’s mouth and I can’t help the huff escaping my own. “I’m good at what I do. Jose will never know I’m not who I’m supposed to be. If the cartel didn’t want me to know I was creating something for them, Thiago should have kept his mouth shut. If anything, it’s his fault, his prompting that has brought me to where I am now.”
I watch the man bite his lower lip. A knowing look passes over his eyes before he suddenly softens. “You’re right. Thiago is to blame here. I’m going to contact Jose myself. We will meet with him tomorrow. I will send you a message on the time and place.”
“Thanks, Dom.” I slap the man on the back. “You should want this too. We can finish up this mission and both move on with our lives.” Is that what he wants?
His stare is piercing and he doesn’t speak. He’s thinking about something, I can tell the moment his eyes look in the distance. Without warning, he turns and walks toward the door, stopping momentarily to drop his empty bottle off on the end table. My mind has me trapped in the same position, watching his every move and contemplating what he may do next. He opens the door, walks through it, but before it’s shut all the way, he says, “I’ll be in touch.”
I sit down on the couch, pulling the beer bottle to my mouth and gulping the whole thing. A million thoughts race through my mind. It could be as simple as the fact this is a huge mission for him and he’s afraid I’ll blow it, but my money is on the idea there is more to it than that. I should’ve asked him, but I know he wouldn’t have answered anyway. Dom Sanchez is in deep and I’m betting the agency doesn’t even realize how far the man’s reach in the cartel goes.
Without knowing exactly why, I collect Dom’s beer bottle and put it in a plastic grocery bag. There’s going to be another delivery to the house on the edge of the city. Dom’s prints should be in the system, but people may do things differently in Mexico, so I want to be certain we’ve got the correct ones on file. There’s something else I’m interested in as well.
A message is sent about the delivery and even though the hour is late, I make it, returning home in time to sleep. I tried to reach Eliza on the way back to the apartment but she didn’t answer and hasn’t bothered to call me back yet. Savannah is not typically overrun with homicides so I’m deliberating on whether she’s already working a new case, or if something else has her unreachable.
>
I make an effort not to worry. She’ll get back to me when she can, but there’s something niggling in the back of my mind and I struggle to fall asleep despite the fact that the day was long and draining and my body is telling me I need it. Plopping on the floor, I begin working out my thoughts. As I raise and lower my body, I focus on the breaths, the technique, and try to block everything else out. There’s no telling how many pushups were completed, but at some point, I roll over and change to sit-ups, then pushups again, keeping up the regimen until my arms and abs can take no more.
Finally, I feel like I can pass out, ignoring the fact I’m sweaty and get into bed, not bothering to get under the blankets, but lying on top of them. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to seal shut and I feel myself sinking into sleep.
The agency cell phone rings, waking me from my slumber. It feels as though I just got into bed, but the sun is shining bright so I know that’s not the case.
“You ready?”
“Am I ready?” At first, I’m confused, my brain not on full force quite yet.
“Jose can meet with us but we have to go now.”
Dom’s voice sinks in, his words reaching the spot in my mind telling me to move. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”
I get ready faster than I’ve ever gotten ready, throwing some clean clothes on, deodorant, brushing my teeth and throwing a ballcap on my head because there’s no time to take care of the pieces that have grown too long and are sticking straight up.
Dom is waiting outside for me, his truck on, and engine warm. It’s been a while since I was in the same vehicle as him. The wounds from my very first trek have been healed for some time, reminding me of how quickly, or slowly (depending on how you look at it) this mission is going.