The Engineer

by Rachel Renee

  The door opens after less than five minutes and short little Jose Sanchez appears on my side of it. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you back so soon. What was it you were hoping to accomplish this evening?”

  “Just wanted to get my friends. One left a trail of blood, the other never returned after a car ride with one of your men.”

  “That is my business. Not yours.”

  “It became my business when my friends were in danger.”

  “Why would you not come to my door? We’ve done business, this is business. You come to a man’s front door to gain access to him.”

  “Word on the street is you don’t deal so nicely with people getting into your business.”

  We go back and forth on this same tangent for a bit before he finally gets to what he genuinely wants to know. “How’d you learn to scale a wall like that?”

  “Military. I needed money for college so I joined the Army right out of high school.” I like to be able to add a little truth to the lies I tell.

  “That explains it. And you’ve stayed in such great physical condition for being a pencil pusher.”

  “I take pride in my health. I don’t go out much, not a ton of friends, so I work out my brains or my brawns.”

  Jose scoffs. “Brains and brawns. Nice touch.”

  I shrug.

  “What did you truly hope to gain by scaling the wall? How would you have gotten your friends out?”

  “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Can’t let him know all the details.

  “You aren’t as smart as you seem.” His left brow raises slightly, as do the corners of his mouth. “Selena is safe here. She chose to come into the family. She has already been and will continue to be a great asset to us. Miguel”—he pauses for effect—“well, I’m not sure his story is going to end so well.”

  I feel the growl rise in my throat. “He’s young. Young people make dumb mistakes.”

  “He is a man. Men die for their mistakes. Exactly like you. I can’t decide if you should die for yours.” He glowers at me as he moves in close, barely towering above me as I’m seated. It would take nothing for me to end him with my bare hands. One twist of the neck…That’s not me, I tell myself. He’s unarmed at the moment. But I’m sure as soon as he were to say the word, many other men would enter the room brandishing weapons, one or two he may use on me.

  I move my left leg marginally, to get better footing if I need to stand quickly. Something cold and metal brushes slightly against my inner calf. My knife. They didn’t take it. “Listen. I want no part of what goes on here. I came for my friends and if they don’t want to come with me—can’t come with me,” I add. “I’m okay with that. You’ve got your engine, I’ve done my job. I realize now I should have let it go at that.”

  “Nice try.” He laughs like the joker. “You are intelligent. You wanted power. Or, maybe you wanted fame. Strutting in here like you’re the only one to create such an exemplary product. You wanted to see what I had, what you could have if only you could get your foot in the door.”

  I’m shaking my head, but Jose’s not buying it. He’s adamant about the fact I want to take over his lifestyle. He couldn’t be more wrong. When he grabs ahold of my chin so that he can stare at me face to face, I almost snort. It’s laughable he thinks he can intimidate me. The sheer size difference. Hand-to-hand, there would be no contest.

  “Don’t let my size fool you. I’ve killed many men with my bare hands.”

  “You’ve got another thing coming if you think I’m going to let you kill me with them.” I practically spit on his face with my words and he moves back, letting go of my chin with his small hand.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “If I must.”

  He grunts.

  “I was merely telling you I’m not going to sit here and let you snap my neck without a fight.”

  My comment does something to his mood. I’m not expecting it, but it lightens. “I’m glad to see you’re not a complete fool. Just arrogant. You may be useful.” He falls back, leaning nonchalantly against the wall. I know better than to talk. Now is the time for listening. “I do like your engine design. So many pounds of my product fit nicely inside. There’s no detection of it when it’s run through the scanners. Also, no discrepancies at the weigh stations. Now, for the final test. Will we easily get through customs? You’re going back to Chihuahua to find out. The first shipment is set to leave in three nights. You will ride in the truck with my men. If we get flagged, you will go down with the shipment. If we don’t, you may get to keep your life a little bit longer.”

  “We will get through with no problems.” I want to say, ‘I promise,’ but that would certainly add to his arrogant thoughts of my character.

  “Your life depends on it.” He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say more but he only smiles and knocks a rhythm onto the wall with his knuckles.

  The same two men who brought me in enter the room. They look at Jose for direction and he barely nods before they’re on me. “Keep his face pretty. Don’t want customs to think someone beat the shit out of him.” He’s snickering as he strolls out the door. All I see is his feet, which stop suddenly and turn. “Plus, if he loses his head, I want it to look good on the spike.”

  An oversized shoe nails me in my broken ribs, another in my injured shoulder. “Getting a little close to the face,” was probably not the correct remark to utter at the men working me over. A kick to the other side was my reward. The man on the injured side reaches under my armpits and hoists me up. I know exactly where this is going so I’m not interested in helping them remove me from the ground. I don’t struggle, but I also don’t cooperate. It doesn’t matter. The blows come from both sides, my back, my stomach, my crotch…at times it feels like there are more than two men attacking me. As suddenly as it started, it’s over. I’m dropped to the floor like a used cigarette butt, and I feel like one too.

  “We’ll be back in a couple of hours to get you ready for your trip. Try to get some rest.” Both men are laughing and joking when the door shuts, the click of the lock following.

  I feel something warm on my shoulder. Knowing what it is, I don’t bother to check. I’m sure they will patch me up when they come back to retrieve me. I shouldn’t die from blood loss before then. Maybe internal bleeding, but not from where my stitches were ripped out. Who am I kidding. I’m too stubborn to die. I give myself a few minutes to slow my breathing—it will be less painful if I’m not gasping, my lungs pressing against my injured ribcage.

  Sadly, this is not the worst beating I’ve ever received. Thinking back to what seems like a hundred years, the very first thrashing I received comes back as if it just happened. The similarities to the pain help me recall my time in Iraq. It was very early on, not even a mission I was technically supposed to be on. I was young and stupid. A man I had recently met at the agency, higher ranking, contacted me, informing me he needed an extra hand. I didn’t even go through my own superior. I booked the next flight out and met Jefferson in Baghdad. Unbeknownst to me, this man needed a scapegoat. Sounds familiar. We’d just freshly met at an all-hands meeting, we had no ties yet, and he thought I’d be the perfect subject. I was no sooner on the ground before being swept up in a military invasion and captured. Thankfully, my supervisor caught wind shortly after I left and sent a team to infiltrate the mission and get me safely back to U.S. soil. Unfortunately, I’d already been beaten to within inches of my life, stabbed a few times, which was festering with infection by the time I was rescued, and had multiple broken bones. The Iraqis were trying to find the location of the American soldiers and supposedly, I was someone who knew where they were. The reality was, I had no idea, but it was Jefferson’s way into the enemy lair. I made it though, and Jefferson didn’t. To this day, I wonder who it was that took him out. Our men, or theirs. Either way, the agency didn’t need men like that working for them.

  Dominico and Thompson have been added to the list. Willing to sacrifice a teammate
to better their own chances. If we all make it out of this, you better believe Lieu is going to hear about how it came to be. I don’t want to be affiliated with men such as those two. And thrusting a brand-new recruit into such a life-threatening operation isn’t going to bode well for their sides of the story.

  I try to sit up, but my body says no. “Too bad,” I tell it, pushing myself up against the corner of the room. Just as I’d slowed my breathing, it speeds back up. The pressure on my lungs is almost as excruciating as the broken bones, torn stitches, and bruises, new and newer.

  The minutes tick by slowly, and I’m partly thankful for the reprieve but not grateful as the pain is doing nothing but increasing. I refuse to give in to the drowsiness that’s threatening to take over, the thought of giving up increasingly more attractive. My eyes are half-mast when the door slowly opens. If it hadn’t made a small squeak, I might not have even known someone was entering the room.

  The light from the hallway forms around the silhouette of the woman. The voice I know speaks to me after the door is shut again. “I brought something to hopefully dull the pain, but not the senses.”

  She bends down next to me and shoves something in my mouth that had been hanging open because it would take too much energy to keep it shut. A bottled water is brought to my lips, liquid crossing over them cool and inviting. I try to swallow the pills she offered but my first attempt is unsuccessful. The water and the pills are spit into her face.

  “I’m so sorry,” I cough out in between choking on the gift and trying to replenish some of my dignity.

  “Don’t,” she tells me. “Let’s try again. Maybe one at a time and a little less water.”

  There’s a concerned look on her face, the little bit of it I can make out in the scarcely lit room. She places one pill in my mouth and hands me the bottle this time to drink the liquid myself. The medication gets to its desired target. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t ask. If they wanted me dead, I’d be there already.

  “Did you know about Dominico and Thompson? Hell, did you know who I was?”

  “I didn’t at first. When you agreed to help me, I suspected. When you brought it up later, I think I knew but I didn’t want to admit it. When Thompson arrived here a few days ago, he sequestered me and gave an update.”

  “Do you work for him?”

  “I do.”

  Selena takes a seat next to me and the two of us chat for a few minutes. “The things going on within this compound…” She shudders next to me as she converses about the things she’s done since arriving. There are pieces she’s leaving out, possibly too off-putting to mention at this time. And, just as I suspected, since this is her first mission, she wasn’t completely ready for it.

  “Play the part the cartel expects of you. Try to remember who you are, why you’re truly here. Most importantly, stay safe. If it doesn’t feel right, find a way to get out. Thompson is not going to save you. At this point, I’m not in a position to either. If I can get word out, I will inform my supervisor of you too.”

  “You don’t need to…”

  “Yes, I do. There has to be someone looking out for you.”

  “I’m a strong woman.”

  “It has nothing to do with that. Well, maybe a little,” I admit. She lets out a small chuckle. “I’ve learned a lot during my time in the agency. It’s hard to gain trust in anyone, but...” I stop that thought, moving on to the next. “Most of the lessons I learned the hard way.” I laugh at my current state. “You’ve got to be able to have at least one person you can count on. My chief supervisor has been my one constant for many years. You aren’t going to find that in Thompson. He’s on his way out, anyway. This should be his last mission. He will come out on top despite who he has to turn against and/or hurt.”

  Selena listens as I talk, appearing to take it all in, nodding or agreeing with what I’m saying.

  “I believe I can trust you. I’ll do what I can to help, but we can’t be seen together.”

  “Jose knows I was here to get you out,” I admit.

  “You were?”

  “I didn’t know you weren’t in need of rescuing. Dom and Thompson set a trap for me. I fell right in.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I would have identified myself when I guessed you were just like me.”

  “Don’t apologize. You were doing your job.”

  “I was,” she mumbles.

  “What about Miguel? Any word on him? Is he here?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Why? What have you heard?”

  “He was brought in by someone. Not sure who. At this point, might have been Dom who set him up.”

  “I’ll ask around. The people trust me here.”

  Silence falls between us. My head is throbbing, enough so I want to fall asleep.

  “I think you’re right though”—I go back to Selena’s earlier comment—“if we aren’t seen together, maybe you’ll be safer.”

  The response is nonverbal. She grabs the now empty water bottle, standing as she does. I’m drowsy from the beating and the pain meds, but I’m still coherent.

  “You’re going back to Mexico in a few hours. You’ll be back, though. In less than a week’s time. I’ll check in then.”

  “Thank you,” I mumble. “Stay safe until I get back,” I reiterate. She pats me on the head like a child. I adjust myself since I’ve fallen a little over time. Pain sears through every limb, maybe slightly less than before, as my eyes close and I give in to unconsciousness.

  22

  THE NAP WAS short but needed. The door scrapes across the concrete floor and jolts me awake. I stand on my own, albeit, a little too quickly because I almost fall back to the ground from the dizziness that sweeps over me. My senses are dulled but only marginally, maybe more from lack of sleep than anything else. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me weakened and in pain.

  “Looks like you’ve made a mess.” Thug Number One sticks his finger in my open wound. “We’re going to take you to the doc and get you patched up again.” He tries to yank me. I don’t allow it, pushing myself off the wall and walking slowly toward the open door.

  “I’ll walk, if you don’t mind.”

  Thug Two scoffs but moves aside.

  “Which way?”

  He points right and then follows directly behind me, making sure I stay in line. “End of the hall. Door on the right.” His voice is deep. James Earl Jones-esque. Almost soothing, if you didn’t know any better.

  I turn the knob and walk in, and the doctor is waiting next to the table for me. The two men stand guard as the same man from a few hours ago gets to work on my stitches. There are lots of sighs and huffs as he patches me up. Cleans the scrapes, wraps bandages around my ribs to help keep them in place. Neither one of us speaks as he works. Once he seems satisfied with my care, he procures a new set of clothes, helping me dress in the dark-green cargo pants and tan t-shirt. He even allows me to keep my knife, strapping it back to my ankle like before. I feel as if I’m in the Army again by the time I’m dressed and headed out the door, my combat boots clopping on the hard surface below.

  Jose Sanchez is waiting for me next to the military-type truck. “You survived the night. Will you endure the next couple of days with the same stamina?”

  I answer with one simple word. “Yes.”

  “We’ll see. These are your guides for the trip.” He points to two men who’ve approached. They are dressed exactly like I am. Their heads are shaved. One is about my height, but the other is smaller by a couple of inches and at least twenty pounds. We check each other out before Jose continues his spiel. “They have permission to keep you in line by any means necessary. Except for death. I’m looking forward to taking care of that myself, when you screw up.”

  There’s satisfaction in a response, so I don’t give him one. I step up into the passenger side of the truck, the big man gets in behind me, and the smallest of the three of us sidles up in the driver’s seat. Jose slams my door, glaring at m
e through the glass until we’ve pulled away from the small building in the back of the compound.

  My eyes squint from the sunlight, but I try to take in everything about the place. I look for the women working in the gardens and the children huddled under trees, like the first time, but there are none today. Only men, barking orders or stationed from the top of the compound to the ground level, each sentry posted, ready to take action upon command. There’s also human flow from building to building and product distribution from place to place. It’s cataloged for later use.

  The men converse back and forth. The product from this facility stays in the United States and is distributed on Wednesday nights by military truck throughout the whole of the country. Sounds like it’s mostly marijuana that’s packed here. Some heroin, occasionally cocaine. That mainly comes from Mexico and is their greatest cash crop. Along with some new pill they recently began manufacturing in Mexico City. Apparently, that is our first stop. Nearly twenty hours from our departure site. We will meet a troop there and transport the drugs to the factory in Chihuahua, where we will load the engines before the semis pick them up and we supply passage into the U.S.

  The men speak freely to each other, ignoring the fact I’m here and listening to every word they say. It’s so much information I’m concerned about remembering it all in my weary state. My mind wants to drift into unconsciousness again. Whatever the doc gave me working its way through my system.

  I shift uncomfortably after a couple of hours, reminding the men there’s another body in the car. Until this point, they paid no real notice to me. “What’s your story, man?” The guy behind me initiates conversation.

  “Just along for the ride.”

  “That’s not what we heard.”

  I watch as the guy next to me smirks and side-eyes his friend. “What did you hear? I’m curious.”

  “You want a piece of the action. Maybe take over Jose’s spot within the cartel.”