by Rachel Renee
That makes me laugh, the action making me wince as my lungs make contact with the ribs that are out of place. “I want no part of the cartel. I was sanctioned to create a product that would make things easier in the transport of the other products created within the organization.”
“Why’d you get the shit beat out of you? Your product fail?”
“Not yet,” I utter. “Maybe in anticipation of it.”
“You didn’t threaten Jose? That’s the story going around the compound.”
I turn a tad to answer the man who asked the question. “Not in the way you’re talking. I merely wanted to make sure he was satisfied. He took it the wrong way.”
“Ah. A misunderstanding.” Both men snicker.
I don’t care if they believe my story or not. They’re purely small pawns in this adventure. “You guys cartel?”
“We are working on it. We’re in, but we want more. If this is successful, Papa Noel will approve of that.”
“Means a pay raise,” says Soldier One.
“And better missions,” Soldier Two adds from the backseat.
“The military wasn’t a good career path for either of you?”
The three of us talk for a while about the Army. Small talk leads to more interesting topics. These men are not cut out for the cartel life. They aren’t good at secrecy. Beneficial to me, dangerous for their futures.
Albert, the man in the back, tells me about how he met Papa Noel in the military. Noel was his sergeant until recently at a base in Texas. He doesn’t say which one, exactly, but I’m going to patiently wait for the slip-up at some point. Papa Noel recruited Albert and one other guy before he retired from his station. He sent Albert to Jose in Hudspeth. The other guy is in Chihuahua, working in the factory.
Thomas, the driver sitting next to me, happened to be in the same unit as Albert. His good pal, he called him. “He called me up and told me he had something much more profitable and I should come check it out. I hopped the next flight and joined the ranks.”
I’ve got some very useful intel to report back should I ever find myself in the company of a phone. The conversation dies off and I struggle to stay awake, nodding in and out of sleep. The hot air blows in my face as we traverse the desert roads, windows rolled all the way down so as to not overheat the truck by running the air conditioner for too long a period of time.
In one of my semi-conscious states, I listen to the men talk about stopping at the next gas station to take a leak and get something to drink. Since I’ve had nothing to drink or eat in more hours than I can count, it sounds like a great plan. My mouth is parched, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth.
“Mind grabbing me something while I relieve myself?” I don’t have any cash or cards so if the men aren’t willing to help me out, I’m tempted to steal something at this point. I can go without eating but I need water something fierce.
“We got you, man.” Albert slaps my back, thankfully missing the gunshot wound.
It feels good to move around, despite the pain it causes in many parts of my body. My legs were stiff and the likelihood of me forming a clot somewhere is pretty high. Got to keep the blood flow moving in all the extremities.
I relieve myself and go back to the truck. Neither man is anywhere in sight. Thomas’s cell phone is though. He left it sitting in the center console. I’m risking the chance of being found out by placing this call, but it’ll be worth it in the end if I can reach Lieutenant.
Making sure the coast is clear, I dial the numbers and wait for someone to pick up. When the voicemail does, I leave an obscure message, just like I was taught to. Hoping I covered everything, I press end, deleting the outgoing number before I set the phone back down where I found it. I seriously cannot believe my good fortune to have found the device, made the call, and still have time to look innocent before my comrades return. As I try to swallow, the nonexistent spit reminds me of my need for water. Where are the men who are to deliver me to my next destination? Was the phone a total setup? That’s the next thought popping into my head. It did seem too perfect. It was just lying there like that. Although, neither Thomas nor Albert seem to be thinking I’m a threat.
I scan the area. There are a few individuals milling about but my friends aren’t in sight. Peering into the backseat, I notice a few plastic bags from the convenience store. With my good arm, I reach over and grab a bottled water and swig the entire thing in one gulp. It hurts as I swallow, the pain searing from my throat to my stomach. I don’t mind it though. The water is cold and wet and quenches the need I had. One whole bag is full of drinks, so I grab another and turn back in my seat when out of the corner of my eye, I spot an open black bag. You know the type, unzipped, full of weaponry of different sorts. It’s out of reach, so I have to get up on my knees, scooting over the center console. My injured arm is the one nearest. I could move over to the driver’s side but the weapon I want is right on top. There are voices coming from the rear of the vehicle and it could be my driving partners finally coming back from wherever they’ve been. I have to work fast. Any meds I had been given to dull the ache have worn off because when I move my right arm, stretching it over the tall seatback, the throbbing from the gunshot is enough to make my eyes water. It doesn’t stop me. The metal brushes my fingers as laughter sounds off loudly right outside the truck bed. My middle finger catches the trigger hole, swiping the gun up quickly, transferring it to my left hand and placing it in my waistband. I feel my shirt lifted, but the voice of Thomas booms out.
“What are you up to?”
“Just grabbing more water. I don’t know about you guys, but I was parched!” I’m animated, more than I should have been, but the two men seem to be eating it up.
I sit back down in the passenger seat, pulling the jug to my mouth and taking a slow draw. Albert grabs a bottle and does the same. Thomas goes around the front of the vehicle and hops in behind the wheel.
“Throw me my stuff,” he yells back to Albert while fastening himself into his spot.
I’m sweating. I’d like to say from the heat, but could be from the close call. There’s plastic rattling, bags of food and bottles of water and Gatorade are thrown to the front seat. Albert drops a bag of chips, a protein bar, and a banana in my lap. “Enjoy, buddy.” He thumps my left shoulder.
Thomas revs the engine and the oversized vehicle roars to life. “We still have quite a way to go, so settle in.” The jolt and rumble cause jostling from the items lying lose.
“Shit. Forgot that was down there.” Thomas looks up in the rearview to understand what Albert was talking about. “Backup.” He winks. Thomas smiles. Albert fumbles around and I hear the zipper encase the contents of the bag.
My hand reaches back, pulling the cotton material over the metal that was exposed. I settle into my seat, unwrap my food, and try to ignore the fact I’ve easily made contact with my superior, claimed another weapon for myself, and the two men in my company seem none the wiser.
23
THE REST of the trip was uneventful. I slept for a while after our pit stop. We stopped every few hours, for gas or bathroom or to stretch our legs. Twenty hours in a military vehicle is not the best way to travel, especially after an injury. The constant bumping and jostling never got easier, even once we were on the main roads. Nighttime was interesting, with the men getting tired and needing to switch in and out of the driver’s seat often. I offered to drive at one point, but apparently, that’s where the men drew the line. I could take them off course or drive them to the authorities if they both drifted to sleep at the same time. Never mind the fact I stole one of their weapons and could have shot them on multiple occasions, leaving their bodies on the desert road they stopped to use the bathroom on. They don’t know though. The missing weapon has yet to be discovered.
As we pull up to the compound right outside of Mexico City, Thomas and Albert inform me that our time together has come to an end. It’s still dark and the sun won’t rise for a couple more hours. I’m c
hilled as we step out into the early-morning air. It has always amazed me how the temps change so drastically from the heat of the day to the drop of the sun out of the sky.
This compound is less secure than Jose’s. No men stopped us at the gate or greeted the truck when we parked it. It isn’t until now that we’re out of the vehicle that a man in sweatpants and a sweatshirt walks out of the small outpost, hollering at Albert to “Turn the fucking truck off. People are trying to sleep.”
He reaches back in instantly and halts the grumble from the engine.
“Who’s this?”
They didn’t even tell these guys I was coming?
“Our prisoner. He’s to ride to Chihuahua with the supplies, help load the engines, and travel back to the States with them.”
“Oh, this here’s the engineer then.”
The man is so country, it throws me off. “Kentucky?” I ask.
“How’d you figure that?”
“The accent.”
He laughs, spits a giant wad of tobacco at my feet after choking on his spit, and then laughs some more. “He cause any trouble?” The man looks back at Albert for an answer.
“None. Exemplary prisoner.”
Such a big word for him.
“I expect we won’t have any problems either. Products are set to be loaded in two hours, gone within three.”
The group of us look into the darkness. The unmistakable whirring of a military chopper approaching causes alarm at the encampment. Literally. An alarm begins wailing from the small building our greeter came from. All the lights in the compound go off, the alarm stops, everyone stands still. The helicopter gets closer and I feel my heartbeat speed up. Is this my help?
The man from the compound pulls me down to the ground by my shirt. “They’ve been circling all night. We don’t know how they’ve found us.”
I might have an idea. I’m not sure how turning the lights off is helping them at all. The technology the military has detects heat and therefore the bodies scattered throughout. At this point, they’re biding their time. He doesn’t seem too worried about it. If the copter’s been at it all night, why haven’t they started packing up and trying to get away with their product?
“Aren’t you worried they’re coming in?”
“More worried about gunfire. They’d have to land to come in. Not enough open space for them to rest inside our property. We’re ready if they come from the outside.” He nods his head in a few different directions.
My eyes scan for the sentries that must be stationed in various locations. Most of the land is surrounded by chain-link fence. That would be very easy for someone to cut through. The accessibility would require added force if trying to keep someone out. Men dressed in all black are stationed every few feet. Some along the perimeter of the fencing, holding automatic weapons. I spot a few guards higher up, sitting atop turret guns, rotating their stations from time to time to look out further into the night. The rooftops are also littered with gunned men, ready to fire upon any enemy approach.
There is light in the distance, so much so I realize it must be Mexico City. I knew we were close, just didn’t know how near we were. The darkness of the compound and the nearly starless sky makes it stand out so much more than it would normally. The guard spots my interest. “You thinking of trying to get away?”
“Honestly, hadn’t crossed my mind. I’m determined to see this thing through.”
“What thing would that be?”
“Proving my engine design is an asset.” Also, finding and stopping this Papa Noel.
“You’d risk your life for that?”
“I hadn’t set out to, but apparently, that’s the point I’ve found myself at.”
“You take pride in your work. I admire that and will keep it in mind.”
Not sure why he would need to keep that in mind. Who is he to the organization? The wop, wop, wop of the helicopter is right above us now. The man and I slink against the side of the truck in anticipation of weapons being fired down upon us. It doesn’t come. Instead, the helicopter rotor noise slowly moves away, passing over the compound at a speed in which they could take a good look at what they’re dealing with. The guards inside fire off a few rounds but miss the quick bird. The man maneuvering the machine is a skilled pilot and gets them out of the area speedier than the approach.
“Papa Noel, we need to load now. I just intercepted the transmission. They’ll be back within the hour. I think we need to have the product secured on the trucks before that happens. Sounds like they now have a good indication of what we have and are creating a plan of attack.”
“Muy bien, Ricardo. Round the troops,” the man with the Kentucky accent, who’d been next to me this whole time, responds.
I’ve found Papa Noel. Were Dom and Thompson aware I’d find him here? Yet another thing they seemingly held over my head.
The lights are back on and whistles are being blown in multiple different directions. Men enter and exit from numerous small buildings. Everyone has a job and they all know exactly how to do it. Papa Noel looks at me and says, “Looks as if you’ve seen a ghost. You doing okay?”
I felt lightheaded when I stood, but it’s okay now. The blood is coming back to my face. “Just dealing with some internal issues. No big deal.” If he thinks I’m unhealthy and physically incapable, he will suspect me of less foul play.
“Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll have the men bring you some water, maybe a bite to eat while you wait.”
He points to a folding chair sitting next to the house, so that’s where I head. I’m surprised by his ability to have empathy. The stories that float around about him contradict such capacity. I watch as he orders the men. Most of it is unspoken as his charismatic demeanor leads to easy flow and structure. When he removes the cap he’d been wearing, the gray wisps of hair flap in the wind. It actually makes me smile at the irony. The gift giver, Papa Noel, is a fitting name for him. His rounded belly and rosy cheeks against his tanned skin compound it.
A uniformed officer drops off two bottled waters and a protein bar for me. I take advantage of the nourishment. I’m getting used to the pain, or the healing process has begun, not positive which it is, but feeling more human is going to come in handy when it’s time to bring in our man.
In no time at all, I’m being forcefully loaded into the back of a pickup truck with instructions to watch over the supplies and stay out of sight. “Are you coming along?” I ask of Noel when he stops at the back of the truck to talk to the soldier manning the vehicle. He will want you closer replays in my thoughts.
“I’ll be traveling separately, but I will see you at your next destination.”
I’m a little disappointed he doesn’t actually seem to want to keep me closer to him, but at the same time, I’m floored by the amount of trust these men have. It has paid to be a man of my word, for the most part. Seems they don’t suspect I’m anyone other than who I’ve said I am. With a wave, the man is off, making sure all of his cargo is secure and set for the travel.
There’s a small spot within the array of boxes, with a milk crate turned over for me to sit on. The truck is already started when my captors slam the tailgate and pull the canvas down to cover the top. I know we’re headed to the factory in Chihuahua and I also know we’ve got quite some distance to cover. Not as long as the trip to the city, but almost.
I peer through the many holes in the inventory, moving a small area in the tarp to look outside. The convoy travels a short distance together, bumping and tossing me and the boxes from side to side. The city lights grow smaller, as do the ones from the compound. After a couple of miles, the trucks split off, and we keep on the same track we’d been on.
The helicopter is swishing and swashing in the distance once more. I doubt they plan to bomb the area, maybe drop a few soldiers off within the boundaries of the fencing. If they get there soon, maybe the men will be undetected. Sounds as though someone was listening in to the radio so they may get shot out of the
air if they’ve made it apparent that’s what their plan is.
The relationship between Jose and Noel is an interesting one. They are working with each other, aware of the other’s business dealings, but are they really? How far does that connection go? And, which one is actually in charge? I’ve got my bets on one, and I don’t know if it’s truly the individual everyone else claims it to be.
Blocking those thoughts from my mind, I switch gears and think of my own stressors. My Eliza needs me and I want so badly to be there for her. Whatever it is she may be dealing with. That’s the vow I made, the words I spoke to her mere months ago as we stood in front of the Justice of the Peace in the Savannah courtroom. Our parents were there, including my adoptive mother, Martha, the detectives Eliza works alongside and her previous Captain were in attendance, as well as a couple of guys from the agency. They surrounded us with their support and affection as we proclaimed our love and commitment to each other. I’m not going to go back on my word now, or ever. I’ve plenty of time to think and so I go back through conversations we’ve had recently, the cryptic phone message from Coop and try to piece together what it is we’re up against.
As the sun rises in the sky, the heat in the back of this truck is becoming unbearable. I open the flap a little more to get air flowing. Despite the fact that it’s hot air, it helps to have it circulating. By the time the team makes a short pit stop, I’m dripping with sweat and badly in need of water.
One soldier throws a canteen in my direction. “Drink up.” He then unzips his pants and proceeds to urinate all over the tires of the truck. Not sure what the point of that was except for maybe throwing off the scent for possible drug-sniffing dogs, should we encounter them at a checkpoint. The other soldier does the same thing on the other side, and the unmistakable liquid bouncing off rubber comes from his direction. I’ve sweat out anything I had in me so there’s no need for a bathroom break. I drink my share of the water, emptying half of the bottle before we’re on the road once more.