The Engineer

by Rachel Renee

  I strip off my shirt and roll up the legs of my pants after another hour. The crate has been pushed out of the way, and I’m lying the best I can in the limited space allowed. The soldiers opened another part of the flap at our last stop so the stifling air is at least moving, a breeze blowing overhead. I ration the rest of the water canteen but it’s now empty and I’m to the point where there’s no sweat even leaking from my pores. I nod in and out of consciousness at one point, not even caring whether I live or die.

  Sirens wake me from my stupor. I contain my excitement and sit slowly, surprised I even have the energy to move. The sun blazes through the open tarp, blinding me momentarily. The sound is louder and I feel the hum of the truck speeding up. We are definitely being pursued. I can’t see the cop car, but it’s out there. Possibly two are blazing behind us—the sound keeping steady with our own movements.

  The driver swerves this way and that. The sirens get louder, closing in. The truck is sputtering, and it’s possible the gas is running low or we’re overheating. It sounds a lot like how I’m feeling. Suddenly, we’re slowing, but it’s not voluntarily. There’s a huge backfire, more swerving throwing me off balance this time. I crash into the crate, then more crates and boxes of product. A few come tumbling over as the truck comes to a complete halt. From 100 mph to zero in just a few seconds completely throws off my already unstable equilibrium.

  The howling of the cop cars is directly on top of us now. I hear the men shouting from outside the bed of the truck. I’m not sure what to do at the moment, so I bury myself in the boxes and crates to wait out the initial confrontation.

  Car doors slam, voices are raised but not enough to understand the words with everything surrounding me. Slowly, I maneuver my way a little closer, keeping hidden from the truck bed entry.

  “Que transportas?” I hear from the back of the truck.

  The men answer in unison, “Suministros militares.”

  It’ll take one quick look to realize there are no military supplies in the back of this piece of transportation. That’s exactly what they’re going to do. I watch the shadow of cop one move to the opening I created this morning. I drop to the floor as quietly as possible, forgetting momentarily all my injuries and jostling the ribs that are already under duress.

  I can barely see the officer through a small opening. He’s peering around, touching the boxes closest to him. “Abierto!” he shouts. He’s attempting to get the box open without the needed crowbar when our eyes make contact. His mouth unseals to say something, possibly summon me, but scuffling of feet and a gunfire blast stops him mid-motion. The man’s hand is ripped from where it had been sitting before he falls out of sight as another shot is fired. More shots ring out from both directions. Someone bangs against the truck quite forcefully as it shakes back and forth with the contact.

  As quickly as it started, it’s finished. Silence. No more shouts and the gunfire ceases. I’m waiting patiently for someone to open up the tailgate or rip the tarp open even more to get access to what’s inside. I guarantee the policia knew exactly what was being transported in this truck. It’s hard to know what they would do with us, with the product. And, who knows if anyone survived the shootout. I don’t hear any movement from outside. I sit up, keeping crouched in case there are survivors who may take me as someone I’m not. Once I reach the edging of the truck, I slowly bring myself up to look out at the damage, check for survivors.

  A grunt breaks the silence, loud and guttural, giving me pause in my movements. I see the man who made contact with me a minute ago. He’s alive, but barely. Our eyes meet again, his right hand lifting, the gun pointed straight at me. The contempt in his look makes me reach for the weapon that’s been secured in the back of my pants.

  Two more shots are fired. Mine hit the mark, his hit the tarp.

  24

  I’VE GOT a few options here, but my objective was to find the cartel leader and provide intel to aid in his capture. Done. I’ve located two. The secondary objective, if possible—secure the cartel leader and get him into custody. That one has not been completed. I have the chance to take down two men. If I were to call it quits now, my mission would be a failure, and that’s not about to happen. Basically, that leaves a single choice. Not the most popular one among them, but it gets me the upper hand and a step closer to the end.

  We’re in the middle of nowhere, so the chances of someone seeing me or what happened here are unlikely. I checked each body for a pulse and assured there wasn’t one before loading up the men who work for the cartel into the back of the truck. The two officers were left lying face-up in the sand after I extracted some pertinent details from their pockets. From the looks of it, I’m not certain they were actually policia. They had nothing that pointed to the fact. Another cartel is the more likely culprit with two beat-up Fords sporting single sirens atop their rusted cars.

  There’s no signal on the phones found in the cockpit nor the ones I snatched from the bodies left behind. Taking a few minutes to familiarize myself with the maps is a decent place to start. I’m not certain where we are or the direction in which I need to be going, but I’ll keep the wheels pointed in the route they’re in now and wait for a signal or a sign of civilization to get back on track.

  It’s nearly an hour before I come upon an actual road. The truck bumps fiercely up the pavement as we enter the street. The map is spread out on the bench seat, and I peer over it and the roadway for signs of where I am. I don’t think I’ve more than another hour before the factory. Checking the compass on the phone confirms I’m at least driving in the correct direction.

  There’s still no signal, but turning the phone off and back on decidedly gets me a couple of bars. Lieutenant doesn’t answer his line this time either. It’s possible he’s in flight, on his way here, because it goes straight to voicemail after one quick ring. Leaving another vague message, I hang up but stare at the phone for a moment longer. Do I call home? Will that do me any good when I’m so close to the end of this mission? If I get ahold of Eliza and she tells me something that will upend my decision, will I regret it?

  I drop the device back down and put the truck in gear once more, heading toward Chihuahua. Being on the road makes me more cautious than I’d been navigating the desert. Who knows what is policing the streets. I remember the warnings from Dom in another direction but imagine there are the same types of precautions to take upon these lanes.

  One of the phones rings next to me, a number I don’t recognize. Although, I doubt I’d recognize any number that came across the line beside the one I dialed. I answer it anyway. “Hola.”

  “Ricardo. Where are you?”

  I don’t recognize the voice. “Ricardo is not available. May I take a message?” Could be someone from the factory, a cartel associate, or maybe a family member. Let’s see if they take the bait.

  “Who is this? Where’s Ricardo?”

  “I can’t disclose that information at the moment. This is the man who is finishing the task he set out to complete.”

  “Sanchez?”

  “One of them.”

  “What did you do to Ricardo?”

  “I didn’t do anything to him. We were attacked. Rivals is my assumption.”

  “Where are you taking the merchandise?”

  “Exactly where it’s supposed to go.”

  The man sighs in resignation. “How far?”

  “I’ll get there when I get there.” I decide to hang up after and refuse to answer when the man calls back. I gave him enough information to get me in trouble if he’s not someone who works for Jose or Papa Noel. I don’t need any more conflicts before getting to my destination.

  Just as I think this, a black car with tinted windows passes by going in the opposite direction. I check it in the mirror, noticing the red brake lights out of the corner of my eyes. Please don’t turn around. They don’t. After slowing for a second, they continue on in the direction they were traveling. I don’t waste any time, in case they decide to
get nosy, pressing hard on the gas and widening our distance.

  With full force on the phones, I type the coordinates into the electronic map and plot the last forty-five minutes of my journey. I stare at the phone off and on but not because I need to see the directions. I contemplate the call I want to make but know I need to hold off on. I miss my girl. The long nights in bed, even doing nothing more than talking and holding each other close. I want to be there for her, in whatever it is she’s going through, but I know if I don’t see this mission through, I won’t be settled. If I weren’t so near the end, it’d be easier to walk away. At this rate, I’m ahead of schedule and will be home well before my predicted arrival.

  But, what I wouldn’t give to hear her voice. Picking up the phone, I dial the numbers, then decide against hitting the talk button. Twenty minutes. I dial the agency asking to speak to Simmons. He tells me that my supervisor is in route to an undisclosed destination in the midst of an active case. I can only hope it’s mine. There’s no telling when he will show, how long it will take for the proper authorities to intercept the cartel leaders.

  Ten minutes. The layout of the area is familiar. I turned the GPS off ages ago, and have driven confidently through the streets I’d become accustomed to over the last months. It’s not home, but I’m comfortable. When I drive up to the back of the factory, where I know we will load up the trucks tonight, a familiar face is standing guard in the middle of an open docking area.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  “Just doing my job.”

  “What job would that be?” Thiago jumps down from the ledge, sauntering over to the open truck door.

  Does he know what I’m up to? Keep it cool. “Delivering the goods to their destination.”

  “Where’s Ricardo and Joshua?”

  “In the back,” I answer nonchalantly, wondering what type of reaction I’ll receive once Mustache takes a look at what’s in the bed of the truck.

  The other two trucks that split off from our vehicle are already parked, their drivers are nowhere in sight. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Continued on.”

  Thiago is nearing the rear of the truck, and his voice falls off as he lifts the flaps. My hand is on my weapon, the one I’ve placed in the front of my waistband. “What the…”

  “That was not my doing. We were stopped in the middle of the desert. Just a couple of hours out. I was the lone survivor. Only because I was secure in the bed of the truck. The captive.”

  “You could have been rich. Why’d you come back?” He’s scratching his head as he peers out over the shipment I had complete access to, an opportunity missed in his eyes.

  “Duty.” Something you know nothing about. I let loose of my weapon and move around the front of the truck. “I’m going to head to the apartment for a couple of hours, get cleaned up. I’ll be back before dark.” I walk away before he can say something. I’m so close to my place here in Chihuahua, uncertain of how I’m getting there, but at the moment, I don’t care.

  “Like hell you are! We’ve got to load the engines.” Thiago catches up to me, grabs my shoulder, and twists me around. “This is where the real task begins.”

  “That wasn’t really in my job description. You can handle it, right?”

  “Bullshit. You need to show us just how much we can fit into the design you’ve created. The big boss is here, waiting for you inside.”

  “Noel?”

  “That’s the one. I wonder how he’ll feel about your desire to leave.”

  I breathe deep. Thiago is grating my nerves already. “Had I realized the desire for me to be of further assistance, I wouldn’t have made the assumption I could leave for a while.”

  “That’s what I thought,” comes out under his breath.

  I’d like to slap the mustache off his face right about now. The smug look he’s giving as well.

  “You’re a prisoner, anyway. You’d have not been allowed to leave. Won’t be until the product is safely at its final destination.” His left brow rises up his forehead. “Maybe not even then.”

  “You have no say in my situation.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  No sense arguing with the imbecile, so I drop it. “Let’s get to work. Take me to your leader.”

  He slaps my back and snickers. I don’t mean to but I roll my eyes. “You look like shit, by the way.”

  Now, I’m shaking my head. He’s no idea what I’ve been through the last few days and I’m not about to give him any ammo by informing him. “Have you heard from Miguel?” It would be nice to change the subject and to find out what happened to him. Selena didn’t know.

  “I’d forget you ever knew him.”

  “What? Why?”

  “He was in a lot of trouble.”

  “Was?”

  “Yep. As in past tense.”

  Dammit. “Doesn’t that bother you, in the least?”

  His gaze lowers but he shakes his head from side to side and doesn’t say another word.

  We walk at a fast pace to get to Noel. He’s lounging in a leather swivel chair. A cigar in one hand, a glass of something golden in the other. He sets the beverage down when Thiago and I walk into the oversized office space. “Heard you ran into a bit of a sticky situation.”

  We walk further into the room before the door is closed behind us. I provide the gory details of my captives’ departures from this world, foregoing the fact I also pulled the trigger on someone. Papa Noel agrees it was a rival cartel trying to get his product. Los Angeles, not the city, but the spiritual beings. I add that name to my ever-growing list of intel. Filing away the faces of the men lying in the middle of the sand, burnt up from the sun, soon to be eaten up by the creatures who roam the area.

  “I appreciate the fact you continued with the mission, even after all that happened. A lesser man would have run off, left the country.”

  I force a fake smile until he adds, “What’s in it for you? And cut the bullshit about making sure your engine is up to spec.”

  Thankfully, my mind hasn’t been damaged and I come up with a quick answer. “I take pride in being a man of my word. If I say I’m going to do something, I do it.”

  “Cartels aren’t always the epitome of virtue and pride. We are the exact opposite of those things.”

  “I got involved through no fault of my own but that doesn’t mean I can’t make the best of it. Do what I’m good at.”

  “We could use a man such as yourself. If this goes off without a hitch, I want to offer you a position within the organization. What would you say to that?”

  “I’m afraid this is the one and only task I have in me for this particular line of work. I’d have to decline.”

  Papa Noel takes a few puffs off his cigar, blowing out a little from the sides of his mouth after each inhale. “It’s a job or it’s your life. There’s no other choice. I’m afraid I won’t be able to let you live. You’ve seen too much.”

  I refuse to utter those old, overused words, I’ll never tell. He wouldn’t hear it. I don’t mean them. “You strike a hard bargain and give me much to think about.”

  Thiago grunts from behind me, assuaging his disinterest in my continued involvement. Don’t worry, Thiago, I have no desire to endure this charade much longer.

  “You’ve got until the delivery is successfully made. Speaking of which, you have a lot of work to do.”

  “I’ll get to it.” The less time I’m in here smelling the stale stench of that nasty cigar, the better.

  Thiago grabs ahold of my shirt, luckily missing the weapon I have tucked up underneath it. “I’m perfectly capable of leaving this office of my own volition. I believe I’ve proven myself as someone who keeps his word.” I pull the shirt from his grasp, adjusting myself so all the items hidden on my person are concealed once more.

  “Thiago, please stay a moment,” Noel calls out when the two of us are exiting.

  I swear he laughs haha in my ear when he turns back
to the leader.

  There are a few men dressed in jeans and collared shirts waiting outside the room. “You the one giving us direction?” the one nearest to me asks.

  “Seems that way.”

  The group follows me to the spot where the engines are being prepared for their new parts. Another crew is carrying in the remaining crates and boxes from our transports. It’s obvious they are a well-oiled machine, and it’s impressive how each knows what to do and when to do it. Seemingly without instruction.

  “These are the new engines,” I point out. “Let me show you how to stuff them.”

  My injuries ache, every movement of my shoulder calculated to attempt controlling it. Sweat builds on my forehead and over my body, nausea threating to take me down a few times as I maneuver around the plant and the engines. It feels a little like being a traitor, placing packages of cocaine and little teal pills into the car part, filling each to capacity. If I wasn’t nearly certain these would be intercepted, I’d be even sicker to my stomach about the whole thing. The amount of drugs being concocted and transported in and out of the country is staggering. Sadly, this is a small fraction of what’s available to the human race. People are waiting for their fix, trying to escape something in their life, if only for just a moment. What have we done to ourselves to need all of this?

  The last of the goods are being shoved into the engines when Papa Noel and Thiago show their faces. I hadn’t spent much time examining the guys helping out, but now that I’m looking into the crowd, there are many familiar faces. I even spot a few I haven’t seen since I looked through those photos on the very first day. So many are men who work for this factory. A lot of families are about to be disrupted in this sting. Some may get to keep their jobs, others won’t be so lucky.

  Noel is giving a speech to the men about how appreciative he is of all their hard work. He has a surprise in store for everyone should all go according to plan. The crowd cheers. It’s quite rousing for a drug-cartel gathering. Repulsive too. All these people who are okay with other human beings ruining their lives for a little escape. Money being spent on drugs instead of feeding children. People sniffing coke or popping a pill to get the high they never knew they needed until they succumbed just “one time.”