by Dana Arama
I didn’t know why, when we stood by my door, my hand shook so much that the key slipped from my fingers and fell to the floor. Both of us bent down to retrieve the key and the coincidental touch felt like a grenade had exploded in a closed room. Was the feeling sharper because of all the stress I was under?
He wasn’t huge, average height, maybe. About six foot, perhaps a bit more. Broad shoulders. What attracted me were his eyes. They were blue with a hint of grey, almost black at times, and they contained a multitude of expression. During the day I would see in them amusement, concern and determination. Now, for the first time I saw in them seduction.
I closed the door behind him and pointed towards the kitchen. In a voice hoarse with passion I said, “I know we have a mission before us. We don’t have much time and I need to pack a few things.”
“I understand,” he answered and smiled. “You are requesting for me to be an independent guest and make my own coffee.”
“And make one for me, black and strong. Strong enough to keep me awake.” I thought it was just as well we weren’t standing in the hallway in close proximity, otherwise we may have been tempted to go to the bedroom instead and we would have been delayed even further. The apartment wasn’t big, but to keep him busy in the kitchen while I was taking a shower was the best solution for this situation. I also felt good that I had a few minutes to lock the room where I had all data from my investigation spread out. The pictures of Gail with Murat, a copy of their plane tickets to Mexico and a satellite picture of someone who looked an awful lot like Gail, sprawled out on a beach in Cancun, surrounded by a group of drug addicts.
Murat Lenika,
New York City, November 12, 2015 3:42 a.m.
Besides the sharp ring, an insistent vibration awoke me. I hoped it wasn’t another raid on the casino. My uncle had already answered numerous questions and the manager’s aide took precautionary methods when reporting on everything that was going on over there. My network of spies, the one I had built up for myself and generously rewarded, had paid off. That’s how I knew I had to keep hiding out and that they were onto the kidnapping. I looked at the number on the screen. I didn’t recognize it. I answered, “Yes?” I tried not to sound as drugged out as I felt.
“It took some time and a lot of money but we’re on it, boss.”
I could hear from his voice he sounded satisfied. I thought to myself that Dubroshin was also a good investment. Former KGB, addicted to adrenaline, with many skills, not the least of which was extremely flexible conscience.
“And what did you find out?”
“They got on a plane belonging to the Anti-Drug Authority and are about to land in Cancun.”
“Thanks, Dubroshin,” I said. “Excellent work.” I hoped I hadn’t shown the excitement in my voice. I knew that with that news, I had become more than just another distributor for El Desconocido.
For my next call I took on a dramatic tone when I announced, “Amigo, they are closing in on Zorro. They used a plane from the Anti-Drug Authority and took off now. A man and a woman. I think someone should keep an eye on them.”
Guy Niava,
En route to Cancun, November 12, 2015, 3:50 a.m.
To my surprise, the plane was civilian, as opposed to the FBI helicopter, or it at least appeared to be, with no obvious security features. I had flown in rented airplanes, private planes and luxury planes. This was a hybrid. A private airplane with minimal frills. I didn’t know where it was rented from and, in any case, it wasn’t my business, but I realized then that Laura had connections more advanced than the average office clerk.
By the time Cuba’s shoreline began appearing on my left, Laura had shut her computer, stopping whatever it was she was doing, and came to sit opposite me. It was quite amusing, the way she withheld certain bits of information from me. In a way, it seemed she was demonstrating that I was only a guest and I should stay in my place, or else. Or else what? Probably she wouldn’t share any more information with me, and I would be left in a bubble of uncertainty.
“Any news from New York?” I enquired.
“We are exploring all avenues. The team in charge of the kidnapping received more backup in order to follow the route of the car that kidnapped Jonathan. We know they ended up in a parking lot, but what happened on the way? The main problem is that the closest camera is two blocks away from where the kidnapping took place. And if the kidnappers knew that and wanted to avoid the cameras, they had two exit routes from the neighborhood without being watched by the cameras.”
“Not very encouraging at all,” I said. She didn’t have a clue how bad that sounded to me at all. In a kidnapping every minute is crucial, and the grains of sand were running out in Jonathan’s hourglass. “Who does the plane belong to?”
“Who do you think?”
“There are no outward signs that link it to any specific office…” I was trying and failing to find a hidden clue but, in the end, just guessed, “Privately owned?”
“Actually, the Anti-Drug Authority has airplanes which look civilian. If someone in Mexico knew that the plane belonged to the Anti-Drug Authority, there would be a great chance that they would blow up the plane on arrival. I don’t know if you are aware of the inter-cartel wars or the wars between the cartels and the government, but the whole business is dirty.”
“And the person who controls all this dirty business is Zorro.”
“Exactly. We need her to make sense of what is going on and to help us get to our destination.”
“What is our order of actions now?” I asked. I liked knowing what to expect ahead of time. “To settle in or to try and locate her?”
Laura looked at her watch and answered decisively, “To settle in. We’ll arrive too late for the real action at the clubs on the beach. If it was already spring break or some festival, I would say that it’d be worthwhile to locate her immediately, because the activity would be around the clock and the peak hours are at three or four a.m.”
“But don’t we still have a couple of weeks till the beginning of the spring break?” I asked.
She answered, “Yes, so that is why I suggested we settle in first.”
“I think we should keep a low profile --” I began, and she nodded her head vigorously.
“Agreed. There is a chance that someone had already passed on the information that we were arriving on this plane. It is best we look for a room to rent with an hourly rate or a room at a seedy motel, the kind that takes no interest in its guests. That way they won’t keep a register of who comes and goes.” Hourly motels had security cameras – it was a whole industry of porn movies and extortion. The last thing I wanted was for us to walk into the trap of a well-set up room with hidden cameras, so I said, “I’d rather a motel, because even the most wretched of places must follow the law.”
“Good point. So be it. A motel it is.”
“I’m assuming we are going to be followed as soon as the plane lands.”
“Assuming it lands.” There was worry in her voice. “And then we will need to create some kind of diversion in the dark, then go and find a small motel with two available rooms for the night.”
I smiled. That was her way of confirming we were two colleagues working together. I was okay with that.
***
The wheels of the plane barely touched the ground, and then the plane immediately rose back into the air. The sharp angle signaled that there was a problem. I had been in planes threatened by anti-aircraft missiles before. Something in the atmosphere, maybe the angle of the ascent, felt familiar. Barely a moment passed, and a high-pitched siren tore through my eardrum.
“What happened?” Laura asked, alarmed.
“We should try and find out with the pilot,” I answered. “It felt like an attempt to escape a missile.”
“Return to your seats and put on your seatbelts,” the pilot’s voice ordered us. He also
sounded worried.
In fact, we hadn’t even unfastened our seatbelts yet. Our conversation stopped and a small strip of sweat broke out on Laura’s hairline. I breathed deeply and waited for the blow to come. The engine sounded as if it was straining against powers pulling it downward, back to the threatening ground below. Finally, we heard the stable humming of the motor. It seemed as if the drama of the previous 30 seconds hadn’t occurred. Only the imprint of Laura’s fingerprints on the arms of the chair revealed how tense she had been during the whole ordeal.
Minutes passed and we didn’t talk or look each other in the eye. Maybe we were afraid that it would surface questions with answers that were really nice sounding lies, like ‘everything will be alright’ or ‘that there is nothing to worry about’. This was a hope that neither of us knew to be true.
“The alert system identified a threat of aircraft damage,” the pilot’s voice echoed through the cylindrical space of the aircraft. “We will distance ourselves from the area until the threat is neutralized, or we will land on another airstrip, in accordance with the timetable and our remaining fuel. We have already notified the land security forces.”
“I wouldn’t object to a glass of whiskey right now.” Laura gave me a pitiful smile. “They can easily harm us, right?” It seemed like a rhetorical question. She knew as well as I did that it was true. I didn’t respond. Instead I said, “More importantly, we must figure out who would know about us landing here. Or, more precisely, can Murat Lenika’s hand reach this far?”
We flew the next ten minutes in silence. The pilot’s announcement broke the tension filling the air, this time sounding much calmer. “We have received the go-ahead to land.” He added, “Ground security has apprehended a group of people responsible for setting off a shoulder missile. They believe it was a case of mistaken identity of the plane. I hope there are no more rogue agents down there.” We didn’t say a word. The danger wasn’t over.
We quickly disembarked the plane and moved rapidly to the main building. That we had landed safely didn’t lower the level of danger, nor the level of caution. If someone had been surveilling the plane and suspected it was the Anti-Drug Authority, he may also have set up snipers to have us shot.
It was almost four thirty in the morning when we walked into the main building. The difference between the number of soldiers and policemen patrolling outside and the emptiness inside was almost absurd. It made me think that maybe they were there because of the incident with our airplane. A fat, sleepy clerk photocopied our passports. I knew he would mostly likely pass on our information, not only to the authorities, but to other group with interest in every stranger who landed here. Two data systems, operating simultaneously. I didn’t like the idea at all. In contrast with the previous times I had been to Mexico, this time, because of Laura, I had to use my real passport. From the main building, we made our way to the center of the stirring city, into the first available taxi we spotted. We stopped in the city center and there, after a walk through a few streets, and after making sure we hadn’t been followed, we stopped a random cab and drove to the other side of the city.
The place we found was called simply “Silvia’s Place.” It was a compromise between the hourly rooms and a simple motel. Silvia lived on the lower floor with her two sons, in what was once the living room of the house. Before we went up to our rooms Silvia asked if we would like to join her and her two sons for breakfast. Without hesitating we both answered, “Yes.” Laura added, “Gladly.”
The top floor had been turned into the visitor’s floor and it had three bedrooms, a toilet and shower. A wooden staircase of fifteen steps led us to this floor. I noted that two of them creaked: the second step from the bottom and the third-to-last step. Creaking stairs were always an excellent warning sign. Between my room and Laura’s was a bathroom that served the whole floor, and maybe also Silvia and her two sons. My room was basic. A low metal bed, slightly wider than a twin bed. A wooden dresser painted red. A wooden floor which had seen better days and was now warped here and there, and especially under the window.
I closed the door behind me. Surprisingly, it didn’t creak. I put my bag on the dresser and approached the bed. If the springs creaked, I was in for an annoying night. On the other hand, who had promised I would get any sleep this evening? The floor creaked about a foot away from the bed. I moved the colorful carpet and found the floor warped there as well, a light stain covering the wood. Someone had tried to clean with too much water. My imagination told me it was an attempt to clean a blood stain, but to validate a theory like that, one needs more than just a stain, a creaky floor, and a run-down location in the dark side of the city.
Speaking of locations, I approached the window and pressed myself against the wall so that I could peek outside without being seen. On the other side of the street a taxi was waiting with the engine running. That was unusual. Here, taxi drivers tried to conserve every last drop of gas. The street became lighter as the sun started to rise, and the driver switched off his lights. After a moment he seemed to regret doing so and switched them on again. Was he signaling someone or was the pale morning sun not strong enough to drive without lights?
I surveyed the area surrounding him in widening concentric circles. I saw nothing suspicious. When a young girl in a light dress came out of the opposite building dragging her suitcase after her, the driver got out of the taxi and helped her put it in the trunk. The driver returned to his seat and the girl sat in the back behind him. The taxi reversed off the pavement, and then I saw him. He was standing at an angle between the building and an advertising post, almost completely hidden. If the taxi’s headlights hadn’t caught him for a second, I wouldn’t have seen him at all. A pro. So professional that I immediately thought it must be a foreign tail. Such finesse does not exist within the Mexican security or the cartels, no matter how big and strong it was. I wondered who it could be. I saw the man only for a second, but I was able to make out that he was tall and thin, much taller than the average Mexican man.
I assessed the options. If he was someone from the American security services, was he here to protect us? Did he follow Laura’s location on her cellphone? Mine? Did she have a bug on her?
The second option seemed more viable, that he was a former KGB operative who now worked for the mafia. If he was on our tail, had he been following us since the airport? If that was the case, it was bad. It meant that I was very tired. It was true that since yesterday, when the troublemaking file was found I’d spoken with my boss, I hadn’t slept for more than two hours consecutively, but that wasn’t a justifiable reason not to be alert to the fact that we were being trailed. It might be a good excuse, but I had known many people with good excuses who now lay under a tombstone.
Nothing untoward was happening the other side of the street. We had chosen wisely when we picked this place. I looked at my watch and assumed that, very shortly, I would hear a knock on the door. She arrived even before I had finished thinking my thoughts. I opened the door and Laura stood there in a floral dress, her hair spread around her shoulders. She looked ten years younger than the secret agent I had met the day before.
I smiled. “Mexico suits you, ma’am.”
“Thank you, sir, very nice of you to say so.” She put her arm through mine and announced, “Let’s go and eat breakfast and then find Zorro’s place.” I locked the door with the key Silvia had given me and followed in her footsteps.
“Are you aware that we are being followed?” I inquired as we went down the stairs.
She sighed. “I was afraid of that.” She glanced at me. “Are you concerned enough to change our plans?”
“No,” I answered decisively. “But I am intrigued as to who is following us and if we need to do something about it.”
“Let’s sit and eat peacefully. We will draw out the time as much as we can. We really aren’t in any rush. If he is still there when we finish eating, we will think about
what to do with him.”
I was convinced by her argument, but more convinced once I caught sight of the lavish table, and smelled all the aromas that had filled the kitchen.
We sat next to each other, opposite Silvia’s two silent boys. I focused on the table before me. There was black coffee in a carafe, a plate with red ripe tomatoes and buttery green avocado, on top of which laid two fried eggs, the yolks almost orange. The plate looked like a picture and I thought it would be a shame to ruin it. Yet when the bowls filled with spicy beans arrived alongside the plate of hot tortillas, I put my fork in the picture and ate from it.
When Silvia saw we had a big appetite and that we were enjoying her food, she was thrilled. She went out of her way to inform us about all the attractions in the area. She babbled quickly in Spanish, I could only pick up a few words here and there, but Laura understood everything and was translating simultaneously. The explanation was, of course, unnecessary, but we showed interest, just in case someone inquired about our plans after we left.
At the end of our meal, we left a generous amount of money and left the kitchen. Instead of leaving by the main entrance, I turned to Silvia and asked, “Do you have a back door?”
With a scared look on her face she asked, in broken English, “Are you in trouble?”
“Do we look like we’re in trouble?” I smiled casually and pointed to Laura’s shoes. “The lady is wearing high heels and I thought it would save us walking around the block.”
She smiled at me and I realized that she didn’t completely understand me. Maybe she just didn’t buy my excuse, but I preferred to stick with it. Without saying anything, she led us through the kitchen and from there was an exit into a modest backyard. “There’s the gate,” she said pointing towards the fence. “Behind it, you’ll be between the buildings and from there to the main street.” We thanked her and left.