by Beth Rhodes
From the outside, the impression had left her imagining dirt floors and stick walls. But there was drywall and concrete floors.
“Wow,” Jamie said. “This is great.”
“When we built, years ago, we wanted the exterior to blend in. Most of the houses are built the same, solid bones but with thatch roofs and wood exteriors, so as to be harder to identify from above.” Rafe pointed up. “Occasionally, we get helicopters passing over. And even farther up from them are planes—satellites.” He shrugged. “We don’t take any chances.”
Missy found herself drawn to the meeting side of the room where a large corkboard filled one wall. On it were photos, hundreds of photos of people, celebrations, life moments. She reached out and touched the edge of a photo showing a young family, standing under a tree, sunshine streaming through the boughs.
“How long have you been here?” Jamie asked. The little tyke wiggled loose, and Jamie set him down.
“Thirteen years. Your father helped us, Marguerite.”
Her father.
He’d fought against Martinez for so long, his whole life, some would say, first winning the love of her mother. She side-stepped, her gaze caught on a group of photos in the center. Her father. Her heart raced then. There were other photos, ones of her mother from before Missy had been born. Not in this village, but in a mountain town, in the place her father had taken his family when Martinez had assumed his position within the cartel.
She knew the stories, had heard them throughout her childhood.
But only from her grandmother.
After her mother’s death, her father had left the mountains and gone back to the coast, to Veracruz, and back to Martinez.
Another photo showed her mother sitting with a guitar in her lap and a grin on her face, so obviously gazing with love at the person behind the lens.
“She will never be forgotten,” Rafe said, putting a hand on Missy’s shoulder. “She inspired peace in our world, even all those years ago when the cartel was fledgling, and there was hope. Did you know she could sing?”
Missy nodded, unable to get words through her tightened throat.
“She was a beautiful person—inside and out. Everyone loved Carmen Bellamy Fuentes.”
“You knew her? Really knew her?”
Rafe smiled. “Si.”
“Hora de comer.” Maria came through a curtained doorway on the school side of the building, carrying a platter covered in food. Missy took a deep breath as the woman came by. Tamales? There was meat and fried foods.
Her stomach growled. She’d forgotten how hungry she was…and the smell was a sharp reminder, which was making her lightheaded.
Jamie came up to her and took her pack. He set both of them near the door and joined her at one of the tables on the meeting side of the room. As they ate, people joined them. Families came by with more food.
And stories.
So many stories of her father, and even a few of her mother from the elders who remembered the time before Martinez.
A girl approached, about five years old, shy yet determined, and rested her elbow on the table next to Jamie to gaze up at him. Missy chuckled and leaned into his side.
“Hola,” he said. “Cómo estás?”
That made the girl giggle, her eyes bright with amusement. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a ball of colorful rope. Setting it on the table next to Jamie, she nudged it over until it touched his hand. He picked up the strand of twine with knots in a complete circle and a strand coming off with a knotted cross on it—a rosary.
“For me?” Jamie wound the piece through his fingers, touching each knot.
The girl nodded.
“Did you make it?”
She nodded again.
“What’s your name?”
“Rosario,” she said quietly, as her sweet hands fiddled with his chair.
Missy hadn’t said a rosary in a long, long time. Her grandmother had taught her. Her father had practiced his faith. And she had lost touch, especially in that year when he became distant and paranoid. What he’d said and practiced hadn’t mattered anymore. Who was God that he would leave her with no one?
She didn’t know what she thought now. Hadn’t really considered her faith in too many years to count.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” The low rumble of his voice soothed Missy’s nerves, and she watched as this beautiful little girl made eyes at him.
Rosario touched his hand, just a slight brush and then she ran away to join the other kids.
“Aw. She likes you,” Missy said, nudging him gently. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in, kissing her above her ear.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice barely audible. It was more like she was feeling his words than hearing them. She nodded and rested her head on his shoulder.
They would be leaving soon, and a part of her didn’t want to leave this haven in the middle of the mountains. But this wasn’t vacation, it wasn’t a family reunion, even though it was starting to feel like one. Her mother had been revered here. They knew her like Missy never had. The pain of that was only assuaged by the kindness they offered.
At the sound of a sharp call from outside the hut, Jamie sat up straight.
The thump of a helicopter.
They moved, both of them going for their bags.
“Everyone stay where you are,” Rafe ordered. He came toward them, and at the tension that shot through Jamie, even Missy’s heart thumped against her chest—hard. Had they trusted too soon? “You all know the procedure. You two,” he wagged two fingers at Missy and Jamie, “Come this way. There is a covered breezeway that will take you to our vehicle.”
She followed, Jamie at her back.
Rosario came running as they got to the door, and she grabbed Jamie’s shirt. He hesitated then dropped to one knee. She handed over the forgotten rosary. The stern look he got from his new friend had Missy biting back a laugh.
“You take her with you,” she demanded in English, as if to get the message across without any misunderstanding.
“Got it,” Jamie answered and tucked the rosary into a side pocket on his pants. Then he stood and rested a hand on the child’s head. “Cuídate, pequeña.”
The breezeway had been created by nature. Trees grew on both sides of the path, their branches reaching out. Almost like holding hands. The people had planted flowering vines that wrapped around the trunks and climbed the bark up and over where they walked.
Missy took a deep breath and the scent of those flowers filled her head.
Beauty amidst conflict and turmoil.
Just as they reached the truck, the helicopter began its slow descent. “Hurry,” Rafe spoke as he opened the hatch on the back. At the same time, a rousing song could be heard from the meeting hall. The guitar strummed a joyful rhythm, and the voices of the people rang out.
“Makes me want to stay,” Missy said with a laugh as she stepped up.
“We’ll come back—”
She gave him a sharp look.
“Someday,” he said and grinned. “Maybe.”
“Well, you will have to visit your girlfriend.”
Jamie fake swooned and patted his heart. They settled deep into the space at the back of the jeep, and Rafe covered them with a tarp.
“You won’t have to stay like this for long. Once you are clear of the river, Jose will let you know. You’ll be safe then.”
Jamie lifted the tarp. “Thank you, Rafe.”
“Vaya con Dios.” Rafe pounded on the side rail of the Jeep and it jumped to a start.
Missy was thrown back but quickly found purchase and a comfortable spot close to Jamie. The guy driving the Jeep turned the radio up. She was fairly certain he didn’t stick to the roads, either. The way was riddled with dips and dives and gullies and even a few splashes.
The effort to keep motion sickness at bay began in earnest after about ten minutes.
She closed her eyes, hoping to alleviate the churning.
They had to be close.
“We have crossed the river!” their guide called out.
Jamie lifted a corner flap and checked their surroundings.
Missy crossed her legs in front of her and rested her elbows on her knees, head in her hands.
When he was certain of their safety, Jamie flung the tarp back and sat up on the bench along the sidewall behind her. He got his legs on either side of her and placed his hands on her shoulders.
She breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Once. Twice.
Jamie gently massaged the muscles at the base of her neck then moved out along her shoulders. “Won’t be long now,” he said and placed a kiss on the top of her head.
On her next deep breath, she leaned back into the V of his legs and let her head rest on his thigh.
Her dad had helped those people. Her mom and dad had been one of them, once. They’d hidden from Martinez, had wanted peace instead of the fight. She’d scorned him, when she’d only been ignorant. She’d wanted to get out there and fight, and he’d wanted to keep her safe.
But he had been working, fighting Martinez’s grip all along. She’d just been too young to see it.
A tear slipped from her eye, and she wiped it away.
Bygones didn’t have to be regret. They’d loved each other.
In the end, that’s what had mattered most. It’s what she remembered.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The crowd gave a cheer and roared to life with excitement as Martinez stepped out onto the balcony and raised his hands in greeting.
Antonio’s spot inside the doorway gave him the perfect bird’s eye view, allowing him to see the guards that circled the crowd. Nothing was exactly as it seemed. Ever. If the crowd needed encouragement, the guards would give it. Most in the crowd were afraid.
But the election was a week away, and he was no closer to finding those photos.
He needed to go back to his mother’s house and ask her again. She had to know. She was the only one with access to Diego’s work, his papers, his life from that time.
When his brother had discovered Marguerite’s youthful ambitions, he’d made plans to lock his daughter away, so Martinez couldn’t get to her. He’d taken those photos.
His niece had been angry, unforgiving.
He’d barely spoken to his brother in those last days. Diego had called him, but Antonio had been too young to sympathize. At the time, all he’d wanted was to escape and go to the United States. He could have done it.
Until Diego and Marguerite were killed…or so he’d thought.
Antonio rubbed at the back of his neck.
Martinez spoke of loyalty. Trust. Brotherhood.
Patriotism.
All things Antonio held dear.
Their leader sounded benevolent.
But he knew the truth.
Antonio stepped back as Martinez came through the doorway, agitation in his gait, in the way he held his shoulders. His shiny black shoes clipped sharply at the tile floor. He made it as far as the door before he whipped back. “Follow me,” he demanded, his gaze on Antonio.
Antonio nodded, hurrying his pace to keep up.
Through the residential wing and into the administration wing, and then down the stairs to security. His own office was down here, with a few others. Some managed the running of the household, one handled the farming communities, tracking each family and village from here to the coast, and then security. Beyond his wing and around the corner were the cells, which held anywhere from juvenile delinquents to political prisoners.
“You have failed to bring me Marguerite.”
Antonio gave a slight nod. “She has slipped through my fingers, yes.”
Martinez’s gaze didn’t waver. “Perhaps. This woman will help. If she refuses, kill her.”
With a frown, Antonio took the few steps around Martinez. With one glance, he fell short. The dirty, dim bulb, hanging from the ceiling above his mother revealed her small stature tied to a chair. Dirt covered her hair. A bruise marred her neck.
She’d fought, and they’d restrained. He recognized the marks, had made them on others.
“She is nothing but an old woman,” he said, his heart pounding as he played at disregarding his mother…in a cell…in Martinez’s security wing.
“She is Marguerite’s grandmother. She will help or she will die.” Martinez shot him a look. “You will take care of it, and you will bring her to me. Or you will die.”
Antonio’s calm cracked, his fists clenched. Damn that girl, damn Jamie. “She will be here by the end of the day,” he stated.
“She better be.” He strode out.
Antonio was alone with his mother.
He crossed to the cell door and nodded to the guard, who opened it for him.
The cuffs at her back dug into her frail skin. He removed the cold metal, brought her hands up, and gently rubbed at the marks on her wrist.
She scowled up at him and jerked her hands from his. “So, you will kill me?”
He didn’t bother responding. She knew he wasn’t going to kill her. “You should give me the photos.”
She lifted her hands as if to say she had no idea where they were.
A flash of anger exploded in his brain. “This will put a stop to him. Think! You had all of Diego’s papers, his will, his personal effects…when he died, you were the only one left except for Marguerite, who was too young.”
Hesitating now, his mother sighed. “He did not leave those photos with me. I promise.”
“Then where?” Frustration ate at him. To be this close. He ran a hand through his thinning hair and paced the short length of the wall in front of his mom.
“Have you looked at the old house?”
Antonio whirled back and stared at his mother. “What house?”
“Diego’s.”
His brain short-circuited. “You mean it survived all these years?”
“He wanted Marguerite to have it.”
Antonio took a deep, slow breath and let it out even more slowly. His patience was running out. “Where is Marguerite?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must know! She was last at your place, was seen leaving your house yesterday.”
“She left with her Jamie. I do not know where they were headed. They did not tell me.” Her brow rose. “I am just an old woman.”
Antonio growled, pointed his finger at his mother, then made a fist and stuffed it into his pocket. “I will be back. And we will have another chat. You will be forthcoming about where Marguerite is.”
“If you have the photos, you do not need Marguerite.”
“I do not have the photos. She is the only eye-witness to Martinez’s crime twelve years ago.”
“He has committed plenty of crimes since then.”
“His attempted murder of the governor will be the nail in his coffin. Either those photos or Marguerite will bring justice for what happened. Everything since then has been inconsequential. He covers his tracks. He uses other people.”
“You put too much burden on your niece.”
“She can handle it. She will.”
His mother remained silent.
Antonio left her in the cell. He had no choice, not with the guard so close by. He could not allow anyone to know of the preferential treatment being doled out for one old woman.
When he walked by the office space opposite his own, he waved Juan over. “I need a car.”
“Anything.” Juan answered, his loyalty never faltering.
“I need to take a drive to the south side of town. Will you keep an eye on the old woman in the cell? Don’t let the new guard get too excited.”
“Of course.” Juan was used to him taking humane measures within security.
People considered him fair. He couldn’t always help when duty pressed. But he made very sure, the greater good made the extremes worth it. Today, he was having a hard time justifying his actions for the greater good.
&
nbsp; Today, he knew the end had to be near, because his country, his family, his very soul was at risk.
***
Jamie jumped out of the Jeep as it pulled to a stop in front of the terminal building at the airfield. An airfield, nonetheless, the place lacked any polish or finish of a true airport. The plane at the end of the runway was the only real nod to it being a place where people would go to catch a flight out of this area.
Missy stood in the back of the vehicle, swayed, and grabbed onto the roll bar above her head. Jamie clasped her at the waist and helped her over the side.
An old pick-up truck was parked around to the left. The entire building backed up to the side of a mountain. Great as far as defenses went. The runway could have been a road, a very short road, the length of about two football fields. Probably the only flat ground within a thirty mile radius. The airfield and building together were literally carved into the mountain.
“This is some place, huh?” He’d miss the beach, miss the water, living in a place so landlocked, but there were pluses here, too. “Jose.” he turned back to their driver. “Gracias.”
The young man grinned from his seat and, without a word, drove off.
The dingy glass door at the front of the building opened as they approached, and Bobby grinned at them. “You made it. I hope this means you are ready to head back to Belize.”
Jamie breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of his teammate.
“No,” Missy answered for them both. “Still not leaving, Bobby.”
Bobby rolled his eyes. “How unfortunate.”
“Tom,” Jamie grinned as he came through the door.
The tall man grabbed him up in a bear hug, lifting him from the ground.
“What happened to you?” Jamie said. “Old man.”
Tom’s hair had turned gray, his face lined with crows feet at his eyes and chiseled grooves bracketing his smile. Even his eyes had faded from the blue to a subtle gray.
“You remember Missy?” Jamie introduced, putting a hand on her shoulder.