Dead Man's Land

by Jack Patterson

  Cal hunched low to the ground as he hustled toward it. He opened the door and went inside.

  Standing upright, Cal jumped back a few feet when he came face-to-face with a dark, shadowy man.

  “Cal?” Prado asked.

  “Vicente? What are you doing in here?” he whispered.

  “I thought I would try to find us some tools, perhaps a weapon in case we were confronted by those men again.”

  Cal shook his head. “If they have guns, it won’t matter what we’ve got.”

  “What about this?” Prado said, holding up an iron structure.

  “A bear trap? How is that gonna help?”

  Prado shrugged. “Just an idea.”

  “The best idea is for us to stay quiet and out of sight until my wife comes and picks us up.”

  “When is she going to be here?”

  “Not much longer. Maybe another couple of hours or so. It depends on how fast she drives.”

  “What about the police?” Prado asked. “Won’t they come look for us?”

  “Maybe, but they wouldn’t have any idea that we would be this far from the original point where the kidnappers tried to abduct us. I’m afraid we’re on our own until she arrives.”

  Prado sat down on a bench in the corner of the building. “Do you think we’re going to make it without getting caught?”

  “You never know, but if I were a betting man, I’d bet on your chances. You didn’t end up here by accident, did you?”

  Prado shook his head. “This is where I’ve wanted to be for a long time.”

  “Hiding in a shed in the Umatilla National Forest?” Cal cracked a small smile.

  Prado chuckled. “No, in the United States, playing baseball against the best players in the world. I’d be in a dream if the rest of my family were here with me.”

  “It seems like we all make sacrifices to chase our dreams.”

  Prado nodded. “But does that make our dreams worth the sacrifice?”

  “Depends on what you’re sacrificing. If you sacrifice for a short period of time with the idea that the future will be different—and better, it makes it worth it. If it’s a lifetime of sacrifice and you miss out on what’s most important in life, then it doesn’t make it worth it. No sacrifice amounts to anything if it’s only for you. True sacrifice considers others as well—and it must benefit them. Otherwise, you’re just a selfish bastard.”

  “I’m doing this for my little girl—and myself.” He paused. “And for Liliana, if she’ll come.”

  “Who’s Liliana?”

  “The woman I love. But she doesn’t exactly love me right now.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “How do you say it here? It’s complicated?”

  Cal snickered. “That’s one way people put it.”

  “I wasn’t always good to her, but I’m trying to win her trust back.”

  Cal’s eyes bulged as he stared at Prado’s shoulder. “Don’t move,” Cal said, reaching out toward Prado.

  Prado didn’t listen. Instead, he slowly turned his head and looked down, letting out a loud shriek at the sight of a spider the size of a golf ball inching along his shoulder. He vigorously brushed it off his shoulder and screamed again. “Get it off me!”

  Cal heard the door to the house slam and caught a glimpse of the old man storming toward them—with his shotgun.

  “Get down now. We need to hide.”

  Cal and Prado scurried into a corner and hid behind a 55-gallon drum brimming with wood scraps. Cal listened as the old man stomped around the woods before finally opening the door and stepping inside.

  “If you punks are in here, you better step out now before I fill you full of buckshot,” he grumbled.

  Cal held his breath and prayed the old man didn’t inspect the workshop closely.

  After a few moments, the door slammed behind him as he headed up the incline back toward his house. Cal rose up slowly and watched the old man disappear inside.

  “Okay, it’s safe to get up now,” he said to Prado. “But we’ve gotta get outta here now.”

  Cal suggested they wait a few moments to make sure the old man wasn’t watching out of his back window. Satisfied that he wasn’t, Cal opened the door just enough so they could slip out and return to the trail. They both raced down the hill and continued hiking toward the rendezvous point Cal had set up with Kelly.

  After a few minutes, Prado broke the silence.

  “Is your life always filled with so much adventure when you are a reporter?” he asked.

  Cal laughed. “Most days I have boring conversations with highly paid athletes and then write about it so other people can escape from their boring lives by reading about them.”

  Prado shook his head. “There’s that much interest in professional baseball here?”

  “There’s that much interest in anybody who makes more money than most people do—athletes, actors, politicians, CEOs. That’s what we do in my business—we write about powerful, important or rich people for the unempowered, unimportant and not-so-rich people.”

  “And you enjoy this?”

  “Most days. Then there are days I really enjoy it, like today, when I get to run around in the woods and escape kidnappers with a Cuban baseball player.” He winked at Prado.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying this. I’m terrified.”

  “Don’t worry. This is America. People don’t just snatch you and take you away without law enforcement trying to help you out.” He paused. “Most of the time, you don’t get ignored.”

  “Sometimes they do?”

  “Don’t worry about that. You’re a professional baseball player. They’re going to do everything to make sure you’re safe.”

  Cal gestured for Prado to veer off the trail and head toward the main road. They eased closer to the road before Cal identified an inconspicuous spot to hide and still keep an eye on the road.

  After a long period of silence, Prado spoke.

  “What time is your wife going to be here?”

  “I think it was about a six-hour trip for her. She should be here soon. But I have no clock, so I can’t be sure.”

  A few more minutes went by before Cal heard the sound of an approaching car. He sat up and strained to see through the vegetation. He slapped Prado on his bicep with the back of his hand. “I think that’s her.”

  A forest green Subaru Outback was the vehicle of choice for Cal and Kelly. As soon as Cal saw it, he relaxed. “Gotta be her. Get up.”

  Prado jumped to his feet and walked toward the road behind Cal. “What are we going to do next?”

  “We’re going to get in that car and you’re going to come back with me to Seattle. We’re going to get you cleaned up, let you rest, tell the Seafarers’ front office where you are, and hopefully get everything back on track to the point where we can get Isabel and Liliana over here, if that’s even possible.”

  Prado smiled. “It’s possible. What I’ve learned in America so far is that anything is possible if you have enough money.”

  Cal shook his head and grinned. “You’re a fast learner, Vicente. I think you nailed wealthy American culture with that observation.”

  “Other people don’t know this?”

  “Everyone knows this, but they stick their heads in the sand when confronted with this truth.”

  The car neared their location and Cal slipped out to the road and waved, flagging it down.

  “Over here, Kelly,” he said.

  The sun had risen above the trees and cast a glare on the Subaru Outback coming from a westerly direction. The car hit the brakes as it pulled over onto the shoulder.

  Cal raced toward the driver’s side to give Kelly a hug. But then he realized something was wrong—very wrong. Kelly wasn’t driving the car. In fact, she was nowhere to be seen. Inside the car were two men.

  One of the men opened the driver’s side door and climbed out, his imposing figure casting a large shadow behind him in the early morning light.

 
Cal stared at the man, almost frozen with fear.

  He turned toward Prado. “Run, Vicente! Run!”

  CHAPTER 14

  WALLER AND HAMPTON EXITED their car and realized that the men in front of them weren’t going to submit willingly. Waller drew his gun and took off after them. He glanced over his shoulder at Hampton, who joined him in the race to catch the two runners.

  “I’ve got the one on the left,” Waller said.

  “Roger that,” Hampton answered.

  The two fugitives scrambled down the hill and split. Waller stayed with his target, who was their intended target all along. It was evident by his speed and agility as he maneuvered through the brambles in the woods with ease. With each step, he created even greater distance between them.

  After several hundred yards of sprinting after the Cuban player, Waller realized he was never going to catch him. He stopped and watched him run.

  He can’t run forever.

  A few seconds later, he watched as Hampton pursued the journalist along a parallel track in the woods. He’d looped around and was following the same path as the baseball player.

  Waller wondered why they were running. He finally stood up and yelled, “Freeze! We’re FBI!”

  The journalist froze and then yelled into the woods in Spanish, something that Waller didn’t understand. Waller watched in awe as the player stopped running and returned toward their position. A few moments later, they reached Waller, who was now reclining against a tree, his weapon holstered.

  “That’s a first for me,” Waller said.

  “What?” asked the journalist.

  “Having someone actually stop running after I identified myself.”

  “I wish you’d done that earlier.” The journalist offered his hand. “Cal Murphy, The Seattle Times.”

  “Gus Waller, FBI, and this is Bill Hampton.”

  “Sorry,” Cal said. “We thought you were someone else. It’s been quite an eventful past ten hours or so for us.”

  “So I understand,” Waller said. “We’re not here to arrest you guys—just protect you and ask you a few questions about the incident earlier this morning along with a few other things.”

  Cal looked at Prado and nodded. “This is Vicente Prado. I think he might be able to shed more light on this situation than I can.”

  Waller started by asking a question to him directly, very loudly, and in simple English. “Do you know why the men came after you?”

  Prado cocked his head to one side. “Is there a reason you’re yelling at me?”

  Taken aback, Waller looked toward Cal. “Why didn’t you tell me he spoke English?”

  Cal laughed. “I thought you were the investigators. You’d figure it out eventually.”

  “Anything else we need to be aware of before we continue to question Mr. Prado?”

  “Hmmm.” Cal stared into the trees for a few seconds. “He hates lizards and spiders. Other than that, I think you’re plenty competent at finding out all you need to know from Mr. Prado.”

  “Let’s walk back toward the car and we can finish our conversation there,” Waller said.

  A few minutes passed as they trekked down the path toward their vehicle.

  Once they reached the agents’ car, another vehicle roared toward them.

  “Must be my wife,” Cal said as he stared down the road at the approaching car. “Yep. That’s her.”

  A few seconds later, the car pulled to a stop next to them. Kelly exited the car slowly, her head on a swivel surveying the situation. “Is everything all right?” she asked.

  Cal motioned for her to return to the car. “Everything’s fine, honey. Just give me a second.”

  “Okay,” she said and went back to her Outback Subaru.

  “Vicente, you can trust these guys. They’re FBI. They’re not going to hurt you. They’ll help you get back with your team. You can speak freely with them. Understand?”

  Prado nodded. “I understand.”

  “Good,” Cal said. “Am I free to go?”

  Waller nodded. “Have a nice trip back to Seattle. Sorry for the confusion earlier.”

  “No worries,” Cal said. He started walking toward his car.

  “Wait a minute,” Waller called after him. “I need to give you something.”

  Cal stopped and turned around. “What is it?”

  “My card,” Waller said, handing Cal his business card. “We need to get a statement from you at some point about the men who tried to abduct you.”

  Cal shook his head. “I know as much as you do. I spent the better part of the night trying to avoid them, not trying to get a good look at their faces. I’m not sure what they wanted with Prado, but I know it wasn’t on the up-and-up.”

  Waller nodded and smiled. “Very well then. Just give us a call if you think of something.”

  Cal waved and then turned, disappearing into his car.

  Waller watched as it spun around in a U-turn and returned in the direction from which it came. He waited until the car was completely out of view before turning his attention to Prado.

  “Thank you for complying with us, Mr. Prado,” Waller said as he gestured for the man they’d apprehended to get into the backseat of their car. “We just have a few questions for you.”

  Prado opened the door and slid across the bench in the backseat. “Questions about what? The men who tried to kill us?”

  Waller smiled and wagged his finger. “Oh, no. Not about them. I’m more interested in what you saw before you left Cuba—and why the Cuban government would come after you.”

  Waller watched the lump in Prado’s throat move slowly downward. But Prado said nothing.

  “Playing dumb will get you nowhere, Mr. Prado. We need the truth—and we need it now.” He paused. “Or else we have other ways of extracting it from you.”

  Waller smiled at the uneasiness of Prado.

  He was just getting started.

  CHAPTER 15

  VICENTE PRADO’S EYES WIDENED as he stared at the FBI agent in front of him. The kind demeanor disappeared when his new journalist friend disappeared down the road. It felt strangely familiar yet equally uncomfortable. He glanced around to see if anyone else was there to corroborate how he perceived he was being treated.

  He was all alone. No Cal Murphy. No witnesses. Just a slew of questions.

  “I don’t understand,” Prado said. “Someone attacked me. I didn’t do anything. Why are you questioning me?”

  “Get out of the car,” Waller said.

  Prado obeyed Waller’s instructions, pleading his innocence the entire time. “I don’t understand. I was on a bus with my team when two men stopped us and tried to climb aboard and kill me. I didn’t do anything. I just play baseball.”

  Waller took a deep breath and glared at Prado.

  “I understand that you just play baseball, Mr. Prado. But it’s come to the FBI’s attention that you’ve seen something—something that has attracted the attention of the Cuban government, so much so that they would send someone here to kidnap you and take you back to Havana.”

  “I swear I saw nothing.”

  Hampton grabbed Prado’s arm and slapped a handcuff on him. He grabbed the other arm and tightened the handcuff onto him.

  “What are you doing?” Prado asked. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I doubt you have,” Waller said. “But until you tell us what you saw that necessitated your former country’s government sending two men to brazenly attack your team bus in the middle of the night to capture you, you’re not going anywhere.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Waller shoved Prado against his car and leaned in close. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know you’re smarter than that. We can play this game all day—me asking questions and you playing dumb. But I will grow tired of it, and I’ll take you back to headquarters. And I can promise you that it will be far less pleasant there than here.”

  “I’m not lying,” Prado said. “I d
idn’t see anything. I don’t know why those men are after me.”

  “Who are they?”

  Prado shrugged, his voice rising an octave after each question. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

  “Is that so?”

  Prado nodded. “I just came here to play baseball—that’s all. I’m not here to cause any trouble.”

  Hampton put his hand on Waller’s chest. “Hey, lighten up, Waller. Let me ask him a few questions.”

  Waller put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “See what you can do. I’m getting nowhere with him.”

  Hampton looked at Prado and furrowed his brow sympathetically. Prado dropped his guard for a moment.

  “Never mind, Waller,” Hampton said. “He’s a little grumpy when he doesn’t get a good night’s rest.”

  Prado nodded.

  “So, tell me. Are you sure you don’t know the men who stopped your team bus in the middle of the night?”

  Prado nodded again and artfully dodged the question. “It was dark. I couldn’t see their faces.”

  “Okay. Now, according to reports we got, you jumped out of the window almost the minute they came on board. Why did you do that, especially if you didn’t know who they were?”

  Prado shrugged. “Instinct, perhaps. Have you ever lived in Cuba?”

  Hampton shook his head. “It’s not on my bucket list, though I do like Cuban cigars.”

  Prado forced a smile. “They’re the best.”

  “What kind of things did you endure in Cuba that would make you have the instinct to leap off a bus the second it was boarded?”

  “I’ve seen people arrested for nothing,” Prado said. “When you grow up in a place like that, it makes you nervous, maybe even act crazy at times.”

  “But why would you think they would even be after you?”

  Prado sighed. “Like I said, instinct. When you see people snatched from their lives due to the whims of the government, you become a little suspect of people. Maybe even distrusting.”

  “Yet you don’t trust us?” Hampton asked.

  “I don’t know you, although the only interaction I’ve had with American police officers has been friendly.”