However, this pitch was a mistake, left up in the strike zone and over home plate. Prado smashed the ball, sending it screaming off the fence in center field.
Prado ran it out, sprinting down the first-base line and then turning toward second. He slid head first into second.
Drummond laughed. “Why’d you slide?” he shouted. “In case you haven’t noticed, no one was going to throw you out.”
“I always slide,” Prado shouted back. “There are no do-overs in baseball—just more opportunities to do it right the next time.”
Prado then jogged back toward Drummond and Munoz.
Guerrero hurled a few more nasty pitches that continued to arrest Drummond’s attention.
“What an arm,” Drummond said.
“So, what do you think you can get for him?”
Drummond shrugged. “Hard to say right now without a full evaluation, but I think I can get this kid a signing bonus in the neighborhood of one to two million dollars—and maybe a three- to four-year deal.”
“And I get twenty percent as long as he’s in the big leagues?”
“Without a doubt. I even brought a contract for you.” Drummond reached down and pulled a folder out of his briefcase and handed it to Munoz. “All the terms we discussed are listed in there.”
“Got a pen?” Munoz said, holding his hand out. “I’m not letting you leave with him without signing a contract.”
“Wise choice,” Drummond said. “Though I’d never try to pull a fast one on you, there are agents who would.”
Prado edged closer as the two continued to talk. He waited until there was a short break in the conversation.
“Think you have room on that plane for me?” Prado asked.
“Maybe—for the right price,” Drummond said.
“I’ll pay whatever it cost.”
“I doubt that, but I might be able to rework your deal with Colorado to reflect that—that is if you ever make it to the Major Leagues.” Drummond paused and tapped his lips with his right forefinger. “On second thought, never mind. I’ll just take you. I’ll probably lose money, but who cares, right? It’s just money.”
“Not so fast,” Munoz said. “I might have plans for him.”
Drummond threw his hands in the air in surrender. “You’re the boss, man. Whatever you want.”
They all loaded up in an SUV and drove back toward the main compound. Prado stared out the window, dreaming that he’d soon be out of Mexico and hopefully back in the U.S. playing baseball. But it seemed like a pipe dream at this point.
He then looked down the road and noticed Cal Murphy running toward Drummond’s plane. He looked frantic and appeared to be screaming at the pilot standing at the bottom of the plane’s stairs.
The SUV skidded to a halt just beyond the jet’s wingspan. Munoz jumped out first and hustled toward Cal and the pilot. Another guard arrived just as Munoz was walking up to the heated conversation.
“What are you doing?” Munoz said, looking at Cal.
Prado crept up to eavesdrop on the rest of the situation.
“I’ve spoken with him several times,” Cal pleaded. “If I only had a minute with him, he might be more willing to take us home and get us out of your hair.”
“Out of my hair? Out of my hair?” Munoz said. “You’re not in my hair—you’re in my comfort suites. But you’re not free to go whenever you please. You’ve seen more than people are allowed to see of this estate. Consider yourself fortunate—and be happy that you get to stay here with us as our honored guests.”
“Well, this honored guest would like to go home now, preferably with Dusty Drummond. Why don’t you let him decide if he’d like to take us?”
Munoz stamped his foot on the ground. “Because I’m in charge around here. I make the rules. And if I say, ‘You’re staying,’ you will stay. I don’t care what anyone says or suggests.”
One of the nearby guards grabbed Cal by the arm and led him to a golf cart and proceeded to drive him back to his room in the compound.
“Sorry about that guy,” Munoz said. “He’s a little persistent sometimes.”
“He’s a journalist.” Drummond shrugged. “It was all a moot point anyway since I don’t have room for anyone else on this flight.”
“Not even me?” Prado asked.
Drummond shook his head. “I didn’t mean to give you false hope. The pilot just gave me word that we’ll be at our max weight with just one extra person—but I’m sure our paths will cross again.”
“For your sake, it’s best they don’t,” Prado said.
Drummond’s eyes narrowed and he looked like he was ready for a fight. “Is that a threat?”
“No, it’s a promise,” Prado said.
Drummond walked toward the plane. He stopped and spun, aiming a finger at Prado. “I’m gonna make your life hell if you somehow ever manage to make it to the big leagues. You can count on it.”
“I look forward to you trying,” Prado snapped.
A few minutes later, Prado leaned on his bat as he watched Drummond fly off with Guerrero.
He was alone again—but now he was more determined than ever.
CHAPTER 50
TORRES WATCHED ORTEGA PACE around the room, bracing for the moment when his partner finally exploded. If Las Vegas had odds on this, he placed the over-under at one hour. Torres looked at his watch—it’d been forty-five minutes since Ortega started to simmer.
“Will you just take a seat and calm down? It’s going to be all right,” Torres said.
“All right? All right?” Ortega said, throwing his hands in the air. “Are you aware of what’s going on out there?”
“Please enlighten me since you have super hearing and X-ray vision.”
“I’m not joking about this.”
“Neither am I since you must have these things to know what’s going on just beyond these walls.”
Ortega exhaled and glared at Torres. “I’m having a really hard time with this right now. I’m always here for you, always up for adventure. But I’ve got a bad feeling about what’s about to go down.”
“Where was that feeling when Louie Goretti decided to screw me over? Huh? Why didn’t you say anything about it then?”
Ortega threw his hands in the air. “It comes and goes as it pleases. It’s not subject to me.”
“How convenient,” Torres snapped.
“I’m not making this stuff up. Look, just hang out up here by this window and strain to listen. The guards out there talk to one another. And they’re likely unaware anyone can hear them.”
Torres let out a sigh and climbed up on Ortega’s cot. He grabbed ahold of the bars and pulled himself up to it. He took in the view of the coast again before looking down for Munoz’s guards prowling around the premises. For about thirty seconds, he held himself up before he saw two guards—one from each direction—walking toward the outside of his room. Neither seemed to notice him.
“Anything happening?” the first guard asked.
“Nah. Just another boring day.”
“Well, it’s far from boring.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you didn’t hear what’s going down? We’re going to swap the Cuban player for Victor Vegas.”
“You’ve got to be making this up.”
“I swear on my grandmother’s grave that it’s true. Vegas will be back with us once we trade the American feds this worthless baseball player. Easy deal to make.”
Torres slid slowly down the wall, his mouth agape. He waited until he heard their footsteps disappear before he said a word.
“Was I right?” Ortega asked.
Torres nodded.
“About what?”
“Everything,” Torres said slowly. “They’re going to trade Prado for the assassin, Victor Vegas.”
“And us?”
“Just pray that we live through the night.”
CHAPTER 51
WALLER CONSIDERED SPIKING HIS COFFEE with something, anything to stre
ngthen his morning elixir. After spending the first half hour of his day getting yelled at by his supervisor, he figured the only way the day could go was up. But he wasn’t too confident based on how everything else had gone sideways over the past few weeks.
“Well if it isn’t my favorite screw up,” Simon Berkshire said as he approached Waller’s desk. “I hear there are search warrants out for the arrest of Big Bird and Oscar the Grouch. Do you and Hampton think you can handle it?”
Waller raised his middle finger at Berkshire and declined to respond any other way.
Hampton, who had a doctor’s appointment earlier that morning, sauntered into the office and took a seat at his desk across from Waller’s.
“Nice of you to finally show up,” Waller said.
“Your meeting went that well, huh?” Hampton said.
“I could’ve used you in there—anyone to deflect the eyes that bore a hole in me the entire time I was in there.”
“I wish I could’ve been there,” Hampton said. He paused before continuing. “No, seriously, I’m glad I wasn’t. Who would wish to be in such a meeting? We did the best we could with what we were given each time out. The department is the one that underestimated what we were up against—not us. It’s not our fault. If I hear people challenging how we responded, I’m going to tune them out. We did a great job, given the circumstances.”
“That’s not how everyone else sees it.”
“Screw them. They wouldn’t have fared any better if they were placed in the same situation. I’m proud of how we handled it.”
“You wouldn’t have been if you heard what I had to hear this morning.”
Hampton rolled his eyes. “Just shake it off.” He started clicking his mouse on his computer. “I just sent you a great video to inspire you to take my advice.”
Waller heard his email ding, alerting him that a new email had just arrived.
“A Taylor Swift video, Hampton? Really?”
“So it’s aimed at the teeny-bopper market. Just watch it and tell me what you think.”
“How’d you find out about this video? This isn’t your style.”
“My daughter is fourteen, Waller. Fourteen! I see loads of this crap all the time.”
“Well, you’re right about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s crap, all right.”
Waller’s desk phone buzzed. He looked at the number on the screen and didn’t recognize it at first. But then he saw the area code.
“I gotta take this,” Waller said.
He answered the phone. “This is Waller.”
“Waller, this is James Giles from DHS. We received a call this morning from Fabian Munoz, the infamous Mexican drug cartel leader. He warned us you might know about a certain someone, Vincente Prado, we’re interested in questioning.”
Waller laughed but said nothing. “Why don’t you nab him yourself? I’m tired of doing all of DHS’s bidding.”
“This might be funny to you—but it’s no laughing matter,” Giles said. “This is serious. We’ve got to stop Munoz.”
“Okay, I’ll play along,” Waller shot back. “What do you need from us?”
“It’s very simple, really. We need you to handle the transfer of five prisoners Munoz is willing to give us for Victor Vegas.”
Waller froze and didn’t open his mouth for several moments. “Victor Vegas?” he stammered.
“The one and only.”
“You’re going to just let him walk out of prison after all the people he killed? Dozens of people worked hard to put him behind bars—it even cost some people their lives. I can’t believe this.”
“He won’t attempt such a thing again, believe me.”
Waller sighed. “What makes you so sure?”
“You just have to trust us on this one. Time is of the essence in questioning Prado right now.”
“I wish I could believe you, but this is ridiculous. You’re giving up a fugitive who was finally sentenced to life in prison after a nationwide manhunt that lasted more than three years. Prado better be worth all this.”
“If we don’t talk with Prado soon, Vegas’ killing spree is going to look like a misdemeanor compared to what could happen,” Giles said. “Just don’t screw this up, okay? We need to question him before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“I’m afraid that’s over your clearance level,” Giles said. “Just oversee this simple transaction and we’ll get out of your hair.”
Waller let out a long breath and rubbed his face with both hands. “We’ll do our best.”
“Thanks. Check your inbox,” Giles said. “Directions on what to do are forthcoming.”
Waller hung up and started clicking on the agency’s server. He wanted more background on Fabian Munoz. Based on what he’d heard through the grapevine, the drug cartel leader was ruthless. He killed a kindergarten teacher who gave his grandson a failing grade for a painting he did. He hung the heads of beheaded enemies from ropes over nearby highway overpasses. Nothing seemed beneath him.
Several minutes later, his inbox dinged with a message from Giles. Everything he’d said seemed true. The Department of Homeland Security was going to release Victor Vegas for Prado and four other prisoners.
CHAPTER 52
THE NEXT MORNING, CAL TOOK a seat on Munoz’s private jet next to Kelly. Prado was onboard too, along with Torres and Ortega. Two other armed guards sat with them, eyeing their every move.
Outside his window, Cal could see the sun peeking over the horizon. He was relieved he was finally leaving Munoz’s compound, but he had no idea where he was going—or if he was getting any closer to getting home.
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?” Cal said. “This is ridiculous.”
“Would you rather me just shoot you and get it over with?” one of the guards said.
Cal then felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Torres.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” Torres whispered. “They’re going to hand us over to the feds in exchange for their top assassin.”
“What? Why would they do that?”
“I don’t know, but there’s something your baseball friend isn’t telling you—and the feds want to know what it is.”
“How do you know all this?”
“A couple of gossipy guards stationed outside my window.”
Cal waited for a moment and then motioned for Torres to lean forward.
“What is it boss?” Torres whispered.
“How far are you willing to go to escape?” Cal asked.
“As far as it takes.”
Cal nodded. He then glanced at Prado, who was seated next to the window on the other side of the plane. Prado hung his head and looked down as he fidgeted with his hands. Cal wanted to talk with Prado, but it’d have to wait. With so much changing so fast, he hoped he could have a frank conversation before it was too late.
***
A LITTLE OVER FOUR HOURS LATER, they landed.
“Welcome to Matamoros,” the guard said. “Your journey will be over soon enough.”
“And a killer will soon be free,” Torres whispered to Cal.
Though Cal had never been to Matamoros, he’d read stories about the drug-related violence that had occurred there in recent years. It didn’t have many other claims to fame aside from being a Mexican border town separated from the Texas city of Brownsville by the Rio Grande River. The border patrol routinely made busts there with some of the more gruesome stories finding their way to the national news.
Kelly grabbed Cal’s hand and squeezed. He kissed her on the head and whispered, “We need to escape and we’re going to need your help to do it. Are you up for it?”
She nodded and didn’t look up at him.
The guard in the plane cabin trained his weapon on the group as they filed off the plane. Outside, another armed guard awaited them, and he directed them toward a dinged-up truck. He instructed them to all get in the truc
k bed. Once they were all in, he climbed in the back with them. The other gunman sat up front with the driver.
They rocked back as the vehicle accelerated quickly and peeled off the tarmac and onto a road just outside the Matamoros airport. In a matter of seconds, they were zipping through the streets, avoiding potholes and pedestrians.
Cal took a deep breath and inhaled the mixture of diesel fumes and garbage overwhelming his senses.
He saw a sign that said they were 10 kilometers from downtown Matamoros. That meant they didn’t have much time to figure out a way to stop the truck and escape before they arrived at the border.
“You think you can get Torres something to subdue the guard with?” he whispered in Kelly’s ear.
“Like what?”
“A metal rod, perhaps?”
She smiled. “I know exactly where I can get one.”
A few minutes later, they turned off the main highway and started navigating some of the surface streets.
Kelly then doubled over, clutched her stomach and started to wail. “You’ve gotta stop,” she said. “I’m about to explode.”
“We don’t have time,” the guard said tapping his watch.
“I’ll make a scene if you don’t do something about it.”
He didn’t budge, so she then started to scream at the top of her lungs and wave her arms.
The guard put his hand out. “Okay, okay. Just give me a second.”
When the truck stopped at a traffic light, the guard tapped on the cab window and told the driver they need to pull over so Kelly could use the restroom.
The driver argued for a few moments and threw up his hands before relenting. He pulled into a gas station and the guard in the cab got out and followed Kelly. A minute later, she emerged from the bathroom and picked up her pace at the guard’s behest.
The guard helped Kelly back into the truck before returning to the cab. The guard slapped the side of the truck and the vehicle returned to the road.
Cal felt Kelly place a metal object in his hand behind their backs.
“From the toilet?” Cal whispered.
She nodded.
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