Dead Man's Land

by Jack Patterson

“Good work.”

  Discreetly, he handed the rod to Torres and gave him a knowing look.

  As the truck started to slow down as it approached a traffic light, Torres dashed toward the guard and maneuvered behind him. He slipped the metal rod around the guard’s neck. In a panic, the guard dropped his gun, which Ortega snatched up.

  Prado looked on, mouth agape. Cal never had a chance to apprise him of their plan, but he was confident Prado would figure out what he was supposed to do.

  Cal grabbed the guard’s cell phone and returned to his spot.

  With their backs up against the cab window, Cal, Kelly and Prado blocked the driver and guard’s view into the back of the truck. The traffic light turned green and the truck began moving forward.

  “Do it now!” Cal said.

  Torres slammed the guard’s head against the side wall of the truck bed, knocking him out.

  “Everybody move,” Cal said.

  They all darted out of the truck and raced for cover. Cal heard the truck stop but he didn’t turn back to see what was going on. Eluding captivity was the first thing they needed to do, but they still had to set the rest of their plan in motion.

  They all planted their backs against the wall of a building in a tight alleyway. Since he had the gun, Ortega positioned himself closest to the corner.

  “See anything?” Cal asked.

  “No,” Ortega said. “The truck is parked in the middle of the road and both doors are open, but I don’t see anyone.”

  Cal started punching in numbers on the cell phone before he realized he couldn’t get a signal. “Guys, we need to go up top.”

  “Good idea,” Ortega said hurriedly. “The other guard just came out of a store and he’s walking right toward us.”

  Cal hustled toward the back of the building and found a ladder leading to the roof only three stories above them.

  “You gotta move faster than that,” Torres said.

  Cal reached the top and then spun around to offer his hand to help, starting with Kelly, as they ascended the ladder. Once everyone was safely on the roof, they turned around and froze.

  Click.

  “Not as clever as you think?” The driver of the truck stood a few feet away. “Up here, Carlos.”

  A few moments later, the other guard scrambled up the ladder and joined them on the rooftop.

  “Well, look here. The gang’s all back together again,” Ortega quipped.

  The guard glared at him. “Keep your mouth shut or we’ll shoot you right now and leave you to die while we take everyone else. The only thing keeping you alive right now is the fact that our boss said it was imperative that we bring you back alive.”

  “So, you’re not going to shoot us?” Ortega asked. He didn’t wait for a reply. In one smooth motion, he rammed the butt of his gun into the guard’s chest before training his weapon on the driver.

  The driver raised his hands.

  “Now, put the gun down nice and slow,” Ortega said.

  Torres grabbed the guard’s gun and pointed it at him. “Stay down.”

  Cal wandered over toward the edge of the rooftop and dialed a number. He needed to speak with his lone friend at the FBI, Tom Corliss.

  “Cal, how are you? I heard about what happened to you in the woods a few weeks ago? Are you okay?” Corliss said.

  Cal didn’t make small talk. “At the moment, I’m not.”

  “Anything I can help you with?”

  “I hope so. It’s a long story, but basically I need you to ensure our safety crossing the border from Mexico into Brownsville, Texas. And I need you to be the one who gets us. There are several other agents on the case—Waller and Hampton.”

  “Out of the Seattle office?”

  “That’s them. I need you to make sure they don’t intercept us because they are going to put Victor Vegas back on the streets in exchange for the person who’s with me.”

  “And who’s with you?”

  “Vicente Prado, the Cuban baseball player.”

  “Well, I’d love to help, Cal, but I’ve got to have a reason to get involved. I can’t just fly down to Brownsville because you need my help—at least not in any official capacity.”

  “What about an unofficial one?”

  “I’m not sure how that would go over either.”

  “Okay, look, tell your boss that I’ve got some information on a human trafficking ring going on down here. That’s one of the crimes you investigate.”

  “Are you telling me the truth or spinning a tale?”

  “What difference does it make? It gives you an excuse to come down here and be a hero.”

  “If I tell my boss that but come back with nothing, it’s going to blow back on me.”

  “Okay, okay, it’s real. And it’s far more sinister than you think. There’s that—and something else I have for you. Just hurry up and get down here.”

  “I’m on my way,” Corliss said. “I’ll be there later this afternoon.”

  CHAPTER 53

  WALLER LOOKED AT HIS WATCH and growled. He wanted to be anywhere but stuck in a stark room all day. This whole case had been a slew of unfortunate events and screw-ups. And frustration over being in the dark about what was really going on. What made this Cuban baseball player so special that Homeland Security would want him so bad? What information could he really have?

  Even after they captured him, Waller doubted Prado would talk. He’d been traumatized more than once—and it never looked like he was doing anything on his own volition. Somebody else was always in charge, a perennial pawn in a game that remained a mystery to Waller.

  Waller shook his head and rubbed his face and glanced at his watch again. “Weren’t they supposed to be here by now?” he asked Hampton.

  Hampton shrugged. “Maybe they got detained. Those lines at the border can be a bear sometimes.”

  “You don’t think they would try to drive over, do you?”

  “I have no idea. I thought they’d walk the bridge and we’d get a call as they arrived so we can exchange Vegas for them. But apparently nothing has happened yet.”

  Waller stood up. “I’m going to the bridge.”

  “What about the exchange?”

  “I’ll come back for Vegas as soon as I see them on U.S. soil. But just sitting here all day is making me crazy.”

  Hampton nodded. “Okay, just call me when something goes down. I’m gonna stay here.”

  Waller headed toward the exit when one of the guys at the front desk got his attention.

  “Weren’t you waiting for a Cal Murphy to come through today?” the man asked.

  Waller walked over to his desk and nodded. “He’s one of five people I’m waiting for, yes. Is he here?”

  “No, but I just got off the phone with an FBI agent from Chicago who told me to hold him if he came through here. You guys really need to get your act together.”

  Waller sneered at the man and walked away. He couldn’t imagine why the bureau would want the reporter—but he knew there was no use in questioning it at this point.

  He wanted some answers from somebody, fast.

  CHAPTER 54

  AFTER TORRES AND ORTEGA tied up and gagged their prisoners on the roof, they cleaned their pockets out, taking all the cash they had on them. Once they descended from the rooftop, Cal suggested they relocate. He recommended they wait for at least an hour before they tried to approach the border crossing.

  “Why wait?” Torres said. “The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

  “I’m sure Munoz has more henchmen at the border crossing. We don’t want to risk it.”

  “Then let’s go to another crossing,” Ortega said. “There’s more than one here, I’m sure.”

  “I’ve got someone set up to meet us at the Fort Brown Border Patrol Station,” Cal said.

  “Hopefully this isn’t another fed,” Torres said.

  “It’s a friend,” Cal answered.

  “What kind of friend?” Ortega asked.

&n
bsp; Cal sighed. “Look, if you want to stay here and spend a few weeks trying to stay alive with Munoz after you all while trying to figure out a way to outsmart border patrol and get back into the country, be my guest. The three of us won’t look back.”

  Torres nodded. “You’ve got a point, one I’ve already considered. Our options are likely probation or death. I opt for the former. Ortega?”

  Ortega exhaled a long breath. “If you say so.”

  “Got any better ideas?”

  Ortega shook his head.

  “We’re coming with you,” Torres said.

  ***

  AN HOUR LATER, Cal, Kelly, and Prado took one cab, while Torres and Ortega hailed another. After they arrived at the Gateway International Bridge, home of the busiest footbridge leading into the area, Cal convened another short meeting.

  “We need to keep our eyes open,” he said. “There are five of us—and who knows how many of them. We’re at a disadvantage because we don’t know what they look like, but we have to make it to the crossing site without being noticed. If we are, the feds are going to release an assassin for us. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want that on my conscience. Agreed?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Great,” Cal continued. “Just stay casual and we’ll be there soon enough. Does everyone have a passport?”

  Prado started to check his pockets, while the rest of the group answered affirmatively. He patted himself down several times.

  “It’s gone,” he said. “My passport is gone. I have to go back. I think it fell out when we were getting out of the truck.”

  “And you think it’s still there?” Torres said. “That’s like a bar of gold on the black market.”

  Cal waved off Torres and kept his gaze on Prado. “We’ll find it. Don’t worry.” Then to Kelly, “Cross the border and we’ll meet you there.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I don’t know, Cal.”

  “Just trust me, okay? We’ll be fine, but I want to make sure you get back to U.S. soil.”

  She sighed. “Fine, but for the record, I don’t like this.”

  “Noted. Now hurry up and cross over.”

  Cal and Prado walked back toward a corner littered with cabs. They hailed one and told the man the name of the intersection where they ditched their attackers. A few minutes later, they were scouring the street for Prado’s passport.

  “So, I’ve gotta know—what did you see that night?” asked Cal, who was stooped over as he searched the ground near where Prado thought his passport might have fallen.

  “I already told everyone everything,” Prado said as he sighed. “It was two guys arguing and then one guy shot the other one.”

  “But why would the Cuban government go to such great lengths to bring you back and question you about it, much less the feds trying to find out the same information? Why could it possibly be that important?”

  Prado shrugged. “Maybe it’s because the man who committed the murder was a U.S. spy.”

  Cal froze. “What did you say?”

  “I think the man was a spy.”

  Cal eyed him cautiously. “And what would give you that impression? Did you know him?”

  Prado nodded. “He helped me learn English. He said his name was Juan Garcia.”

  “Probably an alias if he was a spy. How well did you know him?”

  “Not that well. I know he worked on a big construction project near the quarry. He was supposedly a Spanish architect and was assisting Cuban officials with it.”

  “What kind of project?” Cal asked.

  “No one knows. Even the people building it had no idea what it is. And the people who do weren’t allowed to talk about it. The government denied it was even conducting the project, but most everyone on the island knew about its existence.”

  “So why did you think he was a spy?”

  “One night when we were meeting up to tutor, I stopped at his door and was about to ring the doorbell when I thought I heard what sounded like another person in the house. I listened closely—but it was Juan, speaking in a heavy American accent.”

  Cal let out a long whistle. “That’s interesting. Why were you afraid to tell anyone?”

  “Once I realized what they wanted from me—what everyone wanted from me—I knew that they would have no reason to keep me alive the second I shared all that information. It was the only—how do you say it?—leverage I had.”

  “Leverage is the right word.” He continued to scan the ground for Prado’s passport. “What did he look like?”

  “You should know. You saw him at the game.”

  “You were watching me?”

  Prado laughed. “I was hoping to see you again—hoping you could get me out of there. I was always looking for you.”

  “And you think I saw the man there?”

  Prado nodded. “He slipped up behind you and gave you a bag of peanuts. But you didn’t seem too interested in the peanuts.”

  Cal laughed. “It wasn’t the same as what I’m used to back home.”

  “What did he give you?”

  Cal stopped, eyeing Prado again. “He gave me leverage—and it’s how we’re going to make sure you stay out of prison.”

  Prado walked toward the sidewalk and saw his passport beneath a bush. “I found it!” he exclaimed.

  “Where?”

  “Right here, under this bush,” Prado said, reaching down to pick it up.

  Cal joined him and inspected it. “Good. Now, let’s get out of here before Munoz sends his thugs after us.”

  Click.

  “Don’t move,” said a man with a familiar voice. It was the guard whose head Torres had bashed against the truck. “My two colleagues would like to have a word with you.”

  Cal only had one thought: Run!

  CHAPTER 55

  WALLER MADE THE SHORT DRIVE to the International Gateway Bridge, one that skirted the University of Texas-Brownsville campus. It wasn’t scenic by anyone’s standards, but the time in the car gave him a moment to think about how to handle the situation if it soured.

  This is my case and I’m going to finish it.

  He slammed his hand on the steering wheel for effect, even though no one was watching or listening—or cared. He was part of a bigger team, one whose primary goal wasn’t about personal victories or vendettas, but about making the U.S. safe from its enemies and stopping criminals. The feathers in his proverbial cap made him seem like an egomaniacal fool. Try as he wanted to hide them, he couldn’t—they just fanned out like a peacock and he never resisted the temptation to strut when they were in peak bloom.

  As many times as he and Hampton had bungled the case, he deserved to miss out on the personal glory this time around. But in the past he’d missed well-deserved chances at praise, too. Undue adulation for this case would only serve as justice—at least, in his mind.

  When he arrived on the bridge, he checked in at the front desk. They told him to report to the management waiting area.

  “Who are you looking for?”

  “I’m waiting for a man named Vicente Prado and another guy named Cal Murphy.”

  The man shook his head. “Wow, they must be some high priority assets for you guys today. You’re the second agent to ask me about them specifically.”

  Waller’s eyes narrowed. “Who was it that asked about them?”

  “I believe I sent the gentleman to the management waiting area. It was only a few minutes ago.”

  Waller didn’t say a word, choosing instead to dash down the hall in the direction the man behind the counter had pointed. He rushed into the room only to find a sharply dressed FBI agent thumbing through old copies of Sports Illustrated magazines.

  “You Corliss?” Waller said, offering his hand.

  Corliss nodded. “Who’s asking?”

  “Gas Waller, Miami office.”

  “Nice to meet you, Waller. What brings you down here on this fine morning?”

  “Same reason that you’re here—Vicente P
rado and Cal Murphy.”

  Corliss didn’t flinch, continuing to flip through the magazine as if interested in its contents. “Who told you that?”

  “News travels fast around here—especially when two FBI agents from different offices are trying to detain the same people.”

  “I’m not leaving without them,” Corliss said, refusing to look up as he licked his thumb and turned the page.

  Before Waller could respond, a stocky border patrol agent walked into the waiting area. “Gentlemen, you have some visitors.”

  Waller hustled behind the agent, ignoring Corliss altogether.

  They’re mine.

  When he entered the room with the agent, he only found three people—Torres, Ortega, and Kelly Murphy.

  “Where’s Vicente Prado and Cal Murphy?” Waller demanded.

  “Not here,” Corliss said. “But I suspect they’ll be here shortly.”

  “I’m not going anywhere without them,” Waller demanded.

  Corliss shrugged. “Suit yourself, but my office has precedence on this case. And from what I’ve read in the case files, you guys don’t even have clearance to know what’s going on. My unsolicited advice to you would be to take these two thugs and get out of here with a win. I’ll make sure Homeland Security gets what they want out of Prado.”

  Waller’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you will.”

  “This isn’t a negotiation,” Corliss countered. “This is me being considerate. I could take all of them in and leave you with nothing, but that wouldn’t be very nice to you, considering all the difficulty you’ve had trying to apprehend these two men.”

  “Why you self-righteous, arrogant—”

  Corliss continued. “And here they are, just walking in the front door of your office, surrendering to you.”

  Waller scowled. “I have half a mind to deck you where you stand—”

  “I’m trying to help you out, Agent Waller. Really, I am. Take these guys in,” Corliss said, gesturing toward Torres and Ortega. “Get a win out of this.”

  Waller started to pace around the room, his pulse quickening. He clenched his fists, wanting desperately to draw back and deliver a vicious punch right between Corliss’ eyes. He was pondering his response when Hampton stormed into the room.