Uneven Exchange

by Derban, S. K.

  He grinned. “I can wait until morning. Besides, I still need to check in.”

  Yoli winked at Alexandra. “How about scrambled eggs mixed with chorizo, homemade beans, and fresh tortillas?” she asked in an enticing tone.

  “Oh, Yoli, that sounds wonderful,” Alexandra exclaimed.

  “Sure does,” Rico agreed, practically drooling.

  Yoli bent to lift the lid off a hand-carved pine chest located in front of the sofa. When she straightened up, she handed Rico a colorful blanket. “Well now!” she said playfully. “Since I’ve further aroused that appetite of yours, you can get a good night’s sleep and dream about tomorrow’s breakfast. Will you be comfortable on the sofa?”

  “The sofa will be perfect. The only thing I need now is our secured phone.”

  Yoli pointed to the side table in the corner. “It’s still in the same place, there on the bottom shelf.”

  “Great. Thanks, Yoli.”

  “It’s my pleasure. I love having company.” She guided Alexandra toward the guest bedroom. “Good night, Rico. Sleep well.”

  Alexandra looked at him over her shoulder. “Good night, Rico, and thank you again. Thank you for everything.”

  “Don’t thank me for everything yet. We’ve got a long way to go.”

  “Then I’ll thank you now, and I’ll thank you later, and I will keep on thanking you for the rest of my life.”

  Rico lowered his head slightly in embarrassment and then raised only his eyes to meet hers. “You’re welcome, but I only did my job.”

  “Right now, your job is your life.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Rico responded quietly, looking more through than at her. She immediately regretted her comment.

  “Well, good night, then.” Her words trailed off into a whisper.

  Still staring vacuously ahead, he paused a beat, then spoke. “Yes, good night.”

  ***

  Rico

  Rico continued to gaze down the hallway, looking at nothing, his eyes unfocused. He could hear various sounds from the bedrooms, then quiet as the lights faded from under each door. Blinking hard to clear his head, he reached for the telephone and direct-dialed the number for the Administration headquarters in the United States.

  “Drug Enforcement Administration. How may I direct your call?” a woman answered in a monotone voice.

  “This is agent 79436. I’m calling from a DEA-installed telephone and need to confirm the security of the line, please.”

  After a series of high-pitched tones and several short beeps, Rico could hear the intercept block connect. While waiting, he checked for the date on his watch and mentally added ten in order to derive the daily code word.

  The operator returned to the line. “Your line is confirmed secure. You may now continue, sir.”

  “Again, this is agent 79436. My name is Enrique Hernandez. My call letters are tom, kite, and ocean. Today’s code is razor thirty-eight.”

  “Thank you. You are confirmed.”

  “I need a patch through to Special Agent in Charge Kevin P. O’Neil.”

  “One moment, please.”

  Rico reached down to loosen the laces on his tennis shoes while waiting. He was anxious to speak with Kevin, but his energy was rapidly draining. The softness of the cushions beckoned him to relax. After several long minutes, the monotone-voiced operator returned to the line.

  “Special Agent O’Neil is on a plane still in Mexican air space. A secure intercept will take another few minutes. Please hold.”

  Rico looked into the receiver as if to ask, What else would I do? Instead, all he said was, “Fine, thank you.”

  “Rico, is that you?” Kevin shouted through the unwieldy static.

  “Yes, it is. Good to hear your voice, well, what little I can hear. How am I coming through?”

  “Not bad. Not bad at all. I hope you have good news for me!”

  “I do, if good news goes by the name of Alexandra Callet! She’s safe with me.”

  “Oh thank God. Now all we have to do is get you both out of there. How’s your cover?”

  “I expect it’s completely blown. I had to take out a guard before dealing with Camacho. There’s a slight chance they could figure me to be a jealous lover, but with Santiago gone, it looks way too suspicious. I assume he’s with you on the plane?”

  “Sure is, and still sleeping like a baby. Should we send a plane for you? I can ask Ramón Torres to arrange it.”

  “Torres? I thought he was with you.”

  “No, there wasn’t any need. He made all the arrangements but had to stay in Mexico. Remember, when we left Camacho was still on the loose.”

  “Where is Camacho now?” Rico asked. “Still unconscious, I hope.”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t heard yet. Where did you leave him?”

  “Back at the hacienda, knocked out stone-cold. Unfortunately, though, by this time, Camacho could already be awake.”

  “I sent Armando and Conner back there to look for Alexandra, but they still haven’t checked in with me.”

  “Then that could be a problem. Until you hear from them, we have no idea where Camacho is and what he’s doing. If word gets out about Santiago, Alexandra and I could become targets.”

  “You’re absolutely right. Do you have any ideas?”

  “Just one. I plan to bring her home using the least expected route.”

  “And that is?”

  “Through La Paz. I’m going to check the ferry schedules in the morning.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Rico. Won’t that take several days?”

  “Yes, it will, but, Kevin, I really think it will be the safest way.”

  “It’s your call, Rico. You know Mexico better than I, and you know Santiago’s influence. Check back with me when you have definite plans, okay?”

  “I will, and don’t worry, Kevin. I’ll bring Alexandra home safely.”

  “I’m not only worried about Alexandra, I’m worried about you too, Rico. I want both of you home safely, and if possible, soon. I’ll wait to hear from you.”

  After they hung up, Rico checked the time. It was almost two a.m. He set his watch alarm for six thirty a.m., pushed off his shoes, and instantly fell asleep.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  THE BIG FISH

  Conner

  Before attempting to infiltrate Santiago’s estate, Armando and Conner returned to their original surveillance posts and listened for any activity. All sounded quiet around the hacienda. Then, after surveying the massive wall, they opted to use their borrowed Land Rover as a climbing device.

  Armando started the engine and quietly rolled the vehicle toward the side wall, away from the brightly lit gate area. Standing outside the vehicle, Conner helped his partner position their motorized ladder by using a multitude of hand gestures. By the look on Armando’s face, he guessed maybe a few too many. Armando finally cut the engine and stepped down from the cab.

  Conner moved directly to the front bumper, disengaged the winch, and released a long tether of cable. He then fastened the hook end to his belt and climbed up onto the Rover. As Conner scaled the wall, he carried the steel cord with him. Within minutes, Armando joined Conner along the rim of the wall. Their limited view into the compound confirmed the previous silence. All of the guards were off patrol.

  Armando and Conner took turns lowering their bodies to the ground on the other side by tightly gripping the taut cable and rappelling off the wall. In preparation for a rapid retreat, Conner unhooked the steel clip and allowed their lifeline to dangle freely.

  While peering through the dimly lit perimeter for the slightest movements, the two agents stepped away from the cover of the wall and proceeded cautiously. Without speaking, Armando hand-signaled his intention to search the hacienda. He pointed toward the rear yard, an indication for Conner to check the bunkhouse. They separated.

  Conner veered left and headed for the back. Within seconds, he encountered what appeared to be a corpse
sprawled face down in the dirt. As a precaution, Conner rapidly pointed his gun at the motionless torso before bending over to check for a pulse. When he didn’t find one, he firmly planted one foot into the soft dirt and then used his other foot and free hand to roll the body over. The man wore a guard uniform and was clinging to a semiautomatic weapon. His death had obviously occurred instantly from a single shot through the forehead.

  Continuing toward the back, Conner discovered another guard, this one alive. His hands were tied behind his back, and his mouth was gagged. The long garden hose wrapped around his chest imprisoned him to a sturdy tree. As Conner leaned over to check the security of the bindings, the captive looked at him with wide-eyed helplessness.

  ***

  Armando

  As Armando approached the front entrance to the main house, he found a guard tied up next to the door. Immediately upon entering, he heard groaning from the direction of the bedrooms. Walking softly, he followed the sound and found Carlos Camacho writhing in pain on the floor in one of the rooms.

  “Ha! Whose handiwork is this?” Armando asked sarcastically.

  “That low-life piece of crap Rico,” Camacho screamed weakly. As if suddenly realizing he did not recognize the voice, he asked, “Who are you?” From his fetal position, Camacho’s demanding tone came across as powerless, even comical.

  “Someone you’ll wish you never met,” Armando said while taking out his handcuffs. With a slight shove of the agent’s foot, Camacho rolled over and onto his stomach. Armando ignored Camacho’s continuous moans as he yanked one arm, then the other, to securely fasten the silver links around the man’s wrists. When Armando released his hold, Camacho’s arms dropped suddenly and painfully against his back. He sputtered profanities under his breath.

  “Shut up,” Armando ordered. “You’re lucky I’m too busy to give you a real reason to complain.” He left to check the other rooms and then met up with Conner in the hall.

  “What do you have?” Conner asked.

  “Un pescado grande. A big fish,” Armando announced. “Carlos Camacho, with the compliments of our friend, Rico.”

  “From what I could see out back, it looks like Rico’s work, but are you sure?”

  “Yes, according to Camacho. Why? What did you find?”

  “You name it.” Conner sounded amazed. “One dead guard, one alive, and a handful of men passed out in the bunkhouse.”

  “Are they all from the hands of Rico?” Armando asked.

  “He’s good, but not that good.” Conner laughed. “It looks like Rico shot one guard in self-defense and knocked out the other.”

  “What about the men in the bunkhouse? What happened to them?”

  “That looks like the golden liquid of the worm.”

  “Ah, Mescal tequila!” Armando joined the laughter. “Stupid idiots,” he added, shaking his head. “They sure don’t waste any time. Santiago’s barely gone.”

  “Lucky for us, though,” Conner said slyly.

  “You’re right, but just like the tequila, our luck can wear off. Those guys might think it’s party time now, but once word gets out, whoever has been pulling the Magician’s strings will shut this place down cold.”

  “We better get Camacho over to Torres,” Conner agreed. “What about Rico and Alexandra? Do you think they’re at your sister’s house?”

  “They probably are, unless Rico decided to get the hell out of Mazatlan.”

  “But how far could he go? No, I’m sure Rico took Alexandra to Yoli’s. Torres will have a secure line. You can call her from there.”

  Doubtful, Armando said, “I don’t know. We better check in with the boss first. It’s pretty late and I hate to wake Yoli. Besides, if Rico isn’t there, you know she’ll be worried sick.”

  “Ah-ha! Now, I get it. You’re afraid of your sister,” Conner teased.

  “You are correct, mi amigo. But not just of her. I’m afraid of all women!”

  “That will be the day.”

  After opening the front gate and retrieving the Rover, the partners dragged the hogtied Camacho through the hacienda and heaved his weight into the backseat. Conner jumped in the front to drive as Armando took a final look around. He then withdrew his mobile phone and dialed Ramón Torres.

  “Torres,” the man’s familiar voice answered on the first ring.

  “Ramón, this is Armando De la Cruz. We need a cleanup crew over here fast.”

  “Are you at the key location?” Torres asked, careful not to reveal their present position.

  “Yes, and we are on our way to you now.”

  “I hope you are bringing me a package.”

  “As a matter of fact, we are. It’s a very large package and even tied up with string.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-THREE

  FOR SUCH A TIME AS THIS

  Alexandra

  Tantalizing aromas wafted through the air and permeated Alexandra’s nostrils. Still anesthetized by sleep, she lifted her head slightly off the pillow and squinted to see the clock. Not believing her unfocused eyes, she blinked and looked a second time. The short, black arrow pointed to the ten, and the longer one rested on six. It was ten thirty!

  Amazed that her own body clock had not kicked in earlier, Alexandra strained to sit up. She instantly felt the familiar throbbing in her head. “No wonder I slept so long,” she said quietly as she felt her forehead. Beneath the bandages, her wound ached at her touch.

  “Gee, can’t wait to see what I look like,” she murmured sarcastically while staggering into the hallway bathroom. She peered at her image in the mirror, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Her hair was matted with blood and snarled into a style resembling Medusa, the mythical Gorgon snake woman. Her blackened jaw was badly swollen, and the lump on her forehead was the size of a golf ball.

  Alexandra looked down at her outfit, which added to her dismay. It was covered with wrinkles and dried bloodstains and had several rips. When her attempts to remove the stains and smooth the fabric proved to be futile, she finally announced, “I give up.” Instead, Alexandra splashed her face with cold water, brushed the top layers of her hair, and decided to make the best of her situation. She marched into the kitchen and announced, “Yes, it’s true. I do look as badly as I feel.”

  Rico looked up from his food and studied her face. “Oh, baby! That lump doesn’t look so good, but I’m glad you’re up. I was beginning to worry about a concussion. You know, I really shouldn’t have let you go to sleep.”

  “Sleep is what I needed.”

  Hearing Alexandra’s voice, Yoli rushed over from her duties at the stove to check on her patient. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel a slight bit better. My head is killing me, but I’ll survive.”

  Yoli poured Alexandra a glass of water, then handed her an aspirin. “You are as beautiful as ever.” Her smile further warmed the already oven-heated room.

  “Ha! Aren’t you the funny one, Yoli?” Alexandra hugged her hostess and returned the smile. “Thank you, though.” She turned to Rico. “Why is your face so red? Is it the heat from the stove or Yoli’s salsa?”

  “I think a little of both,” Rico said, tearing apart a thick, homemade flour tortilla. Alexandra drooled with hunger as she watched him use it to scoop the rich, cheese-coated beans.

  “¡Sientese! Please sit down!” Yoli directed Alexandra to the chair opposite Rico. “I have a plate ready for you now.”

  Majestically, Yoli placed an oversized plate in front of Alexandra. It was filled with fluffy scrambled eggs mixed with a Mexican-style sausage named chorizo and a generous helping of refried beans smothered with shredded white cheese. Alexandra gazed upon her food with passion as Yoli refilled the basket with fresh, hot tortillas. Alexandra tore off a section of a tortilla and used it to scoop up a combination of chorizo and beans. As she placed the mixture into her mouth, memories of her mother’s cooking invaded her senses. “Oh, Yoli, this is wonderful!” Her voice rang with ecstasy. “Please, come sit and join
us.”

  “I’ll join you for coffee,” Yoli said, first pouring a cup for Alexandra and then refilling Rico’s. “I already ate.” She paused. “A little earlier with Rico.”

  Alexandra gave her a confused look. “But he’s still eating?”

  “For the second time, I’ll have you know. He ate with me less than two hours ago!”

  Rico returned Alexandra’s unbelieving stare by merely looking up from his food with a Cheshire cat grin.

  “Well, no wonder you’re perspiring,” she commented.

  “What can I say? I’m a growing boy.”

  Yoli sat next to him. “You better be careful,” she warned, “or you’ll be growing right out of those jeans.”

  “I can’t help it if you’re the best cook in the world.”

  “No, you don’t, Rico. I know your game. You think all you have to do is butter me up and I will cook for you every time you’re in town.”

  “Well, won’t you?” he asked with an exaggerated pout.

  Yoli made a face at Alexandra and gestured toward him. “What do you think, Alex? Pretty pathetic, isn’t he?”

  “What? What did I do?” Rico asked innocently.

  Joining in the fun, Alexandra scolded, “Shame on you, the way you use Yoli only for her cooking.”

  “That’s right, Rico! All I am to you is a cook. I might as well open a restaurant. That way you can pay for your meals.”

  “Then don’t forget to open a hotel too,” Rico said, laughing. “After all, sometimes I also need a place to sleep.”

  “Now you’re going to pay for that comment.” Yoli reached for his breakfast and tried to pull it away, but Rico held on to it tightly.

  “No, Yoli. No,” he called out playfully. “I surrender. I’ll do anything. Just leave me my plate.”

  Yoli released her grip. “It’s good, isn’t it?” She crinkled her nose at Rico.

  “Not in the least.” He leaned over to kiss her cheek and said, “It’s great!”