But now I knew saving Esteban had nothing to do with my life or Sean.
A thought just crossed my mind. Was Sean Adams even his real name? There was still so much I didn’t know about him. But I’d have to wait until we were alone to continue peeling back the mystical layers of my newly found relative—the one wearing a disguise that made him look like a Hispanic hippie without a care in the world.
“Before we brainstorm new ideas on how to get Esteban back safely to his father, you never told us what stopped you last night?” Valdez asked.
I cleared my throat, and my thoughts.
“He was being shot at by some hunters,” the hippie uttered, his gravelly voice causing Bolt to wince a bit. “Damn poachers are trying to kill every last one of the wild boars left on the island. I have a place up on the side of the hill. I gave him safe haven for the night.”
Nodding along with the fiction spilling from Sean’s mouth, I glanced at the other two. I wasn’t a fan of lying to two people whom I tended to trust—Bolt’s initial grab-and-go strategy notwithstanding—but keeping Sean’s identity and purpose a secret couldn’t be compromised. His life, and possibly theirs, would be at serious risk if word spread about Sean’s clandestine mission.
“Before I was run off, I found the camp off in the distance, but the outer perimeter is lined with booby traps. It would take a tank to get through there unscathed,” I said, trying to sit more upright in the hoopty chair. “But we can’t waste any more time. We need a new plan, today. Now.”
Valdez brought his hands to his face, his eyes focused on the scarred table, as if he were willing it to give him an answer.
He said, “While my contact, Alejandro, was able to provide insight into the kidnapping, how do we really know the boy is in that camp? Booker has already risked his life once to get there. Dammit, I just wish there was an agency like the American FBI or CIA in the Dominican that we could trust.” He lightly tapped his fist on the table.
I withheld the urge to glance at Sean, as Valdez continued, “I fear that this is a death march. And we don’t have two hundred troops to bring in. I have run out of options.” He dropped back against the chair, a look of disgust on his paper-sack face.
Suddenly, Sean released an ear-splitting cough, finishing with his typical gargling sound, as if his throat would be never be clear. Valdez brought a hand to his ear, and Bolt covered both ears, his eyes unblinking.
“Sorry, I’ve got a throat cold,” Sean said, putting a fist to his chest.
We all stared at him a few seconds, giving my mind ample opportunity to create a scene in the Afghanistan mountains, imagining the exact moment when Sean felt someone stick a knife in his neck. I wondered if any specific thoughts crossed his mind as he lay on the ground bleeding out, gunfire all around him. Did he think about his family from years ago? His existence seemed very lonely, and for the first time in forever, a tinge of sympathy crept into my thoughts.
Another guttural surge from Sean, then he placed a hand on the table. “There’s a truck that takes young kids in and out of the camp almost every day. Not exactly sure what they do there, although I have a guess.”
Bolt snapped his fingers, leaning forward on his elbows. “That is our plan. I will figure out a way to join that group, go into the camp, and at least make sure Esteban is there and alive.”
I locked eyes with Sean, then turned back to Bolt. “Not a good idea.”
“Why not? Just because it came from a fourteen-year-old young man? I’ll be fifteen in just three months.” He sat even taller in his chair, flipping his hair out of his face Justin Bieber-style.
“It’s dangerous. Didn’t we already establish that?” I looked at everyone.
“But you tried to sneak into the camp, at night in the dark,” Valdez explained. “What if someone got into the camp who was invited, basically?”
“I understand the theory.” I scratched my scruff, now going on two days without shaving, even more for my goatee. “If it was me you were talking about, I’d be fine with it. The difference is age and experience.”
Bolt raised higher from his knees, popping his finger off the table. “This is age discriminatory—”
“Discrimination,” I jumped in.
“Age discrimination. I’m just as capable as the next person. I just don’t carry a badge or haven’t been to a fancy school.”
I could sense Sean’s eyes on me. I turned his way, and he gave me a half-shrug of his shoulders.
“See, even your hippie friend agrees with me,” Bolt implored, his voice pitching higher. “By the way, you never shared your name.”
Sean scratched the back of his head. I bet those wigs were uncomfortable.
“Most people just call me Jorge.”
George. He’d probably used a thousand alias names. But was Sean Adams one of them? I really wanted to know if his last name was legitimate. Could it have been created by an analyst sitting in a cube in Langley, Virginia?
“You’re not Dominican, I can see that in your skin color,” Bolt said, his eyes closing slightly as his head turned a bit.
Sean chuckled once. “You’re damn observant for being just fourteen.” Sean shot me a quick glare. “I was born in San Juan, spent some in the US living around Miami. I guess you could say I’m a bit of a nomad.”
“No-mad?” Bolt repeated, a big question mark covering his face.
“That just means I move around a lot.”
If they only knew, I thought, but managed to keep a straight face.
“So how do you know about this truck going in and out of the cartel’s camp?” Valdez asked.
“I told you guys earlier he has some experience in this type of situation,” I said before Sean could jump in.
“Experience. He used to be part of Amador’s cartel?” Valdez wagged his head, his sagging skin wiggling a step behind.
“He’s not a cartel member. Never was.”
“So why do you not tell us how you know this information? Are you a member of a Dominican task force?”
“No. I’m just a guy who wants to help return Esteban to his father,” Sean said, pleading his case. “We’re getting thrown off track of what is important here.”
“I can vouch for…Jorge. He’s a loner, a bit eccentric, but we can trust him.”
I added a chuckle at the end, attempting to lighten the mood, then my eyes shifted to Sean, my gut coiling into a knot. My logical, PI side knew I had to say those words, to protect everyone in the room. But the other side of my brain, the one who’d only learned a few hours earlier the real reason behind Sean’s ghost-like existence, hadn’t been able to take that giant leap of faith or forgiveness or whatever it was. At least not yet.
“You are a former police officer, and a man who has saved lives, fought against evil as a private investigator. I trust you, Mr. Booker. And if I trust you, then I have to trust your friend,” Valdez said, raising his hands toward me and then Sean.
My shoulders dropped an inch.
“So, it’s all set?” Bolt said with a sly grin, rubbing his hands together.
“Trusting Jorge has nothing to do with you putting your life in the hands of a murdering drug cartel leader,” I said.
“I cannot take this…disrespect,” Bolt said.
I almost laughed.
“I can’t allow a fourteen-year-old to risk his life,” I said.
“What other options do we have to quickly get a person in that camp and give us intelligence? None, I tell you,” Valdez said.
“If Bolt doesn’t go in, another fourteen-year-old is as good as dead. You know that as much as I do,” Sean said, staring me down.
I twisted my head. “You’re taking up for him? He’s a kid. Aren’t adults supposed to protect kids, not use them to fix all the fucked-up situations adults create?” I looked at Bolt and winced at my foul language. “Sorry,” I said to him.
“Shit, fuck, damn,” Bolt spit out. “I can cuss like anyone. You don’t know what I’ve had to deal with sin
ce I’ve been on my own. I may not be as big as you, but I’ve survived a tough life. I’m more of an adult than many people twice my age.”
Bolt thumped his chest, his stature solid.
I forced air out of my lungs and scratched the back of my head.
“There’s got to be another way,” I said.
Sean tapped his wrist. “Remember, I’ve been around situations like this. Putting a human in the zone is no easy feat. Even if we had other possibilities, time is our enemy.”
“Mr. Booker, I have no family. Esteban has a father, someone who would do anything to get him back. I want to do this… I have to do this for Esteban and for his father.”
Pressure built in my frontal lobe. Everything about this place seemed misguided, seemingly turned upside down, from how the people viewed Britney/Ana Sofia, to the revelation about Sean’s life, and now watching a teenager convince me he’s ready to enter a combat zone, with the urging of Valdez and my newly found relative.
“What time do the trucks leave and get back?” I asked Sean.
“Next one leaves in an hour. I bet he’d be back before dark. They’re just looking for kids who want to make a buck. It will be easy. Get in and get out,” Sean said, obviously wearing his CIA hat.
Nothing about this trip had been easy thus far. But I let the majority rule on this one.
11
“You’re going to chew a hole through the side of your face if you’re not careful.”
Lifting my eyes from my phone, I gave Sean a stoic look. “He’s ten minutes late.”
“This isn’t the Metro subway in DC. We’re talking about a drug cartel in a third-world country,” Sean said, sipping bottled water. “Don’t get me wrong. Most of these operations are run like a company…well, more like an oppressive dictatorship. But, there are employees, layers of management and responsibility. Anything to keep the wheels of profit moving. And if they needed an extra incentive, they’d use physical intimidation.”
“Exactly my point in not wanting Bolt to go in there. He’s a boy,” I said with a blunt tone.
“I know this isn’t going to help much, but this isn’t Dallas or DC or Chicago. We can’t get resources at a moment’s notice. We’re in a foreign country, operating outside of the jurisdiction of the local police and every other law enforcement agency. We could be put in jail for any number of reasons. The number one reason might be that Amador has paid off half the force. Who knows? We can’t trust them, that’s all I know. If that kid, Esteban, is still alive—and that’s a big if—then this is really our only chance to verify his location, given the tip you guys received.”
I let the notion stir in my mind a bit. “It just doesn’t feel right.”
“It shouldn’t. When it does, call me. I’ll pay for you to see a counselor.” He smirked, and I matched it.
I grabbed my bottled water and drained the last few drops, glad to see the line of shade pass over our outdoor table
Sean raised his hand. “Otra de agua por favor,” he said to a nearby waiter.
“Not a bad accent. Sounds authentic, almost.”
“Funny. I speak six different languages fluently.”
“They teach you that in CIA school?” I whispered.
“Hardly,” he said, looking down a second. “Remember, I’m a contractor. Most everything I’ve had to do, I figured out on my own, including how to speak a non-English language. It’s a little about supply and demand. If they can’t find an agent with the right skills, then the price goes up. That’s where I come in.”
“You trying to say you’re loaded?” I thought about Momma going to school at night while she worked during the day. Meanwhile, Sean was drinking champagne in Champagne, France?
“I can still see doubt on your face,” he said.
“Who wouldn’t? You know Momma worked her tail off just to make ends meet. And she went to school at night to get her nursing degree.”
I paused for a second as the waiter dropped off the water, and I cracked the lid and downed another gulp.
“Look, it’s pretty obvious that you had other priorities. I get it. Well, I may not understand it completely, but the whole duty-to-serve thing, I’m familiar with the feeling,” I said. “But if you had money, why couldn’t you have sent it along with a note? Just to let us know you cared?”
“Booker, I can’t undo the past.” He cleared his throat, then drank from his bottled water. “The few times I did interact with you or your mother, I was putting you in danger. I realized I was being selfish. And that’s why I stopped.”
My chest lurched a bit. “I thought you saw me as your meal ticket, when you came to watch me at UT.”
“I was proud of you, and yes, I wanted you to show them everything you had. I still think you had the talent to start at UT and even in the NFL. Maybe that’s the father in me talking. But life happens for many reasons. And here you are.”
“You’re here too,” I said.
He nodded, glancing down the street. I followed his eyes, but didn’t see Bolt.
“I wasn’t going to tell you this.”
“Why not? And what is this?”
“What I’m about to say.”
I paused, wondering what the hell he was about to share.
“You have another family in some other city?” I asked with a mocking tone.
He shook his head.
“Two other families, including one in Eastern Europe?”
“I was there recently, but no, I have no other family or kids.”
“You’re an open book, right?”
He toyed with the water cap for a moment. “I don’t want you to think that I’m trying to win you over…to make you think I’m a saint and I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Can’t undo the past. Isn’t that what you told me?”
He nodded. “I swore your Uncle Charlie to secrecy.”
“About what?” I asked, arching my back.
“We had a deal that whenever I sent him money, he could keep a couple hundred for himself and then he’d give the rest to your mom. It wasn’t a lot, but I think it helped put a few clothes on your back.”
A swell of emotion came over me, and a lot of it felt like anger. I had no idea why, but part of me wanted to jump across the table, grab him by the hippie shirt, and shake him.
Flexing my jaw, I pushed breath through my nostrils.
“That pissed you off.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“But it did. That’s okay. I’ve thrown a lot at ya.”
“Hell yes, you have,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Uncle Charlie knew about your double life?”
“Not exactly. He knew your mother hated me, wouldn’t speak to me, and certainly wouldn’t take my money. Too much pride, that woman,” he said. “She’s a live wire. No offense.”
I smirked. “She’s not bashful, that’s for sure. But she helped me grow up, helped me become who I am. Not that I’m all that, but she took on the burden of raising me by herself, and that’s worth something.”
“It’s worth a whole lot more than the money I funneled to her through your uncle.”
“I thought Uncle Charlie told me everything,” I said more to myself.
“I’m glad he didn’t. You would have only had more questions. Hell, you might have gone out on your own and searched for me.”
“I know, it would have put me in danger,” I said, like I’d heard it thousand times.
“You’ve always been inquisitive. I could see at a young age that you wanted to do the right thing, protecting your friends and family was at the top of that list.”
I wanted to ask how the hell he knew, but I kept it to myself. Resentment would take a while to dissolve, apparently.
“Did your mom ever tell you how we met?”
Memory Lane. I was too intrigued to stop it.
“No. And I could tell she never wanted me to.”
“This very same island, the other side.”
“Haiti?�
�
“She was there on a humanitarian mission after a hurricane, and I was there…well, to try to keep the government from imploding, although she thought I was there to build homes. There was an instant attraction on so many levels,” he said, staring off a bit.
“Remember who I am. Not sure I want to know the gory details.”
“Mr. Booker.”
I turned and saw Bolt holding up a hand, explaining to the waiter that he was with us and should allow him through the iron gate surrounding the café.
I lifted from my chair as he approached the table and put my hand on his shoulder. “Glad you’re safe. Damn glad,” I said, offering a wink.
“Hell yes, I’m safe,” he showed some teeth while taking a chair.
“Now you’re cussing like a sailor.”
“Sailors cuss? Then yes, I’m a sailor, dammit.”
“Seriously, you had me worried. Twenty minutes late,” I said while glancing at my phone.
“I couldn’t exactly tip the driver to hurry it up. If I had any money, they would have taken it from me. They searched everyone before we got on the truck and again once we arrived in the camp.”
“What did you find out?”
“I will tell you everything I learned, but can a man get a drink around here?”
“The men already have a drink, but I’ll have the waiter bring you a water.”
“Make it two, please. They didn’t give us shit during the whole trip.”
“Hungry?”
“Always.”
“Can we have two waters and a menu?” I asked a man with confused eyes. “I mean, dos aguas and a menu?” I didn’t know the Spanish for “menu,” so I mimed it as best I could, pretending to read a book.
“Sí,” he said, and walked away.
Both Sean and I rested our elbows on the round table, Bolt sitting between us. I gave Bolt a head nod.
“What? Just another day at the drug-dealing office,” he said with far too much sarcasm while scratching his chin as if he had a heavy beard.
“Seriously?”
The waiter’s arm leaned in and set two bottled waters on the table and handed Bolt the menu. He ignored the menu, twisted the cap off a water, and chugged the first one without pulling up for air.
BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6 Page 36