by Scott McEwen
“Only a year,” Crosswhite said, exiting the freeway and driving down the avenue into a blacked-out section of the city. “Shit. No power here either.”
“Make a left up ahead,” she said. “Go south toward Colonia San Luis Tlatilco. I assume you’re headed for Highway 134?”
“Yeah,” he said, following her instructions.
“Damn,” she muttered. “Only three percent battery.”
Vaught turned around to face the front, a smile coming to his face.
The daughter began to cry, and Nancy hugged her close. “It’s okay, baby. The charger’s in the trunk.”
His smile disappeared.
They turned another corner, and there was a city bus on fire in the middle of the street, blocking passage.
Crosswhite hit the brakes. “Narcobloqueo!” He shifted into reverse.
Men with guns and masks appeared from the shadows, ordering everyone out of the car. Crosswhite shifted into park and dropped his phone onto the floor, where he hoped it wouldn’t be seen.
Vaught stuffed his DSS badge deep into the seat. “Everyone keep calm,” he said to the kids. “It’s gonna be okay.”
The doors were jerked open, and both men were pulled out. Nancy and the children were allowed to get out on their own, but one of the men took her phone and stuck it in his jacket pocket, telling her and the children to stand over by the building and keep quiet.
Crosswhite and Vaught were pushed against the car and searched.
“Why are you here, gringo?” one of the men asked.
“I’m a permanent resident,” Crosswhite said. “My identification is in my wallet.”
The man took his wallet and tossed it to another guy. Crosswhite turned around, his hands up. “You can have the money,” he said easily, “but can I keep my permanent resident card? Getting a new one from immigration is a pain in the ass.”
The guy with the wallet took out Crosswhite’s ID, examined the green card with a flashlight and gave it back to him. “How many years do you have here?”
“Five,” Crosswhite lied. “I live with my wife and daughter in Toluca. That’s where we’re going now.”
They questioned Vaught, who told similar lies, saying he was originally from Monterrey, up near the border, to cover his accent. “These are my wife and children,” he said, gesturing at Nancy and the kids.
“Where is your wallet?” asked the man with the gun.
“In the trunk with our bags.”
Someone took the keys and opened the trunk, rifling through Nancy’s suitcases. He tossed the phone charger to the man who’d taken her phone. “I don’t see any wallet.”
“It’s in the red gym bag.”
The man tossed the trunk a second time. “There is no red gym bag.”
Vaught looked at Nancy. “You didn’t put my bag in the car? Everything I need is in that bag!”
“I didn’t see it,” she said. “You told me all the bags were in the carport.”
Vaught swore foully, shaking his head. “Everything I need for work is in that goddamn bag! My computer . . . everything! Now we have to go all the way back!”
“It’s not my fault!”
“Shut up,” the man told them. “Argue later.”
Another man searched the glove box and found nothing of value. “Do we want the car?”
“Let them go,” said the man who’d taken Crosswhite’s wallet. “They have children, and the car is nothing special.”
A minute later, everyone was back in the car, and the burning bus was growing smaller in the rearview mirror.
Vaught looked at Nancy. “Your passports are in your pocket?”
“Of course,” she said, grateful to be alive.
“Smart thinking,” he said with a smile. “Thanks for going along with the program back there.”
“What choice did I have?”
“Well, you were quick on your feet. That was a big help.”
“Where’s your wallet?” Crosswhite asked.
Vaught pulled it from the seat. “Stashed it first thing. If they’d seen my badge, we’d be screwed.”
“We’re gonna need money for the tolls on the highway,” Crosswhite said. He looked at Nancy in the mirror. “Do you have any money?”
“A few hundred,” she lied, wearing five thousand dollars in US fifties around her waist in a money belt. “You can have if you need it.”
“We should be fine,” Vaught said, “but thank you.”
“Where was your badge?” she asked Crosswhite.
“I’m not DSS. I’m CIA like—like your husband.”
“Do you know him?”
“We’ve met only once, actually.”
“So you’re not attached to Mexico station?”
“Not directly.”
“Then you’re an operator. That’s why Washington sent you for me?”
She’s sharp, Crosswhite thought. We’ll definitely have to be careful with her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You’re both ex-military?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That makes me a little feel better.” Before the narcobloqueo, she’d been worried to death about her husband. Now she couldn’t help being terrified for her children as well. “I thought we were in real trouble back there.”
“The narcos don’t usually make war on civilians,” Crosswhite said. “It happens, but it’s not their policy. If you give them what they want, they usually let you go. Usually.”
“But the Ruvalcabas have been worse recently.”
“That’s true,” he admitted. “Which is why I say usually. But we’re working to put a stop to Hector Ruvalcaba.”
“You do know that Ruvalcaba is supported by the politician Lazaro Serrano.”
Crosswhite stole glances with Vaught. “Yes, ma’am. And we’re working to stop him, too.”
“Mike mentioned something about the government here building a case against him.”
“Well, the earthquake has changed all that. Now the plan is to remove him altogether.”
“Which is why they’ve brought you in?”
Definitely fast on her feet, he thought. “Yes, ma’am. That’s why they brought me in.”
“So why a DSS agent?” she asked Vaught. “Are you the one who was assigned to my husband after chasing the sniper that killed Alice Downly?”
Vaught glanced over the seat. “That’s me.”
Nancy turned back to Crosswhite. “Is your wife Cuban, by any chance?”
Again, Crosswhite glanced at her in the mirror, a thin smile pursing his lips. “Yes, ma’am. My wife is Cuban. Mike seems to share a lot with you—more than he should, it sounds like.”
“You’re the one who punched him, aren’t you? The cabrón who sent him home with that goose egg on his head.”
He couldn’t help chuckling. “Yes, ma’am, I’m the cabrón.”
“You hit my daddy!” accused the little boy.
“I did,” Crosswhite confessed. “And I apologize.”
The little boy lurched forward and hit Crosswhite on the back of the head before Nancy could grab his arm. “I hate you!”
“You don’t hit people, Alejandro!”
Crosswhite chuckled again. “It’s okay. He’s entirely justified in this instance. I’m sorry for hitting your dad, Alejandro. You’re a good man to defend him. I respect that.”
The rest of the ride to Toluca was uneventful. They pulled around behind Crosswhite’s apartment, and Paolina came out the back door. He got out fast and hugged her, whispering something into her ear before asking her aloud to show the kids to their room. Vaught helped Nancy repack their rifled bags in the trunk.
After a few seconds, Crosswhite’s phone rang beneath his seat in the car, and he ran to get it.
“Crosswhite,” he answere
d. “Yeah, we’re just arriving at the safe house.” He pretended to listen for almost a minute. “And all that’s confirmed? Roger that. We’ll stand by here.”
He stuck the phone into his pocket and turned to Nancy. “We’ve confirmed Mike was taken by some corrupt cops working for Serrano. For the moment, it doesn’t look like they plan to hurt him. More likely, they plan to hold onto him until after the election. Once Serrano is president, he knows he’ll be untouchable. I’m guessing he probably intends to free Mike as a gesture of good faith to the CIA.”
“But the election is three months away!”
“Don’t worry,” Crosswhite said gently. “We know where he’s being held. It’s not far from here, so Agent Vaught and I will put together a plan to get him back. In the meantime, you need to stay here and out of sight with Paolina, because it’s also been confirmed that Mexico City PD is looking for you and the kids. They raided your house about an hour after we got you out.” He looked at Vaught. “We weren’t cutting it quite as close as I thought, but it was close enough.”
Vaught grunted.
Nancy gave Crosswhite a brief hug. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay,” he said. “Better get inside now. We’ll bring the bags in.”
When she was gone, Vaught looked at Crosswhite and shook his head. “You believed every word of bullshit you just told her.”
Crosswhite shrugged. “If I don’t believe it, how the hell can I expect her to?”
56
TOLUCA, MEXICO
09:00 HOURS
Crosswhite had returned to Mexico City early in the morning, leaving Vaught to keep an eye on Ortega’s family. Nancy and Paolina were getting along well, and the children were having fun playing with the puppy, which Valencia had named Chance at Crosswhite’s urging. Paolina remained unaware that Nancy and the kids were there under false pretenses.
Vaught didn’t like being cooped up in the house. He wanted to be at the police station with the men. Things were too quiet around town for his comfort, and he was already bored playing babysitter. Not to mention he still felt like a shitheel using a woman and two children as pawns in a war that was partially of his making. Mendoza and his family were already dead. How many more innocent lives would it take to bring down Serrano and the gringo sniper? There had to be a limit. But then again, that was what men like Serrano counted on: people being afraid to risk innocent lives.
“Breakfast?” Paolina asked from the kitchen doorway, much nicer to him now.
“Yes, please.”
Ortega’s son brought over the puppy and placed it in Vaught’s lap, saying in English, “You have the same name, so you have a dog’s name!”
Vaught chuckled, scratching the pup’s ears. “Sounds that way, doesn’t it?”
Nancy brought him a plate of eggs and refried beans. “How soon will you hear from Dan?”
“I’m not sure.” He handed the puppy back to the boy and accepted the plate, noting the worry on her face. “I’ve got a good feeling though, Nancy. I think he’ll have good news when he calls.”
She looked away, blinking her eyes to prevent them from tearing up. “I hope so. Corrupt police scare me more than anything. They’re twice as dangerous as regular criminals.”
“That’s true, but they’re also twice as vulnerable.”
She returned to the kitchen.
Paolina brought her own plate into the living room and sat down in the chair beside Vaught, checking to make sure Nancy wasn’t paying attention. “Daniel took his pistol with him. He doesn’t usually do that. What’s going on?”
“Mexico City is a dangerous place to be right now. There’s a lot of civil unrest, and he’s a gringo.”
Paolina moved her food around on her plate with her fork. “Is there any chance she’ll get her husband back?”
He glanced toward the kitchen. “Normally, I’d say probably not, but under the circumstances, I think the chances are pretty good.”
“What’s different about these circumstances?”
“Dan is different. He’s on top of it.”
She looked at him, her pretty young face appearing more adult than usual. “Is he in danger this morning? I want the truth.”
“Aside from the chaos in Mexico City, he shouldn’t be in any danger.”
He was pushing a piece of tortilla around his plate to mop up the last of the egg yolk when he heard what sounded like a distant clap of thunder. He jerked his head toward the door. “That was a fifty!”
57
MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
09:20 HOURS
Chief of Station Mike Ortega was frantic over his missing family.
“I’m telling you, nothing’s even been touched!” he shouted at Clemson Fields over a secure satellite phone. “The car’s still here! No forced entry—nothing! They just vanished!”
“I can’t help you if you’re going to shout,” Fields said. “Have you called anyone besides me?”
With effort, Ortega forced himself to lower his voice. “Not yet.”
“Well, don’t.”
“I’m terrified! I called her phone, and a man answered. I asked to talk to Nancy, and he hung up! What if she was taken by the Ruvalcabas?” Ortega started to tremble. “How in hell could they know who I am?”
Up in Tijuana, Fields was beginning to wonder if giving Serrano the list of deep-cover PFM agents had been such a good idea. Now even Ortega had been compromised, which made him a liability. “From what I understand, there’s been a leak inside the PFM. Agent Mendoza and his family are missing.”
“Oh my God!” Ortega began to feel dizzy. “Mendoza knows who I am! He gave me up!”
“You have to calm yourself,” Fields insisted. “I’m sending some men, but you need to stay in the house and listen for the phone until they arrive. If your family was taken, someone will certainly call. Whatever you do, do not involve local law enforcement. Is that understood? You have to be patient and give me time to get assets in place.”
“This is all because of that goddamn Vaught!” Ortega moaned. “He got me into this!”
“Am I wasting my time with you?” Fields was losing patience. “Are you going belly-up before I have a chance to fix this?”
Ortega stood in his kitchen trying to get a grip on himself. “No,” he finally croaked.
“Good. My men will be there late this afternoon. In the meantime, your job is to wait for the phone to ring and gather whatever intelligence comes your way. Read me?”
“I read you,” Ortega mumbled, starting to cry.
“We’ll get this sorted out. Just keep calm.” Fields broke the connection.
Ortega sat down at the kitchen table, resting his head in his hands. He was sure great violence had already been done to his wife, and probably his children. His greatest fear was that the phone would never ring.
After a minute, he sat up and wiped his eyes, nearly jumping out of his skin at the sight of Dan Crosswhite standing in the kitchen doorway. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
Crosswhite tossed Nancy’s keychain onto the kitchen table.
Ortega saw the keys and sprang to his feet.
Crosswhite took a Glock 22 from behind his back and aimed it at his face. “Sit your ass back down.”
Ortega did as he was told. “Where’s my wife?!”
“She’s fine. So are the kids.”
Ortega swallowed the lump in his throat, afraid to believe what Crosswhite had just said. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“You were talking to Fields?”
Ortega nodded.
“He’s working with Serrano—but you knew that already, didn’t you?”
Ortega’s eyes floated. “What are you talking about?”
“I don’t have it all worked out yet.” Crosswhite pulled out a chair and sat down across from him. “Te
ll me who ordered the hit on Alice Downly.”
Ortega shrugged. “Serrano and Ruvalcaba. Who else?”
“And who’s the gringo sniper?”
“How should I know? What does this have to do with my family? Tell me where they are!”
“Is Fields sending men?” Crosswhite asked.
“Of course. Now tell—”
“What’s he sending them for?”
“To help me find Nancy and the kids! Why else?”
Crosswhite frowned. “Are you that fucking stupid? You’re compromised, Mike. Your house is compromised. Your family is compromised. Your whole goddamn reason for being in Mexico is compromised. Do you really think Fields is sending men to help you? That’s not what he does.”
Ortega’s face twisted with confusion. “What the hell are you . . .” His voice trailed off.
“He’s is sending men to make you disappear, dumb-ass.”
“You’re crazy! Where’s Nancy?”
“With my wife.”
Ortega didn’t know whether to be relieved or furious. “You took them!”
“I didn’t take anyone. I invited her to come along, and she accepted.”
“She’d never do that! She’s been trained.”
“Trained? That’s funny. All I had to do was tell her you’d been abducted by the same people who killed Alice Downly. The second she heard that, she packed her bags, grabbed the kids, and jumped right in the car. Why would she do that, Mike? Do you share state secrets with your wife?”
Ortega looked down at the table top. “You son of a bitch.”
“That’s damn stupid, putting your old lady at risk. Where do you think we are, Disneyland?”
“Why did you take my family?”
“I know somebody within the CIA had Downly killed,” Crosswhite said. “Or at the very least, they turned their heads while Serrano had her killed. She wanted US Special Forces to operate south of the border, like they did in Colombia. She wouldn’t go along with CIA plans to put Serrano into power, so somebody had her whacked—that, or they set her up for Serrano to do it.
“And it would have worked, except Vaught fucked it up by chasing the sniper and placing Serrano at the scene. That’s when Fields was sent down here to clean up the mess. But then there was a major quake, and everything went to shit. How am I doing so far?”