* * *
Kamilia had seen the black Mercedes parked beside of the church where she’d been living for several days for free, in exchange for maintenance work in the chapel. Kamilia had arrived in Sauvalito, dressed in rags and dirty in front of Father Gregor, pleading for charity. She said she’d come from Dallas and that she had nowhere else to go. At first glance, Father Gregor had sent her off to the neighbouring city because he didn’t have the resources to harbour the homeless in his church. But on second glance, he changed his mind. Kamilia first laid eyes on Father Gregor with the impression that he was a man of small frame, bald, and in his fifties. He had been composed and always polite with his soft voice. She didn’t know what made him change his mind so suddenly, but she had an idea.
He found a place for her to sleep in the little room off the altar. From the room led corridors between the rectory, where Gregor slept, and the basement where Varna served her clients. Kamilia did the housekeeping without asking questions. She was careful to put spasms and ticks into her motions to make Father Gregor believe she was a substance abuser, and no doubt a poor prostitute that had fled her hometown, with no family to search for her. She worked hard to appear neglected and pitiful. Apparently, she’d managed to convince Father Gregor, and he’d fully welcomed her into his parish.
In the space of a few days, she had watched several luxury vehicles halt beside the church to visit the humanitarian counter in the basement. Well-dressed men left the vehicles, descended the steps, reappeared moments later, and left. She hadn’t dared to eavesdrop on their meetings, but this time, she took a chance in creeping down the little corridor that led behind the counter where the old woman passed her days. Kamilia kept silent like she’d been taught to obtain the maximum amount of evidence. Behind the doorframe, just in front of Varna’s chair, Kamilia caught her breath and listened to the conversation between the old woman and the businessman.
“Hello, Mr. Edmond. It’s been a while since we’ve heard from you. How have you been?”
“Very well, thank you. My boss sends his regards.”
“How very kind of him. Is he satisfied with the latest merchandise?”
“Yes, perfectly. He’d like the same sort of thing this time as well!”
“I think that’s possible. We have plenty similar merchandise on reserve.”
“Excellent. I’ll take an order right now!”
“Quantity?”
“I think we’ll do the same as last time… one single package.”
“No problem. And how would you like your sweater? We have different ages, all of Mexican manufacture. Some are newer than others.”
“I believe we’re looking for the best you got!”
“I understand. So, the same amount as last time, please.”
Kamilia heard a shuffle and a bag opening. Then there was a long silence during which Kamilia had no idea what was going as. She wondered if he’d left, but then Varna broke the silence:
“It all seems to be in order, Mr. Edmond. Take this envelope, the time and the place where you will take possession of your package.”
“Thank you kindly. See you soon!”
“Always a pleasure doing business with you.”
Kamilia climbed back up the hallway to return to the refectory, where she grabbed her broom. She now knew that this old woman was in business for Father Gregor. The church was, in fact, a point of sale for sweaters. However, she knew that “sweater” was code for another thing entirely.
CHAPTER 60
Father Gregor, dressed in his ample brown cassock and an oversized rosary tied like a belt, watched Kamilia attentively as she finished her meal in his apartments. He thought she looked like a drug addict, judging by her behaviour. She was ailing, but very beautiful nonetheless. Her beauty, despite her state led him to reflect on the possibility of fetching a good amount for her. She’s not Mexican, but that’s even better. The only thing that stopped him was her status as an American on American territory. If anyone did come after her, the situation would rapidly degenerate and everything would be compromised. He had to be prudent and vigilant.
“How did you find your meal, Kim?” he asked, the candlelight flickering over his face.
“Excellent, Father. Thank you!”
“You are welcome, child. You have no family in Dallas?”
Kamilia knew these questions were not without importance. He wanted to know what he could do with her.
“No, I don’t have anyone. My parents died years ago. I had a brother, but he died of a drug overdose three years ago.”
“How sad. I am sorry.”
“Thank you, but it’s fine. It was years ago.”
“What did you do in Dallas?”
“Oh, you know… a girl’s got to survive. I’m not an angel. Prostitution… but… I… I decided to change my life. I’m trying not to use anymore, too.”
“You don’t have any friends who are looking for you, or worried about you?”
“No, I don’t have anyone. I decided to go south because nobody would look for me and I could start a new life,” she said haltingly.
“What are you going to do?”
“I… I don’t know right now. I don’t have any money or work.”
“You can stay here as long as you need, my child. If you wish, we can work together to find you a job.”
“You’re very kind!”
“It’s nothing, Kim,” he said with a smile, taking a mouthful of red wine.
“I hope you won’t be mad if I go to bed now. I'm very tired.”
“Of course not. Good night.”
“Thank you,” she said, and returned to her room.
That night, Kamilia lay in bed, but couldn’t close her eyes. She kept her knife by her side, going over all the questions Father Gregor had asked of her.
* * *
There was a girl, not much older than twenty, hogtied in Ed’s trunk in the middle of the desert. She was gagged so she couldn’t scream. Namara and Guerra didn’t know how long she’d been crammed into the trunk. She was utterly immobile, staring at her attackers, casting them terrified looks.
“Good take, isn’t it?” asked Ed proudly holding a shotgun.
“Yes, indeed. Good work,” Guerra responded.
“Thank you. You’re going to help me transport her over the border. Gregor will take her from there.”
“How are you going to do that without getting arrested? If you go through customs you risk getting searched,” said Namara.
“That’s no concern. Don’t worry! Come on, leave your car here guys and get into mine! Let’s go! Here, take the gun, I take the wheel,” said Ed throwing the shotgun in the air, which landed in Namara's hands.
Namara took a closer look at the shotgun stock to see small green paint traces. His heartbeat went up. It's the same fucking green that I saw in my visions... lime green.
“What's that!? ” asked Namara pointing at the stock.
“What, the green!? That's the colour for one of my shed... I have problems with the fucking door sometimes so I must have hit it with the gun to open it.... I don't know, don't remember... why!? What the fuck is wrong with you!? retorted Ed while opening a door to get in the car.
“Nothing! Nothing! I just hate that fucking colour, that's all!” said Namara, opening the passenger door.
Ed smiled at Namara.
“Alright, I hear you, bro! I agree, it's ugly! But we have to keep going, they are waiting for us!
“Let's go! ” retorted Namara.
Ed took the wheel and steered them toward the US border in complete silence in the middle of the night.
* * *
Ed cruised toward a brown shed in the middle of nowhere. He unbarred the door and beckoned them forward. He switched on a light that illuminated the interior. It seemed to be an empty garage. The floor was concrete and there was nothing inside. Namara and Guerra lifted the struggling girl out of the trunk. Ed lifted a board on the floor and revealed a black hole.
“Yeah, Arthur, a tunnel going under the border. It was built by the cartel. We use it for our own exchanges. It’s a small miracle. Three miles of armed concrete with interior lighting. See for yourself!”
Ed climbed down into the hole and disappeared. A whirring sound arose, like a generator, and a faint light shone up from the whole.
“Bring down the girl!”
“Ok!” shouted Namara, who went down first. Guerra took the girl by the shoulders and slid her into the hole, passing her off to Namara. It was indeed a cement corridor, seven feet high with lights lining the ceiling. The corridor extended beyond their sight.
The girl struggled and cried. When Namara removed her ankle attachments so she could walk the trajectory, she collapsed to the ground.
“You’d better get up or I’ll kill you right away!” said Ed, pulling her violently to her feet. “Let’s go!”
Namara and Guerra exchanged glances but said nothing. They began their underground march. At the other end, they exited into another shed of the same sort where two white men were waiting for them. They climbed out of the hole, pulling the girl with them, and laid her in the trunk of another vehicle that was stationed in the garage. The two white men, who resembled mechanics, threw Ed a small nylon bag. Inside was a handful of American $100 bills.
“It’s all there!” said a man who opened the garage door to drive the vehicle away.
“Wonderful,” said Ed, on his guard.
Namara peered through the open door.
“Where are we?” he asked Ed, who snapped the bag shut and turned to leave.
“A little shithole in Texas… Sauvalito. Come on, let’s get out of here. Get back in the tunnel.”
Namara recognized Sauvalito. He scowled at Guerra in frustration. He wanted to kill them all now, but he could do nothing. They made the return journey in silence. Namara knew that, at this point, they knew enough. He had to act in the next few hours if they wanted to put a stop to it.
CHAPTER 61
Namara sipped his coffee at an outdoor table. He watched the pedestrians stroll through the streets, sheltered from the burning sun. He thought of nothing in particular, apart from whatever was going on in front of his face. There was a flipping sound away. Gradually, the sound became more intense. He realized it was the fault of a child, a playing card installed on his bicycle wheel, hitting all metallic rods inside the wheel. There was a little wicker basket attached to the handlebars. The child was around six years old and accompanied by his father, walking by his side on the sidewalk. They ended up passing right in front of Namara’s chair. There was a sticker stuck to the wicker basket in the shape of a larger-than-life dragonfly.
A few moments after they had disappeared from his field of vision, his visions came screaming back to him, the beating of wings, the noise of some flying insect. With the card flipping sound and the sticker, he got a flash, which unlocked his mind. He realized in that instant that it could have been the sound of nothing but a dragonfly – the frequency was unlike anything else. He was sure of it. He stood and ran after the father and son. Several feet down the road, he caught up to them, cut them off, and smiled. They froze. Namara crouched and spoke to the little boy in Spanish.
“I’m sorry to disturb you and your father, but I see that you have a beautiful dragonfly on your bicycle. I like dragonflies a lot and I’d like to know where I can get one like it.”
The boy, visibly uneasy, didn’t respond. He shrugged his shoulders.
“I bought it, mister,” said his father.
“I’d like to get one for my nephew.”
“It’s the logo of a garage on Avenue Escondido. They sell them over there.”
“Very interesting… what kind of garage?”
“Oh, well… they fix cars. They have a huge scrap yard, too. They procure old vehicles for parts. You can get some pieces at low prices too. I always go to them, they’re good.”
“I don’t know the area. Could you give me the exact address?”
“It’s a few streets away. Continue down this boulevard and turn left at the fourth block. Follow it to the end. It’s a huge garage, you can’t miss it.”
“Could you get to the back yard?”
“You mean… the scrap yard?”
“Yes.”
“No. It’s fenced and chained. Only mechanics can get in, not the public. If you need something particular, you got to ask them.”
“Thank you very much for the information.”
“No problem!”
Namara found it easily at the edge of town. Like the man with the boy had said, there was a huge yard around back. It was closed off with high metallic barriers that blocked everything from view. From outside, you could see piles of automobiles stacked one on top of the other to form titanic metal columns higher than the walls. He circled the property in his car, dialling on his cell phone. The other line engaged.
“Andy, it’s Danny. I need you to find me the best possible satellite photos.”
“Ok. And what are we looking for?”
“I don’t know… it seems to be the back yard of a garage. The yard is barricaded and we can’t see inside. Could you get me some good close-ups?”
“Yes. I’m going to see what I can do. Address?”
“278 Escondido. By the way, we’re ready to light the fuse. Get ready for the boom!”
“Ok. I’ll send you what I find over email.”
CHAPTER 62
Ed left a neighbourhood grocery, a bottle of scotch in one hand. He walked calmly on the burning asphalt on the idle street. A few passers-by strolled slowly while an old lady rocked on a second-floor balcony overhanging the road. His car was parked one street over and he headed there when a minivan pulled up behind him. Still moving, the sliding door opened at Ed’s height. Taz pounded on the breaks. Twinkie had taken out all the back seats. He was squatted and armed with an Arwen shotgun containing neutralizing plastic projectiles.
Ed turned at the squeal of the breaks. In a fraction of a second, there was a hooded man watching him from the open side of the truck, dressed in black and aiming a high-calibre shotgun. Ed didn’t have time to understand what was happening; he drew his revolver from his belt just as Twinkie fired at his solar plexus. There was a blast and the giant cartridge was ejected from the charger. The pain pulverized Ed but he still tried to run. He’d taken about two steps when Twinkie aimed a second projectile to his chin, rendering him unconscious from the impact. Ed fell to the sidewalk loudly, completely inert.
At that moment, another van that had been hidden between buildings burst out and pulled up next to Ed’s body. The dazed pedestrians, bearing witness to the spectacle, saw several men, hooded and dressed in black, peel away at full speed as the second van collected the man stretched out on the ground. Gonzo, Mike, and Guerra threw him in the back while Namara at the wheel glanced around for potential resistance. The two van doors slammed shut with a bang and the two vehicles disappeared into the streets of San Matanza. The operation had lasted a few seconds and the witnesses weren’t entirely sure they believed what they’d just seen. Silence fell over the little street and the old lady continued to rock, staring at the two plastic cartridges lying on the street next to a destroyed bottle of scotch.
* * *
When Ed woke up, he was bound tightly to a wooden chair. His jaw was throbbing, but not broken. He gathered his thoughts for a few seconds and tried to remember what had happened. The van, the hooded man, his loss of consciousness. He looked around. There were eight hooded figures staring at him in what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. There were no windows that could tell him where they were or what time of day it was. How long had he been out? How many hours, or days, even? He tried to struggle against the restraints, but he couldn’t move. He was trapped.
“Where am I!? What did you do to me!? Let me go, you don’t know who you’re dealing with!” yelled Ed.
“Oh, I bel
ieve we know more than you think,” said a familiar voice.
Three people removed their hoods to reveal three familiar faces.
“Rick? Arthur? What the… Léa!?”
“Hello, Ed,” said Namara. “I hope my friend wasn’t too hard on you, but we can’t take chances, understand? If you had decided to draw your gun, we would have killed you and we didn’t want that.”
“Rick… shit… you tell me what happened!”
“There’s no Rick, there never was.”
“You, you piece of shit! You think you tricked me!?”
“I do. I was surprised how easy it was to do.”
“What do you want? Money? You won’t get any! You’re all gonna die, I’ll make sure of it!”
“I don’t think you understand, Ed. Your money doesn’t interest us. Don’t worry… you deserve an explanation, so we’ll explain. We’re not barbarians,” he said with a smile.
“Who are you?”
“There’s no name to describe us, you know. What does matter is what we do.”
“Fine, then what do you do?” sneered Eduardo, and spat at their feet.
“We track people of your type, my friend!”
“I see. And what type am I?”
“The type who kills hundreds of people over years and who’s gotten away with it.”
“You mean this is all because of the girls?”
“Yes. We were hired to find you, Ed, which we have done.”
“What are you? A cop?”
Namara laughed at him.
“I fear we’ve deceived you. No, we’re not the police. Were that the case, my work would be done. How do I put this… you could define us as cleaners. We’re getting to the source of the mess. We are those that eliminate garbage like you that believe they’re above everything. We eliminate mistakes like you! There, that’s my work: putting the spokes in the wheels. I hope you didn’t think you’d get away with it.”
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