Blood Tide

by Graham Spence

  Miguel’s certainly were, although the hordes of groupies in designer outfits not much bigger than a handkerchief but costing more than my annual salary, hung onto every slurred word as if he was a bearded prophet descending from Mount Sinai with stone tablets.

  The girls at the party pointedly ignored Caysee, whom they considered to be a cheap-thrills gringa, but showed undiluted interest in Carl. His flowing sun-bleached hair and Patrick Swayze profile caused considerable feminine fluttering. It seemed the chicas watched Point Break as avidly as the hijos, and soon everyone was calling him Patricio. Carl even hinted that he and Keanu — pointing at me — had robbed banks to finance our Mexican surfing sojourn. My nickname did not stick. Suffice it to say, the chicas were uninterested.

  Instead, I used the party to network. I got chatting to one guy I recognized from the competition. He introduced himself as Santiago and I recalled that he was a better surfer than Miguel, but obviously not stupid enough to win. Unlike Miguel, he actually looked like the Hollywood version of a narco with a middleweight boxer’s build and Zapata moustache. He even had a scar running down the side of his face.

  “You guys are great surfers,” I said.

  “The best in Mexico,” he agreed.

  “Maybe even in California as well,” I replied, trying not to chuckle at my cringe-worthy conversation.

  He thought for a moment. “Perhaps we can come to your competitions? I think Miguel would beat any American.”

  I nodded. “He should go professional.”

  Santiago nodded. “He should. But sadly, his father will never allow that. He is needed in the family business.”

  “He could still come and surf with us in San Diego. You too.”

  Santiago laughed. “My friend, do you know who Miguel’s father is? Your federales would arrest us the second we put foot on American dirt.”

  I looked suitably puzzled, hoping to act as convincingly as Caysee. Santiago put a thickly muscled arm around me. “It is better you don’t know. It is better you stick to surfing.”

  He laughed again. “If you knew who Miguel is, you would not have cut him out on that wave.”

  Once again, I apologized profusely. Santiago shook his head. “Do not worry. Miguel won. But if he hadn’t, things would not look too good for you.”

  Another guy, whom I also recognized from the competition, approached Santiago and slipped him some pills.

  “Ecstasy,” said Santiago to me. “Want some?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve just snorted a line.”

  “OK. Tell you what, we’re all surfing at Baja Malibu tomorrow. You must come along.”

  I nodded.

  “Bring the girl,” he said. “What’s her name … Caysee?”

  It was an order.

  “And Carl?”

  “You mean Patricio? He can come.”

  I found Carl, standing in front of French windows overlooking the ocean and deep in conversation with some hombre who looked more like an assassin than a macrobiotic surfer.

  “We’re in,” I whispered. “We’ve got an invite to surf tomorrow. Get hold of Caysee and let’s get out of Dodge as quietly as we can.”

  Chapter Seven

  NICK AND CHRIS were waiting when we got back to the apartment.

  It had been an interesting night, but even so, Carl and I had misgivings. What were we doing? What exactly would we achieve by infiltrating the hijos? What was our end goal? Just to surf and party with them?

  We both wanted something more structured. A plan of action, rather than a finger in the wind. Proactive, rather than reactive.

  “I think you guys are missing the point,” said Caysee. “The situation is fluid. At the moment we want to see how everything pans out. Ultimately, we want to nail Pancho Guerra and one way to do so may be to entice the son to cross the border. Once that’s done, we can legitimately arrest Miguel as a possible accessory to crimes, which gives us some leverage on his dad.”

  “Why don’t we just kidnap Miguel, shove him in the back of a car and drive him across?”

  “It’s possible. But the cartels have access to the best lawyers on both sides of the border. Even some judges. We would never get away with it.”

  “So it’s just open-ended?” asked Nick. “We just hang around until we see a gap?”

  “Sort of. But as you guys must know, that’s how working undercover goes. It’s gathering intel, not necessarily initiating anything, that pays off in the long run. But the end goal is to somehow legally entice Miguel across the border.”

  Carl turned to me. “Did this Santiago guy say what time we should meet tomorrow?”

  “No, but judging by the state of Miguel, I guess it won’t be a dawn patrol. Let’s just hit the beach after breakfast, do some fishing and surfing, and wait.”

  Chris cellphone pinged.

  “You’ll have to fish without me,” he said. “That’s a text from Caitlin. She’s arriving in TJ early tomorrow and wants me to pick her up.”

  “Caitlin?” asked Caysee.

  “My daughter.” It was obvious Chris was not pleased. Nor was anyone else. Well, except me. The others were appalled that a civilian was walking straight into an undercover operation.

  “You’ll have to send her back,” said Caysee.

  “I can’t, she’s already in the air. Also, she’s over twenty-one and has a will of her own.”

  “Her life may be in danger,” said Carl.

  “I know. So is mine, if her mother finds out.”

  Nick attempted to bring some sanity to the situation. “Hey — relax guys. It could be weeks, if not months, before anything happens here. This is a slow-burning operation. We get another room in the motel for Chris and Caitlin, and after a week or so, when Chris and I go back as originally planned, we take her with us. In the interim, she has a nice beach holiday in Mexico.”

  I wasn’t so sure. Nor was Carl. Bu there was little we could do.

  Caysee shrugged. As the DEA agent on the ground, it was her call.

  “OK, but we have to play it super-cool. We don’t take any chances whatsoever when she’s around.”

  We nodded. I volunteered to go to the airport with Chris, but that was curtly vetoed by Caysee.

  “Don’t be stupid. You’re the guy who got the invite to go surfing.”

  Chris looked at me with a half-grin. I wasn’t fooling this guy.

  Caysee’s phone rang. It was John Peters. She put him on speaker as she updated him on the mickey mouse surfing competition and the herculean debauchery afterwards.

  “Kelly got an invite from a guy called Santiago to meet on the beach tomorrow. Name ring a bell?”

  Peters whistled. “Sure does. His father, Juan Veloza, is one of the most feared sicarios in Mexico. Guerra never goes anywhere without him. Santiago is a chip off the rotten block. He killed his first man before turning sixteen, and has a scar on his cheek to prove it. He is not a true hijo as he’s not narco royalty. He hangs out with them on Pancho’s orders as Miguel’s unofficial bodyguard. He is the most dangerous of the group, unlike the other pampered brats. Be very careful of him.”

  “Well, he’s Kelly’s new best friend.”

  Caysee, Carl and I hit the beach after a breakfast consisting of granola bars and black coffee, while Chris went to the airport. Nick’s job was to stay in the background and watch. We didn’t want the narcos suspecting he was with us, as he would be the unidentified wildcard if anything rapidly went south. Personally, I couldn’t think of anyone better watching my back.

  As guessed, none of the hungover hijos were on the beach. There was a sturdy swell running in a southerly breeze so the three of us paddled out and had some fun until the thought of something stomach-enhancing drove us back to land. We went to Tecate Jack for cheese-drenched nachos and beer, and bumped into Chris and Caitlin, just returning from the airport with the same idea.

  In my opinion, Caitlin was aloof towards me. Even worse, she enthusiastically hugged the others and was an insta
nt fan of Caysee, the epitome of beach cool.

  Caysee called me over to the bar under the pretext of buying more beers and said we had to cancel the narco surf session, unless Chris could get Caitlin out of the way.

  Minutes later, that was rendered obsolete. The saloon-style swinging door to Tecate Jack’s flung open and in burst the hijos led by Miguel. Judging by the noise and general inane hilarity, it seemed their solution to recovering from last night’s excess was more of the same.

  Miguel’s eyes were as stiff as sticks as he focused on us.

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s the Yanquis.”

  He slobbered a kiss on Caysee cheek. Or more accurately, her shoulder, despite standing on tiptoes. She simpered like a kitten.

  While wishing Miguel serious bodily harm, I felt a thundering whack on my back. It was Santiago. He was the only sober one in the party, even though he too seemed to be in exceptionally high spirits. Whatever the hijos were taking, it was infectious.

  I was about to ask if the surfing session was still on. But Santiago was not looking at me. Instead, his eyes fixed on Caitlin.

  “Amigo, who is your friend?”

  Caitlin sat opposite me. I stretched my leg and gently nudged her foot under the table.

  “I don’t know. She is with her father. They are turistas like us.”

  Caitlin looked directly at Santiago. “My name is Caitlin.”

  “Ah … what a beautiful name. Is this man your boyfriend?” he asked, gesturing somewhat contemptuously towards me. I increased the pressure on her foot.

  “I have never met him before,” she answered, cool as anything. My respect for her quick-thinking skyrocketed.

  “Is this your first time in Mexico?”

  She nodded.

  “Well, if you want a good time, you need look no further than me and my friends.”

  Chris stood. “Nice meeting you guys, but we have to check into our hotel. No doubt we will bump into you all some other time?”

  He grabbed Caitlin’s arm, and once again, she had the presence of mind not to look confused.

  We stood. Santiago pulled out Caitlin’s chair with a gallant flourish. She smiled, but didn’t look back as she left.

  Miguel barked at a waiter and soon three tables joined ours, as well as every chair in the bar. Some were not vacant, which involved unceremoniously ejecting the occupiers, who had the good sense not to protest. Miguel squeezed his chair between Carl and Caysee with blatant provocation. It was then I realized I was not good at this undercover stuff. Outnumbered or not, Carl and I would have stood our own against this drug-fueled group in a straight bar brawl. My hands clasped in anticipation, and I looked at Carl. He shrugged and moved to make way for Miguel.

  I was also fascinated at how fixated the hijos were on American girls, particularly as their local groupies were so gorgeous. There were four sitting with us, all of whom would give Salma Hayek a serious run for her money. Yet the hijos were falling all over Caysee and the way they had ogled Caitlin left no doubt of their intentions. Andrea had warned us that the hijos took what they wanted.

  Miguel stretched over Caysee, putting his hand on her bare thigh, as he leaned somewhat unsteadily towards me.

  “Amigo, I am told you think I should become a professional surfer? That I am better than Kelly Slater?”

  I nodded. “You would do well on the IPS circuit. Maybe even be world champion.”

  “I know. I win every competition here. But I am also a businessman. I cannot spend all my time travelling to frivolous contests.”

  “Santiago told me that. It is a pity. But at least you should come to the ones in California?”

  He thought about that. “Do you think I would win?”

  “I am certain. But it is different. In Mexico, the waves are good but ripples compared to up north. You should come and surf at Mavericks. I go there every summer.”

  I threw the name in casually. Few, if any, surfers have not heard of Mavericks where waves routinely peak at twenty-five feet and soar as high as sixty-five. I knew Miguel would take the bait. He knew that to surf Mavericks, the ultimate mainland American accolade, would make him a hero in Baja. He would not just be a narco brat, but a world-rated surfer.

  “Perhaps I will,” he said.

  I could see Caysee following the conversation with interest. This, maybe, could be a way to entice the hijo leader to cross the border.

  She gazed into Miguel’s eyes. “Carl has never surfed Mavericks,” she said. “He is too scared.”

  Miguel looked at him, disdain in his eyes. “Patricio scared? Do not worry, my Hollywood friend. I will ride it for you. Then they will make a movie called Point Break Two, with Miguel Guerra rather than Patrick Swayze.”

  Carl laughed. “I will ride it when my back is better.”

  Miguel shook his head. “I have seen your fancy blog on the internet. I have seen you surf. You are not in my league.”

  Carl shrugged good-naturedly and I quickly interjected, “Miguel, we could practice in the beach break here. Even with your talent, you will still need to get used to riding a big gun. At least eight foot. Small boards like the ones you use at Rosarito will wobble like jelly on those monster waves.”

  Miguel spoke to one of his friends in Spanish. He was instructing him to order a big wave surfboard tomorrow from a gringo shaper who lived in Laguna Beach. Possibly another way the narcos smuggled coke or money across the border. I would translate that information to Caysee later.

  Miguel put his arm around Caysee. “Come. Walk on the beach with me.”

  She smiled and got up. Carl looked away, pointedly feigning resignation. I felt the hairs on my arm rise as if touching static electricity. I knew it was stupid. I knew Caysee was a martial arts expert and even a narco would not rape a turista in broad daylight. Caysee could more than handle herself.

  I looked at Carl, but he pointedly ignored me, speaking animatedly to another hijo, while also bringing in one of the girls into the conversation. He was flirting as openly as Caysee. He was much better at this than me.

  The surf session was cancelled when the first bottle of Tequila appeared and the cork tossed out of the window. It lasted a few minutes. Then another bottle arrived. And another.

  I drank as slowly as I could, but even so, it was too fast. I wanted to appear to be as much of a hard-partying beach bum as most gringos surfing in Mexico. To come here and swig shots of wheatgrass extract would ruin our reputation, to state the obvious.

  Miguel and Caysee returned an hour later. I could see beach sand in Caysee’s hair. It seemed the honeypot had been sprung.

  Miguel grabbed the tequila bottle by the neck and drank it, his Adam’s Apple bobbing like a marathon runner swilling Gatorade. At that moment his phone rang.

  He put up his hand for silence, which was immediately obeyed. The waiter even shushed other tables.

  He listened intently for several seconds or so, then said “Si, papá.”

  He took a wad of pesos out of his pocket and threw it the table. “Vamonos!”

  The hijos rose as one and left.

  Chapter Eight

  “WHAT HAPPENED ON the beach?” Carl asked Caysee as soon as the hijos piled out of the door.

  “He tried it on, of course. But I stopped him after some pretty ardent groping saying my boyfriend was close by and I would not two-time him on a holiday. However, I promised him sex only if he came with me to America.”

  “And he fell for that?” Carl asked.

  “Well, he did say he could get rid of you and we could screw in Mexico. But I said I would never speak to him again if that happened. I told him to be patient.”

  “So we try and lure him into America with promises of sex and surfing? That would sure work with me,” I said, quickly turning around to make sure Caitlin and Chris had not returned.

  “Interesting to see how deferential he became when his father called,” said Carl “He’s on a tight rein.”

  “Patience is our only optio
n at the moment,” said Caysee. “Also, we can’t really do anything until Caitlin leaves.”

  As if on cue, Chris and Caitlin walked into the bar. “We’ve booked into the apartment next to yours,” Chris said. “Let’s go back.”

  I tried to pay our bill, but was told that Miguel had settled the account with a tip so large that the waiters were doing the Macarena. As we left Caitlin fell in beside me. “Why were you kicking my foot under the table?”

  Obviously Chris hadn’t told her about the hijos, so I wasn’t going to either. This was strictly on a need-to-know basis.

  “Carl and I entered a surfing contest yesterday, and those were our competitors. Take it from me, they’re not good guys. I also cheated a little in the contest — although not as much as them — and was worried there may be some payback. So I thought it better if they didn’t know you were with us.”

  “Surely I can make up my own mind?”

  “Of course. One guy said he could show you a good time. Up to you.”

  She quickened her pace to catch up with her father, linking her arm in his. It was obvious she adored him, and was making up for lost time.

  Back at the motel, Nick joined us. He said he had been watching Caysee and Miguel, and it certainly got quite steamy. Caysee was lucky she still retained her bikini top. However, he would have intervened as a concerned bystander if it progressed further.

  Caysee smiled. “I knew you were there, and thank you. Rest assured — all of you — it would take me all of two seconds to emasculate Miguel permanently, but that would give the game away. So Nick, keep nearby whenever he gets me alone, but only intervene if I gave a distress signal.”

  “You bet. You handled him beautifully.”

  “Handled who?” asked Caitlin. We had forgotten she was in the room.

  Caysee looked at Chris. He nodded.

  “Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “Time for some home truths. As you know, Nick and Kelly are Special Forces. Caysee is a DEA agent investigating a group of surfers from cartel families. So they’re keeping an eye on them. But this has nothing to do with you or I so we’re going to have to ignore them.”