by Rowley, M C
I paid the taxi and added a decent tip. Then, I scrambled over the thin fence and lumbered up the slope a little and looked back at the industrial park. There were a few lights driving around the streets below. The night breeze seemed to expand in my lungs as I breathed great breaths of it in. The night sky was littered with stars and the moon was almost full. It lit my dirt path through the undergrowth well enough as I tracked my way up the hill.
The terrain was rough, mainly rock and dirt and the small nopal trees were separate enough to walk through with ease. I reached the steep part of the first hill after an hour. I trekked on as the climb became more treacherous, my Hugo Boss shoes slipped a little on the dirt. I thought how ridiculous I must have looked, a business executive, obviously foreign, hiking through the Mexican undergrowth in what Mexicans referred to as the madrugada; an indeterminate time between 1am and sunrise.
After another hour, the hill grew steeper, and I reached the lip of a giant bowl shaped valley where the two hills met. I peered down into solid blackness. The valley floor would have to wait to be explored. My muscles ached and my breathing was heavy.
I turned back to look below. A grid system of barely lit hulks sat in silence, steam pouring out of a few of them. People working the 3rd shift, right through the night. Making grommets, and automobile parts, and plastic moulds, for people who would never question from where their expensive goods actually came. I sat down on a rare tuft of soft ground and reached inside my jacket pocket for my smokes. I didn’t smoke much, and never in front of people, only when I was alone, or with Eleanor and felt comfortable. I lit the Marlboro and took a long drag.
The industrial park below laid out as a giant rectangle, three or four kilometers across, and wide. Beyond it, the main highway passed, channeling tiny pairs of car headlights left towards Lujano center in the South, and right towards the north of the country. After the highway, more black hills mirrored those on which I sat.
A sound of rustling came from behind me.
I stubbed out the cigarette and looked around. The shadowy figures of the nopal trees blocked my view so I stood.
I heard the noise again. Two, maybe three people, locals, or wanderers. I didn’t want to make them jump and fire a shot, many people carried guns in these parts.
“Buenas noches,” I said.
Nothing came back but I heard the rustling grow stronger and closer and more determined.
“Buenas noches,” I called once more.
Then out of the shadows of the tree came a huge figure rushing toward me. I ducked but his large arms wrapped around my torso and squeezed. I struggled in his grasp but his hand pulled my arm back and toward my own neck until it felt as though my elbow would snap in two. I stopped struggling and watched as two other figures came walking from the darkness. One of them lit a flashlight and pointed at the other. A sultry face stared back at me. His slick black hair was still immaculate and his dark eyes bore down at me.
“Salvatierra?” I said.
“Quite the adventurer you are,” he said, with not the slightest amiable hint in his tone. He was panting too, after the trek.
“You’ve done me a favor bringing us up here. It’s perfect for the conversation we’re going to have.”
He nodded at the guy holding me who turned me sideways and kidney punched me with his free hand. Pain blazed up from the bottom of my back to my neck and then through my eyes to my head. I gasped for air and his grip got tighter.
“This is your order,” said Salvatierra. “Instructions which you must follow to the letter. Our employer needs you to be in a certain place at a certain time next Tuesday. You will need a truck with a hold that closes completely and you will receive a large package to be loaded into the truck. That package is sensitive and you need to take it to Polysol and keep it hidden and stay with it. There is cash in the company apartment. Do you understand?”
I nodded.
“Good. You have a week to prepare,” said Salvatierra.
I nodded but my head swirled with confusion.
“Once you arrive to Polysol with the package, further instructions will come.”
The guy holding me let me go and I fell to my knees. My neck throbbed with pain. I looked up at Salvatierra.
“Where do I have to go? To receive this package.”
He looked down at me with hatred strained through his face. “Here are the coordinates. Put it into a GPS and you’ll get there,” he said, flinging a small Post It note to me.
“Memorize those numbers and destroy them.”
I looked at the coordinates and nodded, and then I put the Post It in my jacket pocket.
“What’s the package?” I said, my arm still twisted up behind me.
“Don’t concern yourself with that. Just get hold of a truck. Be there at those coordinates next Tuesday before 4am.”
The big guy let me go. First relief and then pain flooded my veins.
Salvatierra and his two helpers stood up over me. Behind them the ground dropped away toward the industrial park. I stared up at Salvatierra, helpless.
He took his phone from his pocket, and swiped it and the backlight illuminated his face. He smiled, and turned it around to me.
The screen was a live FaceTime call. At the bottom of the frame, a car steering wheel, and a black dash. Above that, a house.
Our house.
The kitchen light was on. And it framed Eleanor. She was alone, washing some dishes. I couldn´t make out her face, but it was her no doubt.
For a second the pain faded. And then it returned and hit harder. I couldn´t speak. I couldn´t get a word out.
“You´ll see her soon enough. Do the job and she´ll not be harmed.” And Salvatierra turned the phone off. Everything went dark again. “But she leaves the house for anything other than the usual routine, we take her. Got it?”
I tried to shout at him but my throat was dry and tasted of old cigarette. I tried to stand but my legs put strain on my midriff. The pain in my abdomen was so intense, I slumped back down to the dirt, pathetic.
“Please,” was all I managed.
But Salvatierra turned away again, and said over his shoulder, “You have a week.”
And they walked back into the shadows.
Chapter Ten
I waited amongst the cactus trees and shrub on the same soft bit of ground curled like a dog until dawn crept behind the overcast clouds above my canopy. I had been lucky it had not rained. I had slept like that for a couple of hours, and my body ached from Salvatierra´s roughing up. Regardless of why this job was dangerous, or different, one thing that was certain now was that it was abrasive. Whatever my employers needed of me clearly leaned against high stakes. Someone at the top was nervous and they were watching Eleanor.
Not a good mix.
I rolled onto my back, took five deep breaths, got up to my knees and brushed my suit down and stood and set off walking downhill towards the park.
I made it back in just under two hours and Polysol was deserted. I didn´t see the CFO guy, just a couple of cars and light vans parked near the main building. I limped over the flattened and baked yellowy dirt ground to my porte-office without bother.
I got in and shut the door. There, on my desk was a coffee, and a brown bag. I opened it and the smell of melted cheese and ham hit my nose. I was starving. I demolished the croissant in less than three minutes, and slurped the coffee as if it were a Coke. After the croissant, I slumped at my desk and breathed out and shut my eyes.
A whole week. A week with Eleanor in their firing line. I picked up the office phone and dialed our house. No-one answered.
The thought of what Salvatierra´s people could tell her, or what they could do to her ran into my mind and I pushed it aside and rested my face in my open palms.
How had I let it get this far?
I breathed deeply again, and opened my eyes. A brand new Dell laptop sat on my desk in front of me. I woke it up and opened a new browser window. The Yahoo home page was awash w
ith a huge headline, saying the president of Mexico was to be investigated for a crime. I got side tracked and clicked the link. He and many others in his party had been supporting and enabling human trafficking for one of the big cartels. Even on Mexico´s terms, that was pretty big news and it threw me off. I dismissed it while opening another tab and the map app. I took out the Post It Salvatierra had given me and punched the coordinates into Google. I clicked on the pointer and zoomed in. The satellite image showed no buildings, but mountains. A single double lane carriageway cutting through the sierra. I zoomed closer to the exact point in satellite view and saw a lay by. I had my pick up point, but I´d check it first. I planned mentally to drive out there the next day. I panned out and guessed it to be about an hour and a half from Polysol, but through winding roads, and steep cliffs.
Next was a truck. I would buy a second hand one. An illegal one brought down by pochos in the States. Unregistered, unmarked. Clean. They´d take cash too and then I´d give it away in some pueblo to some lucky guy. Burning cars made no sense. Giving them away protected their identity because the new owner would be its guardian, and wouldn´t want to lose it. It was a win-win. A quick search on the map for all the local towns where I could roll up and buy a truck in cash revealed tons of options. Small populations, by the side of the highways. There were many. Then a knock at my door interrupted me.
“Come in,” I said.
The door opened and a lady in her early twenties stepped up smiling. She was the one doing interviews the day before. She wore a smart suit and a white shirt buttoned to the top. Her hair was bunned up, and although she was pretty, her face was serious and concentrated. She had thick glasses, the type that were in fashion, and oversized pearl earrings. She was holding a navy blue notebook and pen folded under her arms, across her chest.
“Yes?” I said.
“Mr Kersteen. I´m Paloma,” she said.
I saw her eyes scan my face, and my disheveled suit jacket and shirt. I remembered how bad I must have looked.
“Nice to meet you,” I said. “Where is everyone?”
She shrugged politely. “Didn’t they tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“The owners. They ordered us to shut down for a week. Gave everyone vacation pay. You really didn´t know?”
My mind was wandering. I couldn´t get the image of Eleanor alone on that video feed out of my head.
“Sir?”
“Sorry,” I said. “Erm, yeah I guess I remember something about it. Enjoy it. Go home,” I said.
She smiled. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
And then tiredness hit me. Like an electric pulse through my body. My muscles tingled and my eyelids swelled. I hadn´t even seen my living quarters.
“Can you arrange a car to wherever the company´s putting me up?” I asked.
“Of course.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes, “Just let me know as soon as a car arrives.”
“There is one other thing,” said Paloma.
I sat back up and turned back to face her.
“What is it?” I asked.
“A journalist. An American man. Is here to see you. Says he has an appointment with you?”
I ran it over in my mind. From the organization? Probably. But Salvatierra had delivered the order. Would he have sent someone this soon?
“What´s his name?” I asked.
Paloma looked at her notepad, “Jim Skelsh,” she said.
My blood felt ice cold and I ran through my internal database searching all the possible contacts who knew that name from International Paper. It was a guy, so not Lena. My head span. What had happened? I had slipped up with Salvatierra last night, but not with Pep or the lawyers.
Damn, I thought. “Send him in.”
Paloma nodded, turned around and left.
I recuperated myself by gulping down the coffee, flattening my hair with my fingers, and brushing down my suit jacket and shirt. I sat up straight and watched the open door Paloma had left.
A large ginger haired head poked through. His eyes were a blue that contrasted with the pink of his face. He was sunburnt but looked comfortable in the heat. I could just make out his khaki shirt, all ruffled and un-ironed. I had met him before.
“Hi Jim,” he said, putting stress on the fake name I had used at International Paper. “Fancy seeing you here.”
It was Jason the journalist with a huge grin on his face.
Chapter Eleven
Jason shut the door behind him, smirking as he did so. How had he found me? The evidence I had left at International Paper was minuscule and untraceable. And Jason was a journalist for God´s sake. He wrote articles about business in Latin America. His resources would be minimal, a meagre level up from a student reporter. None of this made sense and as if to mark that fact I felt my face flush with blood.
“How the hell did you find me?”
“Don´t worry,” and he paused and winked at me “Jim? Or Mark? Which do you prefer?” he said, taking a seat opposite me. “How do you come up with the names anyway?”
I shifted in my seat. In my experience, it was always more beneficial to remain silent in situations like this. Let the other person do the talking. Don´t give anything else away.
Jason smiled. “It doesn´t matter. You probably get given the new name by your employer each time, am I right?”
I stay straight faced. “What do you want?”
“I´ll call you Scott, I think,” he said, smiling.
My fists clenched under the desk. It was a violation. How in God´s name did he know? Suddenly, I saw the danger in front of me.
“Get out,” I said, standing up.
“Sure,” said Jason. “But you should know, I am a friend. I mean no harm to you. I´m a good journalist. I made some guesses, and got a lot right. Hear me out. I want to help you.”
I felt my jaw go slack, like they do in stupid movies with bad actors. Not to its vertical limit but it opened, slack. My muscles bubbled and heated atop my blood. My brain ran through the possibilities but nothing added up. I sat back down.
“I know you´re not a real CEO. I know you´re a corporate spy. Hear me out,” said Jason.
I couldn´t speak. I gestured with my hand for him to stay seated, and he continued,
“I know that you are in trouble and are being forced to some degree to do the spying.”
He continued. “And I know you have a son, Scott. And I know he´s dangerous.”
I looked at him and urged my muscles to remain relaxed, but my jaw ached with strain. This guy had totally and utterly stumped me.
“I´ve been investigating these activities for years. Standard stuff, sabotage, spying, but I know something is different with Polysol. And it involves the Lujano Governor, and maybe higher than that. Do you even know who your employer is?”
I shook my head.
Jason rolled back in his chair and pushed his hand through his red hair puffing sound of surprise.
“Oh man.”
“I have an idea,” I said, but my voice came out lame, like a animal on its way to the slaughter. I was exposed, and badly. Once my employer found out, the threats would come to fruition. “I know they are powerful,” I added.
Jason sat back up straight, a huge grin across his face. “Matias Esteban,” he said. “Your employer is Matias Esteban.”
My mouth had fallen fully open now. I didn´t even feel it at first. I just saw Jason´s grin widen still. Esteban? I couldn´t believe it, and Jason had said the governor, Pep, was involved too. Insane as it was, it did add up and from deep in the inner recesses of my gut, a voice told me it was the truth.
I stared at Jason. I knew I had screwed up by showing surprise at that, and maybe it was a bluff. Some attempt to get information out of me.
“You called me,” I said. “The other night.”
“Sure I did,” said Jason.
“No,” I said. “Not you, someone else. Said they were calling on behalf of a Mr
Reynolds. Is he with you?”
Jason just smiled.
“Scott,” he said, lifting his head and dissolving his smile into the face of an earnest friend. “That´s above my pay grade I´m afraid. And I don´t know what Mr Esteban has on you exactly but I can help. I have been investigating Mr Esteban for years. He is a bad guy. And I can help bring him down. All you have to do is lighten your load and tell me.”
I shook my head. “I don´t know what you´re talking about. Now, if you could please leave me in peace, I´d be much obliged”.
Jason stood. “Sure, Mr. Kersteen, you´re the CEO of Polysol. I´ll leave.”
Then he flicked his head down and pulled out his wallet, leafed through it and pulled out a card. He dropped it on my desk in front of me. Then, he went to his other pocket and pulled out a cheap Nokia cell phone, the type they sell for 20 bucks in 7/11 stores and threw that on the desk next to his card.
“If you have a change of heart,” he said. “ Use this phone to call me. The number is the only one saved in contacts. It´s safe. It´s untraceable. You have to be careful here. We can help. Do it for Eleanor.” And then he walked away and left the trailer.
I took his card and the phone, put them in my jacket pocket and leaned back.
I turned the monitor of my laptop back on so I could power it down, and saw the coordinates of the drop off again. I clicked back, and saw that the news page remained flooded with the president´s face and scandalous headlines baying for justice.
I closed the browser and shut it all down. I destroyed the Post It note and flushed it down the small porte-cabin WC.
I packed the laptop into a neat protective bag someone had left and headed out of the office. Outside, the sun scorched down, well over 25 degrees.
Jason had gone. The site was empty except for a small line of interviewees waiting to see Paloma. In front of her porte-office was a brand new white Suburban.
I walked across, and the driver greeted me.
“Mark Kersteen?” he said in a thick accent. I nodded.
“Le llevo a su casa, señor,” he said.