An Abduction (The Son of No One Trilogy Book 1)

by Rowley, M C

  Jason looked at me as though I had asked the most infantile question he had ever heard. The bar around us was filling up for the late evening session. The humdrum and the old Mexican romantic ballads rose and shielded our conversation further.

  “I help you,” he said. “And you help me bring down Esteban,” he said. “You see the news? About El Presidente?”

  I nodded, but the comment caught me by surprise, “Yeah, something about human trafficking? But what´s that got to do with—”

  Jason didn´t let me finish. “We are pretty sure Matias Esteban is behind it. I´m serious. The guy is a lowlife miscreant. Except, no-one knows it, and his life is far from low.”

  Jason looked at me straight. “Tell me what they want you to do here in Lujano and we can help you get your wife to safety.”

  Last week, I could have told Eleanor about our son. Now my situation had deteriorated to zero options. Whatever this pick up was, it held great importance for Mr Esteban. And for whatever reason, he had decided I was the one to do it. Eleanor could be wild, and I knew if I didn´t fix this by tomorrow she´d make a run for it. And then, who knew? What would Esteban do to protect his interests? Especially given the fact they already had our son close to her, that they were already watching her.

  I had to save her. And I would fight to save myself afterwards. Of course I would. That´s what anyone would do, when pushed to their limit and with no-one else to save but themselves, the vast majority of people would fight until their fingernails bled and their head pounded under the pressure until they were safe. It was the monkey brain instinct.

  “You have to help me,” I said.

  Jason nodded. “I will, but you have to tell me about the job.”

  “They want me to receive a package,” I said. “At specific coordinates. I have the coordinates, but they need me to get a truck. I planned to pick up an ex American one, unregistered, and then dump it. But what makes me wonder, of course, is the truck. Why such a big vehicle? It´s got to be drugs, right?”

  “Or women,” said Jason, without looking up. “Or kids”.

  I looked down. I felt sick.

  “You know how much humans are worth these days, Scott?”

  I said nothing.

  We finished our drinks and paid the check. We walked through the now busy cantina out into the dimly lit back streets. It was colder and the red and orange cobbled streets were deserted. We stepped in between two parked VWs.

  Jason turned to me. “Give me three hours. I´ll get in touch with Mr Reynolds´ team. And then I´ll phone you on that same cell. Okay? Now give me your home number and address.”

  I nodded. Jason handed me his Moleskine notebook and a biro. I scribbled the number and the address of our house.

  Jason continued, “Okay. I think we can get her out, but probably not down here. It isn´t safe. I´ll push to get her up to the States.”

  I nodded again.

  “Go home. Don´t call anyone,” he said. “Not your wife, not anybody. Just wait for my call,” he said one more time, and we shook hands and he walked off down the back street. I waited a minute and then turned and walked all the way back to my apartment.

  I got back just after 10pm, and waited there. My body was exhausted but my mind could not have been further from sleep. For the first time since this had started, I was rebelling against my employer. Against Esteban. Although he had never harmed us, this whole job was different to before. Stealing corporate secrets was one thing, picking up a package in the middle of Mexican mountains was another matter entirely. And here, in Lujano; Esteban´s home town. Jason´s mention of the president´s scandal added up too.

  Something to do with politics.

  After three hours, I had slumped onto the sofa and was starting to doze off when the cell phone in my breast pocket began vibrating and jingling.

  I took it out and pressed the little green accept button.

  Jason´s voice came on.

  “Scott. I´m so sorry.”

  I stood up, the phone pressed hard against my ear. “What do you mean?”

  “We were too late,” he said. “She´s already gone.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  I called our house a hundred times after Jason told me Eleanor had been taken.

  Maybe Jason was mistaken. Maybe she´d be back later.

  But it had been late in the evening. And they had been watching her. If she was gone, they had her. I was sure of it.

  I panicked at first, stomping up and down the apartment, running through what I could do. Jason had told me to stay calm. To do the job. That they would likely return her to me as soon as it was done. But that was four days away. I couldn´t wait. I´d go insane. Jason told me he could still help. To keep him posted on the pick up. I said I would. He was my only chance, the only one on my side.

  I had fallen asleep at around 4am. I awoke and for three beautiful seconds had forgotten it all. Then, it came back to me bit by bit. I decided then and there that I would prepare for the pick up. I would do it well, and not give Esteban or Salvatierra any reason to hurt Eleanor at all. That was in their interest after all.

  Now, I was sat at the kitchen counter again, laptop opened in front of me, Google Maps open.

  I had found the perfect place to buy a used truck. I budgeted around $3,000 US for a half decent unregistered mini van. I had already gone up to the roof to grab a part of the hidden cash I had left there.

  Google maps had its small red pointer rested in a middle sized population called Santa Maria.

  The town had the right number of population, and was situated on the side of the major highway that ran past Lujano, with Mexico City to the South, and to the North, the USA 12 hours away. This meant two things, lots of car sales on the side of the road, a main artery of trade and activity for any town lucky enough to find itself situated as such, and lots of ex-USA residents, folk who lived and worked illegally, and legally, Stateside. I would be able to find a working US registered truck in no time at all.

  I grabbed a taxi outside the apartment building´s plaza. The drive was fast, and we cruised along Lujano´s efficient and spotless highway around the city and out into the sticks, on the main highway the whole time. Before long, we reached an old battered and rusted sign that read:

  Santa Maria

  45,000 habitantes

  The driver pulled over at the entrance of the town, where the tarmac transformed into large rough cut cobbles and cement.

  I paid, got out and watched the taxi drive away. Then I turned and walked into the town. At the center, a doubled spired church sat in its own dusty plaza, which served as the meeting point for residents, who sauntered around in circles, followed by kids, and a few mangy street dogs too.

  I started by grabbing breakfast and a coffee in a medium sized local. The food was good. Fried pulled pork and tortillas. The coffee tasted like puddle water. I asked the owner of the restaurant about trucks, and he knew a guy and gave the address written on a napkin. I followed the directions to a junkyard called “El suerte”. I hoped the name would provide poetic justice.

  Carlos the owner was a small time importer running a tiny but profitable operation.

  His junkyard was muddy and in complete chaos with wrecks stacked upon more wrecks. Older cars that ran and even a few expensive models. I saw a Dodge Charger, and Ford Lobo truck that would have left the court only two years back. And he had a lot of American plated trucks, and a huge magnetized crusher.

  I found Carlos sitting in his caravan. He was dressed in a deep purple suit and matching purple tie. His hair was combed and gelled to creepy perfection. He wore two gold necklaces. He was eager to please and clearly sniffed dollars. He was thin and short. He walked me out and I started the hunt.

  Within five minutes I found a ten year old VW Transporter. I paid him $2500 dollars worth of pesos in cash and asked him to throw in some old Mexican plates. He had a teenage kid fit them for me and threw me the keys.

  As I drove away, I saw him clos
ing up the yard. That was his week´s quota of sales done.

  The truck sorted, I drove to scope out the pick up spot. It was noon. I pulled out my cell phone and punched the coordinates into Google Maps. Two hours away.

  The drive first took me through Lujano´s south side until I hit the main 57 to Mexico City. After 15 minutes, I turned off and before long, came rolling through fields after fields of corn, wheat and sorghum.

  The Sierra Mountains loomed in the distance for an hour before I started to ascend them. Arid sand grew greener and greener as the two lane highway, recently built, wound and turned through the mountains. I was alone, passing only a couple of trucks, one car and a guy on a horse and that was all.

  The road wound at certain points at almost 180 degree angles. The hills had been excavated and revealed stony walls of grey. As I got higher and higher, the valleys below changed into beautiful views. The Sierra felt endless, limitless to the horizon, and the truck handled well. I began to use the gears to slow, and rode each corner avoiding the brakes.

  I drove and drifted for an hour before the GPS started bleeping at me.

  One big turn to go. I took the curve and the road straightened out.

  “You have reached your destination,” blurted the GPS app.

  I pulled over. On the other side of the road, heading toward Lujano, was a lay-by.

  The pick up point.

  I drove down further until I found a break in the central divider, and did a U-turn. I drove back to the lay-by and stopped, killed the engine and got out.

  My neck burned. It was over 30 degrees. Nothing moved. No sound, no wind. Only the drone of a million crickets in the shrub. The sun glared down, furious at the earth.

  I checked the GPS again just to be sure.

  I rested for an hour and looked back at the map on the GPS app. There were no other possible routes. This was the only car friendly road into the Sierra that existed. I traced it back to Lujano, and then Polysol. The only choices I had to make were how to cross Lujano. I could go west around the city out to the industrial park through the traffic, through the city itself, which was madness, or the toll road which went around the east of the city. I´d have to stop and pay the toll 10 kms into it, but that was the only risk I saw. The toll road ended at the entrance of the industrial park. Then, security would check me in. I supposed I might look strange in a van dressed like a CEO, so I made a note to buy overalls for the actual day.

  I drove back slowly, taking note of each turn and each curve. I passed through two tiny towns and stopped for coffee in a small family run restaurant. I sat outside on a solitary table they had set up and sipped the weak brew. The town was plastered with Governor Pep Augusta´s face. Campaign posters declaring improvements in water sanitation, improvements in road quality, better schools, better salaries, better buses to Lujano. His same, smiling face. Kind of chubby but friendly and strong. He was a dream politician for sure. Handsome, approachable and honest.

  I finished the coffee and paid, leaving a decent tip. I figured they didn´t get much trade, although I was wrong, while as I left two families strolled in and started ordering lunch.

  I got back in the Transporter and continued taking it slow back down the mountains.

  The van handled well for a transit size model. I made it from the pick up point to the 57 highway in just under an hour.

  The rest of the journey was easy. I got to the park, passed straight through and arrived at Polysol one hour and a half after leaving the pick up spot in the Sierra, discounting my coffee break.

  Things were quiet at the site. The shutdown had started and it was deserted, as Paloma had promised. I parked the van next to my office trailer. I felt tired and walked to my office door, went in and locked it behind me and drew the blinds. It was 6pm and the sun illuminated my caravan office in a soft gold. I laid down on the small sofa at the side and closed my eyes. I thought about Eleanor, and our son. And about what I had allowed to happen.

  I must have fallen asleep for an hour or so by the time the office phone started ringing. I awoke from my slumber and gathered myself, and got up and stumbled to the desk and picked up the phone.

  “Mr Kersteen,” said Salvatierra´ s voice. “Plans have changed. Be ready tomorrow morning. At the spot we discussed. 4am.”

  And he hung up. I kicked the trash can next to me and cursed it.

  No time to make a plan. No time to ask where Eleanor was. I tried to check the registry, to retrieve the number but nothing. There was no point in going back to the apartment either. I would stay here. There were taco stands in the park and even though I wasn´t hungry, I would eat. I would need it for whatever awaited me tomorrow.

  Then I dialed Jason.

  “What´s up Scott?”

  His voice was clear.

  “The plan changed. It´s going to be early tomorrow morning. The pick up is tonight,” I said.

  “OK,” said Jason.

  There was silence for a few seconds.

  “Did you get anything on my wife´s whereabouts?” I asked.

  “No,” said Jason. “She´s gone. We´re pretty sure they took her peacefully. The neighbors aren´t saying they saw anything unusual.”

  “Jesus,” I said.

  “Stay strong Scott. Get this done and they´ll likely release Eleanor. We´re gonna have to wait for the package. I want to come with.”

  “No way. You can´t come. How the hell can I explain that?”

  “Will you have to?”

  “No, it´s too risky. What if I am picking up some of Esteban´s men? Or Salvatierra?”

  The line was quiet for a few seconds.

  “Okay”, said Jason. “I´ll hide out at Polysol. Wait for you.”

  I nodded before saying, “I don´t know Jason. But we need a proper plan,” I said, and hung up.

  I locked up the office and stepped outside to empty site. The sun was going down and the light was ominous. Somewhere, Eleanor, and our son too, might be watching the same sun setting. I prayed silently that she was okay. I needed to focus and get this done.

  It was 8pm, there were only 8 hours to go.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was 11:30pm when Jason appeared at my office door. He was wearing a large black jacket and a beanie hat balaclava. He looked intimidating until he pulled it off and revealed his smirking reddish face.

  “You sure no one saw you?” I asked.

  “Of course.”

  He walked around the office, waiting for me to invite him to sit down. “Take a seat,” I said.

  He smiled and I smiled back and he sat down.

  I had eaten at the entrance of the park, but I offered him coffee and brewed up a large jug.

  We waited for it to drip out, I poured it black and Jason took his as it was. We sat and sipped.

  “So what time?”

  “4am,” I said.

  “And nothing else?”

  “No,” I said. “Any idea on what this might be yet?”

  “Still trying to figure that out,” said Jason. “But I keep asking myself why they would need a big company like Polysol involved as a front? Why would they need…”

  He paused and looked up at me.

  “Why would they need me?” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  Jason turned on the small cubic TV set I had yet to use and the news came on. The President scandal had escalated. It had started with a house, stated the CNN en Español report. The first lady had had a house registered in her name with a value of more than 10 million dollars, a gargantuan amount for a house in Mexico when most regular Joe’s had houses worth less than 50,000 dollars. CNN of course had a graph to demonstrate this difference. The fancy apartment I was in was probably worth no more than $200,000 US. So 10 million dollars was beyond normal. The money of the house sale had been linked to a trafficking ring. Somehow they were connected, insisted the reporter. Back in the studio, the TV presenter was running a poll asking whether the president should step down or not.

&nbs
p; Jason was watching the TV. I went back to thinking over my drive again. Each curve, every turn. I was ready. I looked at my watch. It reached 12:30am.

  Time to leave.

  Jason wished me luck and I took the Transporter van out of Polysol´s borders and through the silent industrial park, which was bathed in that soft white light that only economy light bulbs produce. There was a faint hum, not the usual constant sound waves of production but electricity lines buzzing loud enough to be heard in the absence of everyone else.

  I made it to the toll road entrance and then across it in half an hour. Then, the highway, and then the mountain road. I drove with caution around the curves. The night was cold and so I flicked on the Transporter´s heater, soon warmth began to flood my legs.

  I saw no sign of life for the whole 90 minutes it took before I arrived to the pick up spot, did the U-turn to face Lujano again and parked.

  It was 2:36am. Just under an hour and a half until the package showed up.

  I killed the lights, and the engine, and that made it cold again. So I got out and walked around the Transporter in the lay-by a little. I opened the back doors so that the package could be loaded easier. I sat and waited there in the dead silence of the mountains. The night sky was clear and the taurus constellation hung right above me. The receding moon shone enough light to silhouette the mountain scape all around me. The Sierra lay resplendent in the darkness. The din of cricket legs scratching like a thousand tiny drum beats carried across the jagged land by the soft sierra wind.

  It turned 3:00am.

  I scanned the night horizon for any light pollution, the sign of nearby towns and villages, but nothing shone back. I only saw the dead black mountains and the profound dark blue night sky.

  I checked my watch. It was 3:30am.

  30 minutes to go.

  I got back into the van´s cabin again and started retracing the route back to Polysol in my mind. It was an hour to the highway, then twenty minutes down the toll road. And then ten to enter the park, and get to Polysol. And then I would be done. The last job. Unless Lena had been right back at International Paper. But why would they put a bullet in my head after picking up a package, I thought. I supposed that depended on what was in the package.