by Rowley, M C
“Damn it,” she said.
The cop took a step back, and moved his rifle up to point at us, moving it between Kyle and I slow and determined. Kyle stayed looking at him and leaned back into the truck´s cab, half in, half out, and turned to the fed. “Solo el teléfono,” she said, pointing to the sat phone in the central module of the truck.
The cop didn’t move but I guessed his eyes had darted to the phone. He nodded. Like it was a grenade, she lifted the satellite phone from the seat and held it up to the cop still pointing the gun at us. He braced as she moved and the machine gun he was holding kept its horizontal slide between our heads.
“Una llamada,” she said. One call.
“Solo una llamada.”
The fed stared at her. His finger had slipped around the trigger of the rifle, and the safety was off.
“Una llamada,” said Kyle once more.
The cop´s colleagues behind him were starting to walk over to offer back up. He seemed to sense this, and looked at Kyle
He nodded.
“Gracias,” said Kyle.
In one swift movement, Kyle punched in a number and held the phone to her ear. She spoke quickly and quietly and then went silent. I couldn´t hear what she´d said.
We waited for a minute, looking at her. The fed cop, and me. My heart pumped hard through the tight kevlar wrapped around my chest.
And then she spoke into the phone, in Spanish this time. And then she offered the phone to the cop.
Astounded, he took it and put it to his ear.
He listened and as he did, his face drained of blood, going even whiter and paler than before. Even his sunglasses failed to disguise the horror on his face. As if he’d contracted a ravenous disease in seconds and now faced certain death. He removed the shades and his eyes were stretched in terror and then he lowered the phone and passed it back to Kyle.
“¿Como?” How? Was all he said.
She glanced at me as she got in to the driving seat. “Let´s get out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Kyle started the engine and we drove past the cop, who stood frozen like a gargoyle. We drove through the road block and out into the open road. The hills up ahead were less then ten KMs away. After five minutes, we were back in the middle of fields and mountains fast approaching in the distance.
“Not good,” said Kyle. “Not good at all.”
“Why?” I asked.
“You only get so many get of jail free cards in our game, and I used two to pass by a single town.”
I climbed back over the central module and into the passenger seat once more.
“I need to find my wife, Kyle,” I said. “That needs to start happening now.”
“Shut up,” said Kyle. “You think this all about you and your shit?”
She slammed the brakes and hauled the truck to the side of the road. She turned and burned her stare into me.
“Let´s wait for those cops to get permission to chase us. Shall we? Shall we wait and see happens then?”
“If it helps me find my wife, then maybe we should,” I said, doing my best to hold her gaze.
Kyle´s eye twitched slightly. Her face turned crimson.
“It won´t,” she said. “Because your wife is probably dead. Dead and buried. Sorry to tell you that. But it´s true. You´re lucky to have this ride, you get that?”
“Now you shut up,” I said. “Eleanor´s not dead. She can´t be. We have Pep. Esteban needs him. Eleanor´s his only chip.”
“Get over it, Dyce. You´re a lowdown pawn like us. And you know it. Let´s wait for the cops behind us to get permission back. Won´t take long. Maybe we´ll go down in a firefight.”
And she smirked. And she put her hand to her gun. “You got a piece?” she asked.
I shook my head. I hadn´t even shot a gun before.
“Thought not,” she said, turned back to the road, slammed the Tundra into Drive and wheeled back onto the track. I sat back and looked out the other side of the window. I felt sick of being part of someone else´s goddamned plan. But Kyle was right. And I hated her for it.
The road grew to two lanes and even painted white lines after twenty more minutes, lined either side by sodden, brown ditches. Ahead of us, large hills loomed. At least triple the size of the ones that had shadowed Polysol and provided Pep´s and my botched escape.
The mountains ahead of those were a pale green in the morning light, and seemed far away, even as we reached the beginning of their ascent. I recalled an anecdote about Cortes sending his first map-maker on an expedition into the depths of what they then called New Spain.
It is said that after three months of traveling over, under and through the wild country that would become Mexico, Cortes´ map-maker returned to the table of his master exhausted. When asked what his findings were, the map-maker requested a sheet of parchment, and when Cortes´ servant had given it, the map-maker took it and scrunched it into a small ball, and then threw it into the middle of the table. Cortes and all his men looked at it as it slowly unfolded into a jagged uneven sculpture.
“That´s what it´s like,” said the map-maker. “That´s exactly what it´s like.”
No sooner did one mountain range end, but a rocky ridge come charging out of the dry, arid land to start another. And Mexico was still as wild. Out here in the country, law ceased to function as it pretended to in the great metropolises. Cops here were locals too. Untrained and thus influenced by money and power. Country folk, and most were poor. Most needed more money to survive and would take a bribe without a blink.
But Kyle hadn´t used money. She´d used a phone.
As the hills grew steeper, Kyle pulled off into a tiny dirt road. We were back to big bumps and divots and I settled in. There was nobody around. Absolutely nobody. I guessed we were going to camp.
“Pozos is close,” Kyle said.
“What is it?” I asked.
“An old ghost town. An abandoned tourist attraction,” she said. “Used to be full of gold, but the Spaniards finished with it in the early 1800s and left it to rot. It´s called Pozos because the holes - or pozos - are still there, and very deep.”
We climbed the hill and took each turn with at least 3 meters of altitude gained. At last, we flattened out to a thin gravelly road which ran long the edge of the largest hill. I looked ahead and saw the derelict sandy colored buildings of the ghost town.
It looked like ancient ruins in a desert, sand blasted old walls half standing, half collapsing, except the backdrop here was green hills and cactus shrub.
The buildings were ancient and derelict and I failed to see a single housing with a roof or even four walls.
As we approached, the size of the ghost town became more apparent. I counted eleven ruins and could now see the overgrown pathways that ran criss-cross between them. Everything was still.
The whole site was fenced off with a pitiable rusty wire fencing and old, bent tin signs every twenty meters saying how dangerous it was to enter in five more words than was necessary. I saw one red and white sign with a childish diagram of a hole, and a pair of legs disappearing down it.
Kyle clearly knew the place and was able to find the exact spot where the fence was broken. Sure enough we stopped and she jumped down and open back the wire and got back in the truck and we passed through. She stopped again quickly to go back and close the fence before jumping back again and driving inward.
Up close the buildings were in worse shape than I'd thought. The four hundred year old stones were smashed and cracked and barely stood. I found it hard to believe that the sandy structures were only a few centuries old. I'd seen Mayan pyramids in better shape.
We snaked through the buildings down dried and worn dirt tracks that snaked in between the structures, until we found a wooden and steel cabin. It was modern, in comparison with its neighboring hulks, and square in shape, painted red with only two small windows. We pulled up alongside it.
"Old tourist cabin,” she said. “Safe House Numb
er 2.”
I pointed at Pep´s unconscious figure in the back seat. “What´s the plan now?”
"You can help me with him" she said.
“And the plan?”
But Kyle said nothing, and she walked off up to the front door of the cabin and walked in. It was a fairly large structure. At least three rooms I guessed. It was made of corrugated steel and reinforced with steel bars all holding wooden panels as walls. The roof was the same material. It, unlike its ancient surroundings, could stand the severe weather. I began to wonder if eventually this place would have nothing left at all of the old ruins and instead just an old tourist cabin built on the top of a random hill, when Kyle came back outside. We stood there facing each other looking at the surroundings of the ghost town. The air felt thin, and despite the excellent cover provided by the ancient relics, wind blew through the gaps and hit us with gusto.
"All set" said Kyle. "Jason will be here soon. Now help me.”
We walked to the truck and opened up the passenger door of the Tundra and clicked the seat as far forward as it would go. I climbed into the back and got my arms under Pep's shoulders. Kyle grabbed his legs and counted to three. We heaved his dead weight and gradually carried him out.
Once out it was easier. We proceeded to the inside of the tourist cabin. Inside, small wire framed beds were set out on a wooden floor. There was a fireplace in one corner and a couple of windows cut into the steel. It stank of musty dust. Other than the sparse array of furniture, it was empty. There were two doors that were shut.
“Here,” said Kyle.
We got to the closest bed and placed Pep down on the thin mattress. He seemed to stir a little but we turned away and caught our breath.
Then suddenly, out of nowhere he awoke.
Pep shot up like a comedy vampire, and shouted in Spanish. At first it was impossible to decipher. He was wild, his eyes huge and white, his pupils vile little black dots, his skin glowing crimson as blood flooded his skin.
Kyle span around and ran out to the truck. I turned to Pep and put my hand on his arm and told him "tranquilo, tranquilo.”
He pushed me away without looking at me, entranced on some distant ghoul it seemed, and said, “No me mates. No me mates. Por favor.”
Don´t kill me.
I stared at him and didn't notice Kyle arrive back to my side. She jammed a huge vaccine into the governor´s arm and he slumped backward, a dead weight, and fell back asleep.
She stepped back and breathed out.
I looked at her.
"Time for some honesty,” I said.
Kyle just packed the vaccine away into her med bag and said nothing.
“What is going on?”
I hated the lack of control, the being lost. I was pinned into a corner, but I´d be damned if I didn´t at least try to scratch my way out of it.
“Kyle!” I said. “Talk to me!”
But Kyle left the room and went back outside. I followed her and grabbed her shoulder, but she was too quick, and caught my hand and spun underneath it to gain control over my entire arm. With a neat twist I was on my knees below her looking away.
I looked out and saw the dust of a second truck arriving in the distance. Kyle leant down and whispered in my ear,
“You ain´t got a card to play. Okay? Nothing. Do as we say and you might get your wife back. But I´ll just as quickly throw your carcass down a hole as I would the scumbag who´s coming now.”
The truck came into view. The other Tundra, and in the front seat sat Hernandez, Aronson, and Bayer. Jason must have been at the back.
They pulled up harshly. I guessed Jason had recovered judging by the manner in which he got down from the back cabin of the truck.
The doors swung open and the three guys in front jumped down, nodding silently at Kyle. Jason was dressed in the same clothes as the night before but they looked liked he´d washed them. His face was normal color again and he walked fine. His shirt was open at the shoulder and heavy bandaging showed through. He walked to us and gestured to Kyle with his finger.
“You called in twice?” he said.
Kyle nodded. “ Had to.”
Jason shook his head, “The stakes are high, Ruth. You know that.”
“I know.”
Jason shook his head again. “The Governor?”
“Asleep in the cabin,” said Kyle.
Then Jason turned to me. “Wanna watch Salvatierra get thrown into a hole?”
I stared at him.
“Okay then,” he said and walked back to the truck. The other three came back and together we walked to and peered into the tailgate. Salvatierra´s corpse was wrapped in old dirty white bedsheets, a long white stick. There was no blood, and aside from two small indents, you´d hardly have called it a body.
The three guys lifted the corpse from the back of the truck and walked away.
Jason walked behind them like a pall bearer. “Come on,” he said.
I followed but Kyle stayed.
The five of us and the corpse walked through the ruins of the ghost town until we found a 4 meter by 4 meter hole on the ground, right between the ruins. It was engineered, but in old times. It was framed by pink cantera stone and totally black inside.
Aronson, Bayer and Hernandez brought the cadaver to the edge of the hole and placed it on the stone edge.
We stood on the edge of the “pozo” and the wind blew fierce and I felt dizzy next to the black abyss. A cold air rose from deep within.
Jason had one hand cupped to his ear, and the other held a protruded finger to his lips. And then he hissed. “Nothing like a deep hole to hide a body.”
And the three men each put their right foot on Salvatierra and together pushed him over the stone and into the dark.
I listened, and counted. 2 Mississippi,
3 Mississippi
4 Mississippi
5 Mississippi
6 Mississippi
7 Mississippi…
And THUMP, a distant muffled sound came from below.
“Damn,” I said.
Jason nodded and smiled. “Well, that´s one bad guy out. I think it´s about time we talk about the real target.”
We went back to the cabin and Hernandez and Bayer started pulling laptops and cables from their hold-alls and began setting up what looked like a satellite computer network on the tiny balsa wood desk in the corner. Jason pulled up a seat, Kyle was sat down already and Aronson joined us. I sat down.
“There´s something you´re missing here, Scott,” said Jason.
“That´s pretty clear,” I said.
Jason nodded. “You saw the news right? You´re front page, front and centre. National and international. You´re a wanted man Scott, In Mexico. And that´s not a good place to be wanted.”
“Okay I got that part,” I said.
“Thing is, this is all for a purpose.”
“I figured that too.”
“And you´re probably wondering why we have the good Governor like this, am I right?”
I just nodded and stayed silent.
“My associates here are preparing the internet connection. I want you to read the news again, but this time, wait for the second lead story. It´s a biggy, but it ain´t got shit on yours. Which is what´s keeping it from hitting the front pages.”
I thought about it. “That´s what this is for? To cover up other news? A Chinese box?”
“Kind of. But it´s better than that, Esteban is killing not one but three birds with the same dirty stone.”
Bayer passed a laptop to me. It had a long aerial sticking out of the USB port.
I looked at it. The CNN home page was open.
“Check it out,” said Jason.
I scanned it. The red bar at the top carried the logo, and underneath, in place of the usual three windows with the top stories was single image. Me in the van. Above, the headline read,
THE HUNT GOES ON
It was the same as before.
I scrolled down.
> There were more stories. One was a speculation piece about me.
MARK KERSTEEN, it said. THE HUNTED MAN
I started to read the opening lines of the story but Jason prompted me to scroll down.
The next one was a map of the area.
MILITARY PRESENCE INCREASES
I scrolled down, and more stories about the governor emerged. Profiles of him and his family. I scrolled more and found nothing.
“There´s nothing but news on the abduction,” I said.
“Almost,” said Jason. “Keep looking.”
I went back to the screen and scrolled down, and then I saw it.
US PRESIDENT SAYS MEXICAN PRESIDENT´S POSITION UNTENABLE
I opened it and read.
Some of it all clicked into place. The scandal involving the president´s involvement in sanctioning child trafficking had blown up. New evidence was leaking from Los Pinos and the president was in deep, deep trouble.
I looked up. “A cover up?”
Jason was smiling. “But I told you,” he said. “Three birds with one stone.”
I worked it over.
“The first is the story,” I said. “To get this buried enough. But that won´t stop the president getting impeached.”
“No, it won´t,” said Jason.
And then it clicked all into place. The Governor.
I hadn´t seen it at all. I felt the blood drain out of me at the same time.
“Has the penny dropped?” said Jason.
“Pep was involved,” I said, and Jason nodded.
“The whole abduction was faked.”
Chapter Thirty
Of course, it all made sense. Jason could see the reaction on my face, he was smiling grimly.
“Look at this, Scott. Recognize anyone?”
He held a photo up to me.
It was a fairly recent shot of the governor and some family members, two women, one arm in arm with Pep, his wife, and the other his daughter, who had identical features to her father. They were stood in the gardens of a big house, in front of its main door I supposed. Around them stood their servants, butlers, valets, and three places to the right, Concha the cook.
I remembered back in the porte-cabin office. When the food had first arrived. Pep had said it was his favorite. Like he had been expecting it. I hadn´t computed it until now. What were the chances? And the quality of the food too. Too good for hostages. Too good for real ones.