Kingdom of God

by Greg Mantell

  There was this shake, I was awake. I thought it was God telling me to get up, to get out and live. I found the strength to lean on the side of the barrel, I heard Him say He did not want me to die today.

  I leaned against the side, my legs were in terrible pain, I pushed and pushed. I could not breathe but God filled me with the strength to push the barrel over, that is how the top came open.

  I was blind, it was dark. I could breathe again. I tried to call for Julio but nothing came out.

  There was this noise outside, it was a popping and cracking like fire. A door must have been open, I could feel this hot air blow in from outside.

  My legs were sore but I could move them, I found the door. The sound was very loud and it was very hot. My eyes hurt, all I could see was this red light, it was the same light at the orphanage. I thought they caught us, it was like we did not move at all.

  I felt pavement, I could feel pavement under my feet, it was very hot and smooth, I knew I was not in Libertad, I had to believe that God delivered me to America.

  There was a blue light too. I had never seen a light like this one and there was still concrete under my feet so I followed it. I just followed the blue light until I felt dirt under my feet. I did not know what it was but I kept going. There was grass, real grass. That is when I knew I was in America, there was grass.

  It was cold, I do not know how I made it here but it is warm, I stayed in here until I was warm again. It is so hot, my legs are in such pain and I cannot see. But there is grass and there is water. I must be in America, I must have made it.

  I am too afraid to come out. I do not want this life anymore. I am so full of sin, I have thought only of myself. I abandoned the children and now they are gone. I do not know what other choice I had, I am not sure if I ever had another choice. This is the will of God, this is a trial.

  I heard the trials of Abraham and Job and how God delivered them through terrible suffering and I thought that this was part of my story. I failed this test. I did not trust in the Lord to deliver His salvation and now I am being punished.

  I should have died in Libertad, I should have never gotten into the van. I should die here. It is what I deserve for leaving the children. They are God’s children now. They have suffered and now have salvation but I deserve damnation. I have jumped the border, I have stolen someone’s water and I abandoned the children to die. I accept whatever punishment you have for me, it is my fault.

  The faint sound of birds chirping emanated through the closed window in Michael’s living quarters. His duffle bag remained unopened on the cot. The detective drew a long breath. His thumb hovered over the “Send” button on his phone. He pressed down on the screen, sat back in the chair and turned toward the window.

  He gripped the arms of the chair and lifted himself up. His fully extended left leg convulsed. He grimaced as he planted both feet on the floor and limped over to the window.

  An indigo sky loomed over a large barren field outside the iron fence surrounding the consulate. Michael surveyed the field. The entrance to the green-canvased tent was visible in the corner of the window. The chirping continued. He could not locate the source of the noise. He turned around and shuffled back toward the desk.

  Jen was laying out papers on the table when Michael entered the conference room. The walls were white and windowless. Both Blaylock and Dowd stood in the corner furthest from the door. They stopped their conversation and looked at the detective. A satellite image of the blast site was plastered on a whiteboard that stretched across an entire wall. “Profile,” “POIs” and “Security” were scrawled in blue marker next to the image.

  “Morning,” Jen said. The two sergeants nodded in Michael’s direction. The detective dropped his notepad on the table and lowered himself into the large leatherette chair closest to the door. Gray hairs dotted his cheeks. A pastry platter sat in the center of the table. Michael took a croissant from the platter and set it beside his notepad. He scratched his bristly chin.

  “Sorry, Agent Chau, is there, uh...do you have any aspirin or anything?”

  “Yes.” She turned around and started digging through her purse. She removed two blister packs of ibuprofen and tossed them to the detective.

  “Rough night?” one of the sergeants asked.

  “Yeah. Could’ve used some hot water too.”

  “There’s an electric kettle in the kitchen,” Jen said. “Just boil some water and plug up the sink if you need to shave.”

  “Okay. Do you have the profile of, uh...”

  “Yes.”

  “Great. We should get that cleared up.” Michael looked up at the clock on the wall above the door. It struck 7:03. “Where’s our guy?”

  “I’m not sure. I would like to start with the profile and POIs with Consul Potter. She should be here shortly.”

  At 7:05, a young woman sporting streaky blonde hair and a wrinkled gray blazer entered. She introduced herself as Danielle Potter and shook hands with everyone in the room. She clutched a large leather briefcase against her side and sat down in the swiveling chair closest to Jen. She began removing reams of paper from the briefcase.

  Five minutes later, the door creaked opened again. Sool stepped inside holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee. He wore an orange t-shirt with a distressed Sunkist logo on the chest. He apologized for being late and sat down two chairs away from Michael facing the whiteboard.

  “Okay,” Michael began. “Now that everyone’s here, let’s get started. Yesterday, we named JDLC—that’s Julio de la Cruz—the primary suspect in the bombing. It looks like he has since fled Hospital Jerusalem and is currently at large somewhere in the metropolitan area. While PT locates him, we are-”

  “What’s ‘PT’?” Dowd asked.

  “Policia Tijuana. We’re looking at two suspects based on the intelligence gathered here in Mexico. Jen, if you want to, uh...get us started on that.” Jen swiftly picked up a dry erase marker from the tray, removed the cap and wrote underneath the word “Profile.”

  “Thank you, Detective Barrish. We have identified our primary suspects as ‘M.J.’ or ‘Eme Jota’ and ‘El.’ They are Caucasian males between eighteen and twenty years of age. Until we can confirm their deaths in the blast, they are presumed at large in either San Diego County or the greater Tijuana area.”

  “They got names?” the other sergeant queried. She shot a glance in Sool’s direction before turning back to Blaylock.

  “Their full names are being withheld to avoid any leaks. We would like them to reestablish life and remain holed up in one location until we can apprehend them. We have gathered reports and eyewitness accounts from our lead investigator down here, and it fits a profile that we have established on extremist activity. As we have seen in Boston and Paris, the influence of an older male sibling can precipitate this kind of activity. One key difference is that those attacks were motivated by Islamic extremism. We have not been able to establish a clear religious or political motivation for the bombing. These two brothers were staying at a Protestant church organization, and the van delivering the bomb was registered to that org. But we can’t connect that to their motive.”

  “So they’re extremists too?”

  “We can’t confirm or deny that.” Jen looked at Michael. She took a step to her right and raised the marker under the area of the board marked “POIs”.

  “Thank you. So, we have...we also have material witnesses. I would like to start with, uh...Heriberto.”

  Sool grunted as he pulled the cup away from his mouth. Jen exchanged looks between Michael and Sool. She continued to hold the marker aloft.

  “Don’t bother,” Sool said.

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s small time, barely registers on the food chain. Don’t waste your time.”

  “If he has dealings with the church org, he may know something about our suspects. From Maria’s statement, it sounds like he initiated some kind of...” Sool shook his head.

  “I would have to agre
e, detective,” Jen interjected. “We don’t have enough material on Heriberto yet. We can keep an eye on him if his name keeps coming up.” Michael’s eyes dropped down his notepad.

  “Okay then. Let’s start with, uh...” Jen turned back to the white board and started scrawling under word “POIs.”

  “Yes, with the proprietor of the church org. That’s Pastor John David Poneros. He goes by Pastor David according to testimony. Thanks to Consul Potter, we just learned that he has a meeting scheduled here for tomorrow at 1100, is that right?” The consul perked up and clasped her hands together.

  “Yes that’s correct. 11 o’clock tomorrow,” she said. She waved at Sool from across the table. “I’m Danielle, by the way.” Sool did not respond.

  “Great. I believe you’ve had some other contact with other personnel at this church.”

  “Oh yes, that was, uh...that was on Sunday. I had a meeting with a, uh...Raymond Armstead and Wendy Robinson. They requested an emergency meeting to get the, uh...orphans, they said they had orphans at the church. To get them amnesty to enter the U.S. I had to, uh...I had to turn them down.” Michael looked up from his notes.

  “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

  “I had to, uh...deny their request for amnesty. We don’t have a program for that and, uh...they, they had to put a case forward for emergency services. And they didn’t, um...they didn’t do that. They didn’t prove, um...I can give you the meeting minutes. Just to prove I had...”

  “That’s fine,” Jen said. She went back to writing on the board behind her. “There is also a Theodore Uyboco that we know worked at the orphanage. We’re going to be reaching out to all three of them to see if we can get contact with them as well. We’re also going to keep a beat on JDLC by corresponding with his sister and mother this afternoon.”

  “He’s not there,” Sool said.

  “Do you know that for a fact, or is that just a hunch?”

  “Little of both.”

  “Well, we have to get him back into custody. His residence is the first option.”

  “All right. Let me know how it goes then.”

  “We’re all going together. As one unit.” Sool smiled before taking another sip of coffee.

  “Can’t really do my job if I’m stuck with you guys.”

  “To be honest, Joe and I aren’t convinced you can do your job alone either.” He let out a modest chuckle.

  “So you’d rather not have that chick’s testimony from last night? You’d rather she die in there?”

  “After you let suspects out of your custody, we’re going to be keeping each other accountable. That’s why we’re sticking together throughout this investigation.”

  “Sorry,” Michael cut in. “What suspects?”

  “So I’m stuck with you guys?”

  “That’s right. We’ll be at the de la Cruz residence this afternoon.” The smile departed Sool’s face.

  “Stuck on the grounds with you guys.”

  “That’s right.”

  “At least let me run. At least give me that much.”

  “Yes, you can run around the perimeter if you need.”

  “Fantastic.” Sool put the cup down. He appeared agitated.

  “Right, uh...” Michael cleared his throat. “As Special Agent Chau said, we’re going to be at the de la Cruz residence at 1200. And, uh...we just got a status update on the witness who gave her statement last night. It appears she’s in critical condition. So, uh...please keep her in your thoughts and prayers. Does anyone have any questions?” The room remained quiet. Michael glanced at everyone in the room before turning back to his notes. “Okay, thanks everyone. Jen, if you could pass those notes to the sergeants, they can brief their unit before 1200.”

  “Okay, break.” Sool clapped his hands. He jumped out of his chair and headed for the door.

  “Wait, does that mean you’re going find the kids?” Danielle asked. Everyone in the room stopped moving and turned to the consul agent.

  “We’re here to investigate the bombing,” Jen stated.

  “But you said the people at the orphanage...you’re going to find them, right?”

  “We’re going to find them, yes. But the children aren’t really material to this case.”

  “They said they were going to take them. Like, literally traffic them.”

  “Did they prove that? Did they make a case for-”

  “I think it’s worth looking into.”

  “If they don’t have anything to do with this case, there’s not much we can do about it.”

  “They said there are eight of them. Eight kids. That’s eight orphans being sold and trafficked. You aren’t going to-”

  “We got six dead people,” Sool said. “You want us to find some kids too? You’re that worried, you go find them. Don’t make extra work for us just because you fucked up.” He took one more sip from his Styrofoam cup before yanking the door open and exiting the room. Danielle looked down at the papers in front of her with her mouth agape. Jen erased the scrawls on the whiteboard and handed Sergeant Blaylock two pages. Michael continued to stare at Danielle and the worry on her face. He said he was sorry before standing up and stepping out the door. He left the croissant on the table.

  A woman and two small children hiked up a steep, cragged road. They held each other’s hands. Plastic grocery bags dangled by their knees. They gawked at the MTRV parked at the junction of Calle Parra and Calle 17. The streets were devoid of any other vehicles. A gust of wind rustled the plywood and steel bars that covered the windows of the surrounding homes. The strand board ceiling of one home lifted up for a few centimeters before slamming back onto the house. A dented white sedan lumbered down the hill, kicking up dirt behind it. It pulled through the junction without stopping.

  Michael squeezed between Jen and the driver in the cab of the MTVR. He stared at the de la Cruz residence thirty meters up the hill. The salmon-painted house was perched on a 10-degree grade with a loose pile of rocks serving as the foundation. Two blue plastic barrels stood by the front door. Their lids were secured by bungie cords.

  The wind whipped the canvas covering the bed of the MTVR. The ten guardsmen peered out of the small plastic windows in the cloth canopy. Their rifles hung at sling ready. Garcia wiped some sweat off of his brow with his sleeve.

  “Can I borrow somebody’s water?” the private asked.

  “Where’s yours?” Peters replied.

  “I drank it.”

  “Christ, Tommy.”

  “Can I borrow yours?”

  “No.”

  Michael’s phone started to vibrate. He wrestled it out of his pocket. The word “Private” appeared on screen. Michael hit “Accept” and put the phone to his ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Barrish?

  “Yeah.”

  “Hey this is Juan.”

  “Oh. Nice to finally, uh...talk to you.”

  “Bishop told me this is your first time working the other side.”

  “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

  “All right. Hope we can meet up in person.”

  “Yeah.” Michael turned toward Jen. She shot daggers at the detective. Her face was red. Every muscle in her neck tensed. Michael turned his head away from the special agent and bent down underneath the dashboard. He covered his other ear with the palm of his hand. His bulletproof vest dug deeper into his waist. “Did you, uh...”

  “Yep. Got your email this morning.”

  “What can you tell me about him? Do you know where he is?”

  “Well it’s good and bad. The good’s that I was able to find him. The bad’s that he’s at Centro PT.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He turned himself in yesterday.”

  “Shit.” Michael squirmed in his seat. The springs in the bench seat underneath him squealed under his weight.

  “Is there any way we can talk to him? Do you know anybody at Centro?”

  “I don’t know, man. It’d be easier if there was anything
connecting him to the bombing, but I got nothing so far.”

  “Well it’s...it’s not just the bombing. It’s these kids.”

  “What kids?”

  “These orphans. He wanted something to do with orphans.”

  “I haven’t heard anything about that.”

  “Then do you know anything about...I mean, what would he want with them?”

  “What would he want with them? You really need me to explain that?”

  The front door the de la Cruz residence flew open. Sool stepped out and marched down the unpaved road toward the MTRV. He squeezed a recorder in his left hand.

  “No but...he doesn’t have an operation up north, does he? He can’t.”

  “Probably. There are operations everywhere, man.” Sool continued to stride down the hill. The woman and two children did not appear to notice him as he walked by.

  “Who do we have on that? Why aren’t we investi-”

  “We’re talking like two hundred kids a year. Compared to, what, nine hundred tons of drugs? Six dead from a terrorist attack? You’d lose your fucking job if you didn’t go after that.” Sool was now only a few feet from the cab.

  “All right, I got to run. Thanks for the info and uh...we’ll catch up soon. Thanks, Juan.” Michael hung up the phone as Jen opened the cab door for Sool. The man in the orange t-shirt climbed inside and tossed the recorder onto the dashboard.

  “There it is if you want a listen. I wouldn’t bother.” The recorder smacked against the windshield. The plastic cover popped off. Michael regarded the device before picking it up and snapping the plastic cover back on. He placed the recorder in his pocket alongside his phone.

  The diesel engine whirred to life. The MTVR crept forward and clambered up the rocky slope of Calle 17.

  A sharp right turn revealed another uphill road. A church steeple, surrounded on all sides by more cinderblock structures, towered above the jagged street. The spire listed slightly. A thin coat of blue paint covered the very top of the steeple. Charred wood and ash appeared below the blue veneer.

  The MTVR came to a stop in front of a red pickup truck. The words “Bomberos Tijuana” were stickered on its side. Blaylock, Dowd and two other guardsmen leapt out the back with their rifles at low ready. They took positions at the four corners of the MTVR. After a few seconds, Blaylock turned toward the cab and raised an open hand to the investigators inside.