by Alex Shaw
As the lights and traffic of the city faded behind them, he decided it was time to talk to them, to control both the situation and their response to it. ‘You’re safe now.’
Sofia met his gaze in the mirror. ‘Safe?’
‘Yes. Safe.’ He could see she was still trying to understand what had happened. ‘Those men tried to kidnap you. I stopped them.’
She blinked, looked out of the window on either side, as though awaking from a daydream, or more likely a nightmare. ‘This isn’t the way to our hotel! Where are we?’
‘Where are you staying?’ He didn’t want to answer the question head on.
‘The Four Seasons.’
‘OK.’
Sofia suddenly became panicked. ‘Where are you taking us?’
‘I’m taking you somewhere safe.’
‘What do you mean? Our hotel is safe. It’s a five star; it has security guards and cameras and everything.’
‘I understand but the men who attacked you may know where you were staying. Perhaps they had someone at the hotel who was watching you?’
‘That’s creepy.’
Akulov had a sudden thought. ‘Why did you choose that bar?’
‘I asked a guy at the hotel; he recommended it.’
‘A random guy?’
‘No. The bellboy.’
‘Then he was probably the guy paid to watch you.’
‘Who are you?’ she asked.
‘My name’s Russ. We met at the bar. I gave you money for some drinks – remember?’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Sofia snapped, suddenly alert.
Juana looked up now and asked, ‘Are you a cop?’
‘No, I’m just someone who helped you. I’m not a cop.’
‘I’m going to call my uncle,’ Sofia said, reaching for her handbag.
Akulov realised his error. Both women had phones, everyone did, and he had Don Caesar’s phone. All three of them could be traced, and then there was the SUV too – did that have a tracker? He was on a highway doing fifty-five and there was no way he could safely stop her from making the call. And besides, how would he explain to them that he was a good guy, yet didn’t want them to call for help? He decided to let them make the call and concentrated on the road.
‘Uncle? Uncle! Yes, it’s me Sofia!’ She started talking in quick-fire Spanish. Her tone was just short of panic.
Akulov listened as she gave a full account of what happened. He heard her apologise for leaving home without saying where she was going.
‘Miguel wants to talk to you.’ She shuffled forward and handed him the phone.
Akulov glanced at the screen. The call was being placed by WhatsApp. He said, in Spanish, ‘Hello?’
Miguel replied in the same. ‘Who is this?’
‘My name’s Russel. I was at the bar when your niece and her friend were attacked.’
‘Who are you?’ The same question as his niece. To which Akulov gave the same answer. There was a grunt and then Miguel asked, ‘Can I trust you?’
‘I just shot three men to save your niece.’
There was a pause at the other end, only the sound of the man’s laboured breathing, as if he was trying to suppress some emotion. Then the voice became calm, the tone even. ‘Listen to me, Mr Russel, what you have done is a very brave act. I need you to remain very brave until I can meet you to collect my Sofia and her friend Juana. Can you do that?’
In the darkness of the SUV’s interior, Akulov’s eyes narrowed. Bravery didn’t come into it. There was training and there was action. Nothing else. ‘I can do that.’
‘Do not take them to their hotel; take them somewhere else.’
‘I understand.’
‘WhatsApp me a pin of your location, when you arrive, and I will be with you by tomorrow morning.’
‘Understood,’ Akulov said again.
‘Goodbye, Mr Russel.’
The call ended. Akulov placed the phone in the cubbyhole between the front seats.
‘Can I have my phone back?’ Sofia asked.
‘When we arrive at our destination.’
‘Where is that?’
‘It’s another hotel – your uncle told me to take you there.’
‘So why can’t I have my phone now?’
‘Miguel said so. It’s best that you don’t use it, because we can be traced.’
‘Miguel is always so paranoid!’
‘And this time his paranoia is justified. You were almost kidnapped!’
‘And what are you doing, if not kidnapping us too?’
‘Evacuating you to safety. Juana, please give me your phone too.’
There was a loud sigh and she passed her iPhone forward, in a pink fluffy case. ‘Nice.’
‘Thank you.’
The Cadillac became silent as Akulov concentrated on the road. It was so empty that the large white SUV looked conspicuous. The I-69 became the US-69 and the road narrowed and the traffic decreased even more. Akulov read the road signs. He had never been here before but knew what he was searching for. Somewhere big enough to have several hotels and motels, but small enough to be overlooked. They passed Beasley and Kendleton before he decided to take the off-ramp at Wharton.
He drove through the main drag, past economy chains including Holiday Inn Express and Motel 6. He turned onto a smaller road and saw a more promising place. The Countryside Inn was set back from the road and bordered on three sides by ploughed fields. It was made up of two conjoined orange-tiled buildings, a single-storey restaurant and a two-storey accommodation block. Half a dozen vehicles, a mixture of SUVs and pick-up trucks, sat outside. Akulov took the access road around the entire complex. The restaurant was closed but there was a light on in the reception area adjoining it. He manoeuvred the large Cadillac back into the shadows at the rear of the complex.
‘I need you both to stay in the car.’ Akulov cracked open the two front windows an inch then switched off the ignition. He glanced at Don Caesar’s phone, and was on the verge of turning it off when he decided against it. He hid it and the large silver revolver under the passenger seat. If both the SUV and the phone could be traced, it made sense to leave them together. But he did pop the man’s wallet into his pocket. He took the car key, the women’s two phones, and the small Glock and stepped out. ‘Stay here, OK?’
‘Sí,’ Sofia said.
‘I’ll get us a room and then get us inside.’
‘Us?’
‘Yes. One twin room. You two can take the beds and I’ll keep watch on the door.’
He left the SUV and headed towards the reception entrance. The fresh night air revived him as he slowly walked towards the car porch in front of the reception entrance. He stopped and then stared back at the Cadillac. He’d taken the phones but hadn’t locked it. He mentally shrugged to himself. If the women ran, they ran – at least then his part in their ordeal would be over. The reception door unsurprisingly was locked. He pressed a bell and heard a distant trill. Nothing happened. He rang again and peered through the glass. A reception desk and a couple of soft chairs had been arranged in what seemed like an orange interior. A faint light shone from behind the reception desk. This time he rapped on the glass and rang the bell again.
Abruptly light spilled into the room and a figure stepped out, silhouetted by the light, his shape chillingly familiar. Akulov automatically reached for the Glock until he realised that the silhouette was not a shooter in a ballistic helmet and NVGs, rather a kid in his late teens with a large set of green camouflaged gaming headphones with a boom mic. He switched on the lights to reveal his shaggy blond hair, baggy red-checked shirt and faded blue jeans. He crossed the room and opened the door. Too trusting, Akulov thought but perhaps that would be to his advantage.
‘May I help you?’ the gamer asked, with overt politeness.
‘What are you playing?’
‘Fortnite. You play?’
‘I prefer Minecraft.’
The kid smirked. ‘You want a room?’
> ‘Yeah.’
‘Just you?’
Akulov could lie, he knew he could but given the kid’s age a version of the truth would work better. ‘Me and a lady friend, if you understand me?’
‘Yeah?’ The kid’s eyes widened momentarily before he tried to act cool. ‘I do.’
‘How much for a twin room?’
‘Twin?’
‘I like my space.’
‘Ah. Eighty bucks, but you know, double occupancy et cetera.’ He shrugged.
Akulov reached into his jeans and pulled out several notes. ‘Here’s a hundred if we can keep this off the register? My friend has an ex-boyfriend who doesn’t know he’s an ex yet.’
‘No can do. It’s the regulations.’ The kid folded his arms. ‘I’m going to need to see some ID.’
‘You sure?’
He pursed his lips and then his eyes darted up and left. ‘How about I give you that twin room, but just say its single occupancy? I mean I only saw you here, didn’t I?’
‘Deal.’
‘But I’ll still have to charge you for double occupancy.’
Akulov smirked and handed him the cash. ‘Have you got a top-floor room on the rear corner?’
‘Come inside. I’ll check.’
Akulov followed the kid inside, where he tapped away at a cream-coloured desktop computer. ‘So, ID?’
‘Here.’ Akulov handed over his Boston driving licence. It listed an address he’d visited once, an apartment block with thirty flats, as his home address. He had no idea if the exact flat was currently rented out.
‘Ha, thought you weren’t local – with that Boston accent an’all.’
Normally Akulov wouldn’t make conversation, but being friendly with the kid would make him less likely to tell the police or anyone else who asked more about him, so he made some idle chitchat.
The kid tapped a few keys, then gave Akulov back his ID and a key attached to a large piece of thick plastic. ‘There you go. Enjoy, the room I mean. Breakfast starts at seven, ends at ten. Not included in the price. Sorry.’
‘Thanks.’ Akulov nodded, and winced as he felt a sharp twinge of pain.
‘You OK?’
‘Just a headache.’
The kid jutted his chin up at Akulov. ‘What happened?’
In the light of the lobby Akulov noticed the dirt on his shirt. ‘I fell off a damn kerb; the streetlight was out. Can you believe it? I don’t suppose you have any ice or a packet of Advil?’
The kid gestured to the drinks dispenser. ‘No to the ice – the machine is out of order – but I’ve got tablets.’
‘How much?’
‘No charge, they’re not mine.’ He reached under the desk and handed over a blister pack.
‘Thanks.’
Akulov walked at a brisk but not overtly fast pace, the pace of a man who had somewhere to be, and someone to be with. He took the exterior stairs up to the second floor and scouted the entire exterior once. The town was quiet, save for the distant tail lights of passing cars on the interstate and the air was now still, but heavy with the promise of distant thunder. He took the steps back down, approached the car and opened the rear doors.
‘Time to get out, ladies.’
‘You got a room?’ Sofia asked.
‘No, they were full, but he said we could use the stable.’
Her eyes narrowed.
‘It’s up the stairs and turn left. First door.’ He looked at the women. They didn’t move. ‘Go.’
Akulov followed them up the stairs, then let them inside. The pungent fragrance of floral air freshener fought to mask a musty odour. Small-town USA, Akulov thought to himself as he switched on the light and shut the door. The floor was covered by a hard-wearing brown carpet and the walls were an inoffensive shade of cream. A large flat-screen TV was affixed to one wall opposite a pair of queen beds. Two armchairs stood at the corner facing the door. The bathroom was at the rear. Akulov decided it needed some positive spin.
‘Two beds, one for each of you. I’ll take the chairs.’
Juana went into the bathroom and shut the door. Sofia stayed in the middle of the room, her arms folded across her chest, defensively. Akulov sat in one of the armchairs, knowing he’d look less threatening if he wasn’t standing or blocking the room’s only exit. He popped three of the Advils and dry-swallowed them.
‘You’re hurt?’
He took Sofia’s phone from his pocket, tried to open it up and realised it needed a passcode to unlock it. ‘What’s the code?’
‘Why?’
‘I need to send your uncle our location by WhatsApp.’
‘It’s my date of birth.’
‘Which is?’
She paused, embarrassed, and then told him. She wasn’t twenty-two. Akulov felt old – he was twice her age. He opened the app and sent their location. Then he took Don Caesar’s wallet from his pocket and inspected the contents: $900 in cash, a photograph of the dead man holding an alligator by the jaws, credit cards and a Texas driving licence in the name of Caesar Mendez. He took the cash, added it to his own and dropped the wallet on the coffee table.
‘Who are you?’ The shower started up in the bathroom. Sofia took this as a sign to move and sat tentatively on the edge of the bed farthest away from him. ‘You shot three men, but you don’t even look worried. Aren’t you afraid?’
Akulov decided a little bit of truth would go a long way. ‘They weren’t the first men I’ve had to kill. I used to be a soldier. I’ve been shot at before; you get used to it.’
‘So what are you now? A sicario?’ She folded her arms, hugging herself.
‘No.’ Akulov smiled. The Spanish word for hitman sounded good as it rolled from the lips that had kissed him an hour earlier. ‘I’m just a guy who was out for a drink.’
She stared at him, as though trying to read his mind. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Boston. You?’
‘Matamoros.’
Which was interesting, as it was where Caesar had said Vetrov was, but Akulov didn’t let it show. ‘On the border.’
‘Do you know it?’
‘I’ve never been to Mexico.’
‘You should.’ She frowned. ‘Where did you learn Spanish?’
‘Spain,’ he lied.
She nodded. ‘That’s where the accent is from – you sound Spanish.’
‘When I speak English?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘When you speak Spanish.’
‘Ah.’ He switched to Spanish. ‘It is late and you both have been through an upsetting experience. You need to rest. Why don’t you go and freshen up then try to get some sleep. I’m going to turn the light off and wait over here for your uncle to arrive.’
‘No.’ Her voice was resolute. ‘I’m fine. I’ll stay up.’
‘Fine. Do what you want, but there is a rule in the Army. Sleep when you can and eat when you can. We don’t have food but you both have beds.’
‘Can I have my phone back now?’
‘No. Not until your uncle arrives.’
‘You said I could have it!’
‘I promised to keep you both safe.’
He stood, flicked off the light switch, and then retook his seat. Akulov sat in the dark, in silence, barely able to pick out the woman on the bed. There were no words and no movement for several minutes until, with a sigh, Sofia got up and joined Juana in the bathroom.
Akulov stifled a yawn. He was tired, dehydrated, and worst of all concussed. He berated himself for not searching the SUV for water, but he couldn’t leave the room now and doubted the quality of the wet stuff dribbling from the bathroom faucet. He sat and listened, to the sound of the night outside and the women within. There was much muttering from the bathroom and the sound of the hairdryer being switched on. Twenty minutes later, with half-opened eyes he watched both women return wrapped in large hotel towels and robes. Akulov turned in his chair, to make sure he was facing in the opposite direction and pretended to be asleep. Gentle snores forty minute
s later alerted him to the fact that the women were asleep, or very accomplished actors.
Akulov stood and made sure the door was locked before he quietly crossed the room to the bathroom. He shut the door before he turned on the light. He removed his polo shirt and assessed himself in the bathroom mirror. His torso felt stiff and he had the start of a few bruises on his neck and chest. He turned and angled his side to see his back. It was grazed from the wall and cut from the broken bottle. He wet a wad of toilet paper and dabbed at the abrasions and tears. He splashed his face with water and dried it on the last clean towel in the small bathroom before he shook out and cleaned his shirt as best he could. It wasn’t much of a bandage but now he wound the remainder of the toilet paper around himself to give his back a little protection. When he went back through the door, the women were still snoring.
He was drowsy, but knew he had to stay awake a while longer. If they had been followed, they’d be receiving visitors soon. He retrieved Sofia’s iPhone from where he’d placed it on the floor and tapped in her date of birth. Now was the time to understand why the Mendez Cartel were after her. He needed to learn more about her; she was no normal young woman. But what he immediately found on the phone was exactly what a normal young woman would have. An Instagram account, a Facebook account and a couple of other platforms he hadn’t heard of. He opened Instagram and scrolled through her posts, mainly finding photographs of her with friends, including Juana, at restaurants, shops or at pool parties. There were a few of her with a dark-haired muscular boy, and one of her sitting on his lap. The picture was surrounded by a heart-shaped frame.
He read the messages below it. The boy’s name was Daniel Arellano. The surname of Mendez Cartel’s greatest rival. He doubted it was a coincidence. Facebook said her full name was Sofia Becerra and, as she had told him, she was from the border town of Matamoros. She seemed to be an only child. As he scrolled he saw posts about and photographs of her house, a large villa with verdant grounds and a pool. And then in among all the happy snaps of friends and parents there was one of her with her arm around a serious-looking, barrel-chested man with the largest moustache he had even seen. The post read: ‘Happy Fiftieth Uncle Miguel!’ Akulov studied the face, consigned it to memory.