Haitian Harbinger

by Lincoln Matt

  I gave the kid a sympathetic look. I doubted he had asked for any of this.

  “Can you introduce us to him, ask him if we can ask him some questions?” I asked the translator. “Tell him that we’re American, we have nothing to do with the Dominican government. We won’t get him into trouble, and we can protect him.”

  Espinal turned to the boy and translated what I had said to him in what sounded like seamless French. He then introduced Holm and me, and I heard him say our names.

  The boy gave us a panicked look and started to pull on his restraints. I looked down and noticed that the table was all torn up around them, and I wondered if he had caused all that damage, or if it had come from prisoners before him.

  The translator began to speak to him some more, reaching out kindly with one hand, though he didn’t touch the kid. The boy eventually calmed down.

  “What’d you say to him?” Holm asked.

  “We’ve developed a rapport, believe it or not,” Espinal said with a weak smile, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been asking him about his family and friends, and what he likes to do in his free time. Whether he goes to school at all, what things are like at home. So whenever he gets upset, I just ask him some more questions like that. It seems to calm him to talk about things unrelated to all this.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “How was he found, do you know?”

  “We found him sneaking around where the body of that sniper was, the one who attacked you,” Espinal explained. “We think he was probably meant to replace that guy on his shift.”

  “A child sniper,” I sighed, shaking my head. “I’m never going to get used to shit like this.”

  “You get used to it quick around here,” Espinal said sadly.

  “Can you ask him if we can at least sit down and talk, even if it’s not about this?” Holm asked.

  Espinal nodded and spoke to the kid in French again. He gave us another terrified look but ultimately relented.

  Holm and I sat down on either side of Espinal.

  “Ask him if he can tell us about what things are like back home right now,” I said, maintaining eye contact with Emmanuel so he would know I was speaking with him. “Just tell us about his life.”

  Espinal translated, and I smiled at the kid, trying to seem non-threatening. Emmanuel said a few words, and Espinal switched back to English.

  “He says that things are hard right now,” he said. “He hasn’t seen his family in a while. They left home.”

  “Your family left home?” I asked him. “That must be hard. I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Are they safe?”

  Espinal translated again, and the boy responded, his eyes tearing up again. Espinal said something else, but the boy just shook his head.

  “He says that everyone had to leave their hometown a few months ago because things have gotten very bad,” Espinal said. “He won’t give me any more than that, I tried.”

  “That’s okay, Emmanuel,” I said kindly, giving him another smile. Espinal translated.

  “He must live in a border town,” Holm said. “Based on what everyone’s told us, the cartel has pretty much taken over the entire area, forced people out of their homes.”

  “Or worse,” Espinal said. “Some refused to leave, from what we’ve heard. They just killed the ones who wouldn’t cooperate. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how our young friend here got involved with the gang in the first place. They sent all the women and children away and gathered up all the men to work for them, or face the consequences.”

  I winced. “He is a child,” I muttered, before turning back to the kid. “Emmanuel, do you know that my friend Holm and I talked to some kids not much older than you yesterday?” Espinal translated again, and the boy shrugged and muttered something back.

  “He asks if he knows them,” Espinal said.

  “I would be surprised if you did,” I said. “They’re Dominican, and they live in Santo Domingo. Have you ever been there, Emmanuel?”

  Espinal translated, and the boy shook his head.

  “So he’s not a runner, then,” Holm chimed in. “Just a sniper. I suppose that’s something.”

  “I didn’t think you had,” I continued, keeping my focus on Emmanuel. “So these kids were very upset, just like you. And they didn’t want to talk to us either because something very bad had happened to them and their friend. Can you guess what that was?”

  Espinal translated, and Emmanuel shifted uncomfortably in his seat. I got the sense that he knew exactly what I was talking about and didn’t want to answer.

  “Their friend had died taking a new drug,” I continued without waiting for him to answer. “Her entire body was rotting from the inside out. Holm and I saw it. It was so bad that Holm threw up, which is saying something considering we’ve pretty much seen it all in our careers.”

  Espinal translated this, and the officer looked disgusted just at the description. The boy looked away and scrunched up his face like he was trying not to cry again.

  “No, they weren’t much older than you at all,” I continued. “Almost the same age. And now, that girl will never go home to her family. And those other kids, her friends, they’ll never be the same after seeing that. You know what that’s like, don’t you, Emmanuel?”

  Espinal translated, and Emmanuel still didn’t answer, but he did start to cry now.

  “We’re trying to help those kids and their families,” I continued. “That’s why we’re here. That’s our only agenda. And we also want to help you and your family. We don’t care about who’s Dominican and who’s Haitian, we just don’t want anyone to get hurt anymore.”

  “That’s our job, kid,” Holm added. “It’s what we do all day, every day, all year round. We travel around the world helping people like you, but we need you to talk to us if we’re going to be able to do that.”

  Espinal translated all this, and the kid put his head down on the desk in frustration. Espinal continued speaking to him for some time.

  “What did you say?” I asked the translator.

  “I told him that these men really do want to help him and that you have more power to do that than anyone here or in Haiti,” he said. “I’m trying to convince him to help you.”

  “We can try to get your family amnesty, Emmanuel,” I urged him. “We can do everything you can to help you. You just have to help us help those other kids, too. We know that you didn’t ask for any of this and don’t really want to be here. Let us help you get out of this mess. There’s no reason you should be going to jail, or going back to the cartel. That’s not where you belong. You belong with your family, and in school with your friends.”

  Espinal translated all this, and the boy’s shoulders started to shake. He was crying hard this time. I reached out and tentatively touched his shoulder, and so did Espinal.

  Finally, the boy raised his head and blurted out a long stream of speech.

  “What? What is he saying?” Holm asked when the boy was finished and slumped back in his seat, picking at his restraints.

  “He said that he doesn’t know much,” Espinal said. “Hold on, let me clarify something.”

  He went back and forth with Emmanuel a few more times.

  “What is it?” I asked when there was a lull in the conversation.

  “I’m a little confused,” Espinal said. “I’m trying to make sense of what he’s telling me, but I’m not sure how. It’s very strange.”

  I exchanged a knowing look with Holm.

  “Try us,” I said. “I can guarantee you it won’t be as strange as some of the things we’ve heard already.”

  “Very well,” Espinal said. “He says that he’s a very low ranking operative, and only got involved with the cartel when they forced him in and his family out, just like you assumed, Agent Marston. So he doesn’t know much about the day-to-day operations of the cartel, or really anything about the drug part. He just was supposed to keep watch on the border, and he was trained to shoot.”

 
I shook my head. I wondered how old that guy we killed earlier had been. I hadn’t stopped to take a look with everything that was going on. I hoped he wasn’t just an innocent kid like this one, but it wouldn’t have surprised me.

  “He also says—and this is the weird part—that he thinks he knows where the base of operations for the cartel is around here,” Espinal continued.

  “Like where they store the drugs?” Holm asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Espinal said. He then had another brief exchange with the boy. “No, he says it’s where they make the drug. And he said the drug, as in singular. So one drug.”

  “Does he mean the new one?” I asked, leaning forward. “The one that killed the girl in Santo Domingo?”

  Espinal exchanged a few more words with Emmanuel.

  “He’s not sure, but he thinks so,” Espinal confirmed. “He says there are whispers about a new drug, and people keep turning up looking like that girl you saw, rotting from the inside out. He’s seen a few of them, though he’s never been around when they’re on the drug.”

  “Do they die when they take it?” I asked. “All of them? Or do some people take it and turn out fine?”

  Espinal turned back to Emmanuel to ask this, but the kid just shrugged in response.

  “I don’t think he knows,” Espinal said.

  “So, what’s the weird part?” Holm asked.

  “I… I still don’t know,” Espinal stammered. “It doesn’t make much sense to me, but I’ll give it a try. He says that they’re making the drug at the witch doctor shop.”

  “The witch doctor shop?” I repeated, exchanging an excited look with Holm. “You mean like a voodoo witch doctor? With those mask things?”

  Espinal nodded. “That’s my impression, yeah,” he said. “Hey, wasn’t there a thing a while back where those cartel thugs were wearing masks like that?”

  “Like I said,” I repeated. “We’ve heard stranger things. So why does he think this?”

  Espinal turned back to Emmanuel and had a long exchange with him. The boy looked frightened again, but not of us.

  “He says that he passed by there a few times and heard some other gangbangers talking about it,” Espinal translated. “He says that he doesn’t know anything more. He didn’t dare go in there. None of the neighborhood kids did after the cartel showed up.”

  “Can he tell us why?” Holm asked.

  Espinal exchanged a few more words with the kid.

  “He just keeps saying that they knew strange things were going on in there,” Espinal said, shaking his head. “Apparently, one kid saw a zombie in there or something, but no one remembers which kid it was. They were probably just joking around, but he seems serious about it.”

  “Are zombies a thing in Haitian culture?” I asked.

  “A long time ago,” Espinal said. “But it’s just an urban legend now. No one really believes in that stuff that I know of.”

  “Well, this kid sure seems spooked,” Holm said. Sure enough, the kid looked to be trembling just talking about it.

  “Anything else?” I asked. Espinal shook his head. “Okay, Emmanuel, thank you for talking to us. I’m going to go see what I can do about getting you and your family some help, okay?”

  Espinal translated, and the boy nodded to me and gave me a weak smile. The three of us then got up, stepped into the hallway, and left him alone in the room.

  “Do you really think you can help them?” Espinal asked as we congregated just outside the door.

  “I can help him, but I don’t know about the family,” I said. “I’ll do my best. But I’ll make sure he doesn’t end up in prison. He deserves a fresh lease on life after all this.”

  “Thank you,” Espinal said. “That’s more than kids like him usually get.”

  “Thanks for all your help,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “We appreciate it.”

  Holm and I headed out to wait for the patrol car to take us back to the hotel, and I sent a long message to the chief of police about the kid and keeping him out of prison. I also told Diane about it so that she could follow up and make sure he ended up where he was supposed to be. Standing under the hot sun, I flipped through my messages to find that Officer Díaz had finally responded to me.

  “Hey,” I told Holm. “I think they got the kids talking again back at the hospital.”

  “What’d they say?” he asked, peering over my shoulder.

  “Not a lot,” I said, shaking my head. “Their memories are pretty shot. But hey, look, I guess he got them to clarify that whole horror movie comment. They said that the drug made them feel like zombies.”

  “Zombies?” Holm repeated. “Well, that can’t be a coincidence.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” I said, looking up from my phone and shielding my eyes from the sun. “But they can’t be actual zombies, obviously. Weird.”

  “I mean, if it’s some kind of roofie-like drug like we were thinking before, it would make sense that it might make them feel that way,” Holm said. “But it’s strange that the kid back there used the exact same word to describe that story he heard.”

  “Yes,” I murmured. “It is strange.”

  Just then, a Jeep rolled up, and an officer approached us, gravel crunching beneath the tires.

  “Do you wish to go back to your hotel, Agent Marston?” he asked.

  I looked back at Holm.

  “We should head over and check out that witch doctor,” he said.

  “Agreed,” I said. “But after what happened this afternoon, I don’t want to leave Alejandra alone for too long. We should head back to the hotel for now and regroup there, see what she thinks about us crossing the border. Maybe talk to President García again. Then we’ll figure out our next move.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Holm agreed. “I could use a bite to eat, anyway.”

  And with that, we piled in the car to head back to the hotel and see what Alejandra was up to at the conference.

  CHAPTER 12

  Alejandra

  After Ethan and Robbie left, Alejandra tried to gather up everyone in the biggest conference room in the hotel to debrief about how to move forward. She wasn’t able to locate everyone since some were still on lunch, but she instructed the desk clerks to direct any conference traffic her way.

  “What of the original schedule?” one of the attendees asked her as they piled into the room.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Alejandra said. “It wasn’t working, anyway. None of this has been working.”

  Begrudgingly, everyone congregated in front of her. The room was more like a large lecture hall than anything else, with seats bolted to the floor in a half-circle around the main sunken lecture area. The attendees all split off into their usual groups, not wanting to sit with people they had come to hate over the few short days they’d been stuck in the hotel.

  “Now,” Alejandra announced when a sizable chunk of the conference-goers were present. “I think we need to rethink how we’re going about all this.” She had positioned herself at the front of the room, ensuring all eyes were on her.

  As she spoke, more confused-looking people trickled inside, no doubt directed there by the clerks.

  “We can work this out on our own,” one particularly burly man huffed.

  “Can you now?” Alejandra asked sharply, her tone clearly revealing her annoyance. “So tell me, how has that worked out for you so far?”

  No one seemed to have an answer to this.

  “That’s what I thought,” Alejandra confirmed. “Now, we’re not going to get anywhere by screaming over each other all the time, and we’re certainly not going to get anywhere by hurling ourselves at each other.”

  She gave the two men who had been fighting a scathing look.

  “So what do you suggest?” one of them sneered.

  “I suggest we come to a compromise,” Alejandra said. “This means that everyone’s going to be unhappy. Can everyone agree to that?”

  She looked around at the room. P
retty much everyone had found their way to their seats by now, or at least everyone who had been paying the conference much attention in the first place. Several of them nodded reluctantly, while others waited to see what she had in mind.

  “Now, from what I can gather, two main groups have formed over the past several days,” she observed. “Those who wish for the government to intervene at the local level to stop the cartel and those who want this problem to be addressed in another manner. Am I missing anything?”

  “The source of the problem is on the other side of the island,” one particularly combative local official huffed. “So we should address it there. Go onto the other side and take them out there. Why keep the problem in our own country when it isn’t us causing it? Then only we suffer.”

  “Okay, look,” Alejandra said. “I know that tensions are running high, and things have been difficult lately. But waging war on our neighbors simply cannot be the answer here. That would just make everything ten times worse, don’t you see? It isn’t the Haitians that are doing this to us. It’s just a small subset of them. And if we strike against an entire country for this reason, we’ll just be getting ourselves into potentially decades of conflict that no one wants or needs.”

  “This is easy for you to say,” one of the men involved in the fight spat back at her. “You’re from Santo Domingo. You only see this problem as coming up more recently. This is a lifetime of violence and disruption in our homes we’re talking about here. And it’s only gotten worse with each passing year since the earthquake. You will always be able to go back to your family in the capital and escape what we face here every single day.”

  A number of the other attendees nodded in agreement and offered their support for this analysis.

  “Okay, okay,” Alejandra relented, throwing her hands up in concession. “I understand that this is what you believe of me. But you must understand, the actions of the cartel have affected my life, as well. They abducted my brother, and if it weren’t for the help of some kind and resourceful Americans, he would be dead today. You may think I don’t understand how you feel—and you’re right that I’ve never been in your exact situation—but I have life experiences of my own, and I know exactly how dangerous these people are, perhaps better than anyone.”