by Tom Riggs
So they took the long route. There was a network of coastal highways that would get them to Acapulco in a longer time, maybe fourteen hours. But that was fine. They had time.
At the next freeway exit, Munro took the old pick up off and onto a highway that followed the freeway. With no tolls to pay, it was popular with the long-distance trucks and campesinos. They drove at a steady sixty, following a beaten-up Dodge Ram, laden with crates of cucumbers, heading off to some market or other. Following them was a large articulated truck, with Sinaloa plates. Munro could not tell what was in its two trailers, they were covered in a blank blue awning. No doubt something brought in to the huge port at Mazatlan, in Sinaloa. Chinese electrical goods perhaps, maybe Korean computer components.
They settled into a comfortable silence. Anna was content to stare out of the window. She seemed happy to trust in Munro. He hoped she was right.
For a couple of hours the highway trailed the freeway. On the other side there was the odd small village or service station, but otherwise it was back to parched scrubby fields. Whatever height they had gained overnight was now lost, they had not seen anything green for miles.
Munro’s phone rang.
“Rudd?”
“Jack, how are you?”
“All good. How are the passports coming along?”
“Fine. I can have a new one for the Neuberg girl in two days. Rawlings can’t do it any faster than that. It’s not as easy as it used to be.”
“Two days? That’s a long time Charles. Can’t we expedite at all?”
“I said the same thing, and he might be able to do one. But we’ll have to wait and see. The problem is going to be getting them to you. A courier will be hard as I guess you won’t have a fixed address.”
“I guess not, at the moment we’re sleeping in the car.”
“I hate to say it, but I think I might have to come out there myself.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Mrs Rudd won’t be impressed.”
“She’ll be less impressed if I end up stuck here, won’t be great for business.”
“True. Where do you want to meet?”
“I was thinking Acapulco. It’s a day or two’s drive, has an international airport and lots of western tourists. We should be able to slip out no problem.”
“Fine, I’ll meet you there as soon as her passport arrives. Until then, try and stay out of trouble, and don’t kill any more corrupt policemen.”
“I’ll try.”
“Try harder. Where are we on the witness? Anything useful?”
“I’ll get back to you on that one,” said Munro looking at Anna still staring out of the window, “I think there might be.”
Munro took the pick-up off the highway, south, a few exits after they had bypassed Guadalajara. Off the main highway and they became inconspicuous again amongst the battered campesino vehicles. The road was potholed, but Munro did not worry too much. His Toyota Tacoma was a four-wheel drive, it could handle a few bumps. Besides, he was not planning on keeping it for more than a few days.
After a while, the view of endless rocks and sun-baked fields became relentless. Only in the distance did two low ranges of hills promise more interesting landscape. But Anna did not seem to mind. Munro had got her to call her grandparents. After the call she told Munro that they had crossed the border at Tijuana and were safely on their way to San Diego. She had slept some more after the call and was afterwards seemingly content to stare out of the window in silence. Munro did not mind. He still had to get a lot of information out of her - she was his key witness to the murder. But there was plenty of time for that. He was content to enjoy the silence as they covered some ground. They still had a long way to go.
Hector had called a meeting for 11am in the villa. Silvano had spent the preceding hours desperately calling every contact he had to get some news on the two gringos. He did not want to come to the meeting empty handed. At 10.55 he got the call that he had been waiting for.
Silvano walked into the villa to find the whole crew already there. The MS13 men were sprawled out on the sofas, in much the same positions as when he had left them the night before. Where had they slept? Where had they eaten? Did they ever talk? Silvano did not like using hired men. He preferred his own men, men from the barrio. Men he could trust. But for an operation like this he could see their use. Why waste good sicarios on a hunt for two gringos? Better to keep the good men for the war, not this sideshow. But Hector did not see it as a sideshow, that much was for sure.
“Silvano, thank you for joining us,” said Hector smiling broadly.
Silvano smiled back and said nothing, unsure whether he was being sarcastic or not. He noticed that everyone was now fully armed. Every one of the Salvadorians now had a sub machine gun. Mainly Uzis, but a few had brand new Steyr TMPs. Small and beautiful weapons, but deadly and efficient as only the Austrians could produce. Not even his top sicarios had Steyrs yet - they were new and very expensive.
Hector followed Silvano’s stare and said “We needed some new weaponry. No expense is to be spared on this job Silvano.”
“Of course, Hector.”
“I was just telling the men that so far we have nothing. It is now 24 hours since this conyo killed five of our men. And in 24 hours, he and the girl have disappeared. If we cannot find two gringos in our own country, on our own territory, then we are not worthy to call ourselves members of el cartel.”
“No Hector, that is true.”
“All I asked you to do was arrest one gringa. One gringa living in a campsite populated by old women and children. It is not a difficult thing to do. Even so, you send six men to do the job. Six men to arrest one young woman.”
“Yes Hector.”
“I arrive, having made this reasonable request… it was a reasonable request, no, Silvano?”
“Of course, Hector, completely reasonable.” Silvano instinctively felt for his weapon. It was holstered under his right shoulder. Hector had three handguns on him, one under each shoulder, and one holstered at his ankle. Even so, Silvano got ready to draw his gun. He was not going to have acid poured on him like the chico the night before. He was captain too and Hector could go fuck himself. Luckily Hector did not notice, he was too busy lecturing his captive audience.
“A reasonable request, to what the Washington Post, the Washington Post no less, has called the most sophisticated criminal organisation currently operating on the planet.”
Silvano remembered the article. The Post had actually called them ‘the most brutal, although still sophisticated’ cartel. Silvano did not push the distinction.
“I make this reasonable request, and what do I arrive to find? No gringa. Five dead men. And some puta Ingles on the run with the gringa that we, supposedly the most sophisticated criminal organisation the planet, cannot find. Can you explain that to me Silvano? Can you explain what the fuck has happened to this cartel, to Sonora, in the three years that I have been away, that we cannot find one little puta in our own fucking territory? Can you explain that, el captain?” Hector spat out the last two word with such derision and contempt that Silvano nearly drew his gun there and then.
“I have just had a call Hector,” he said, not bothering to answer any of Hector’s questions. “Some state police found the hire car that El Ingles was using in a pueblo called Chappelmita. A couple of local boys were driving it. They swear they found it parked in an alley at the edge of the town. The pueblo is between here and Guadalajara.”
“He switched cars, clever boy,” said Hector, slightly calmer suddenly with the news. “Do we know what he switched to?”
“The police are combing the town now, seeing if anyone has had their car stolen.”
“He wouldn’t have stolen a car. Too risky,” said Hector. “Have the police ask around to see if anyone has sold their car for cash recently. That’s what I would have done if I were him.”
“Yes Hector. What should we do though?” said Silvano motioning to the
heavily armed men in the room.
“We go to Chappelmita and help the police with their inquiries… like the good citizens we are.”
Silvano laughed quickly, although none of the MS13 men did. If they had been listening to the conversation between Hector and Silvano, they gave little indication that they had heard anything. Instead they just stared blankly ahead or at their weapons. Their dead eyes stayed dead. Hector marched out and Silvano ordered them back into the Escalades. Chappelmita was an hour’s drive away. It was time to work.
The highway continued for hours through what seemed to be a semi-arid landscape of smallholdings, dusty towns and dustier crop fields. As the sun rose high, they pulled over for lunch at a small taco stand that was set up by the road. They had gained a little altitude and the lay-by was cut into the hot rocks of the low hills. Part from the stand and a couple of parked pick-ups, there was little life visible for miles. Anna stayed in the car on Munro’s instructions. There was no-one else at the trolley that served as a hot plate, frying pan, cashier’s till and store cupboard. And Munro doubted that the large greasy man frying up the pollo and carne asada had links to any of the drug cartels. But he did not want to run any unnecessary risks. He pulled his hat down low and ordered eight tacos de carne to go. He was gruff to the point of rudeness but the taco man did not seem to care. With his wide brimmed hat, dusty jeans, t-shirt and pick-up truck, he was just another ranchero passing though on the way to somewhere nicer.
He drove the car on a few hundred meters to the next lay-by cut into the hill. They got out of the truck and sat on the back of the cargo bed. Anna devoured her tacos and Munro had to admit that they were good. Chopped up steak sprinkled with coriander, guacamole and chopped shallots - all wrapped in a lightly fried maize tortilla. The chilli sauce gave it a little hit and hid the taste of what Munro hoped was beef. But they were good.
“These are delicious,” said Anna between mouthfuls as she finished the last of her tacos, “I could eat ten.”
“Cheap, delicious and crammed with grease. Just what you need after a hard day in the fields.”
“I could eat these every day,” Anna said licking her fingers.
“Many do,” replied Munro smiling, “and Mexico has one of the highest obesity rates in the world.”
“Maybe,” replied Anna. “But I would rather eat tacos every day and have a bit of a belly than be stick thin and have to eat what the girls in Vancouver have for lunch every day. Celery and sushi mainly. I mean who can really eat raw fish every day? It’s disgusting.”
Munro smiled. His thoughts exactly. They both looked out of the car, at the view. The sky was clear, the fields below were hazy in the harsh heat. Not for the first time, the forced intimacy of their situation occurred to them both.
“You know this is almost clichéd,” she said.
“What is?”
“I’ve been rescued from a near death experience by a tall, dark and handsome stranger. I suppose it’s most girls’ fantasy.” Her tone made it very clear that she wasn’t most girls.
“And then you’ve just had some of the best tacos in Mexico, I suppose it doesn’t get better than that.” Munro felt uncomfortable and he wasn’t quite sure why.
They were both silent as they took in the view.
“Anna,” he said eventually, “We need to talk some more about Richard, I know it’s hard. To lose someone you care about is never easy.” Anna gave him an odd look. “But,” he continued, “I really need you to give me a description of the man you saw the night he was killed. The smaller guy.”
“I can do that,” she said, “I got a good look at his face. It’s not one that you forget easily.”
“That’s good, really good. Not necessarily for you, but a good description will go a long way towards helping us find whoever killed Rich.”
Anna was quiet.
“You do want that don’t you? You do want us to find out who killed him?”
“Of course I do,” she replied quickly. “I’m just a bit scared, ok? The men that came that night in Margarita, they were mean, tough men. What they did to Rich, it’s not something I‘ve ever seen before. It scared the shit out of me. And then when the police came… I don’t know. Rich is dead. Nothing is going to bring him back. I know it sounds heartless, but a part of me just wants to forget this ever happened and go home to my grandparents in Vancouver. I never asked for any of this.”
“I know you didn’t Anna, I know you didn’t. But like it or not, you saw the murderer, and he knows that you saw him. If the people that did this can get to you here, can bribe the police to arrest you for them, they can get to you in Vancouver. They can get to you anywhere.” He paused, Anna had gone pale. She looked tired and scared.
“The only way for you to put this behind you, is for you to help me get the guys who did this.”
She looked at him, “I know that,” she said, “thank you for helping me.”
“It’s nothing, I’m just doing my job.”
“Really?” she said recovering her composure little. “You’re doing more than that, aren’t you? Richard’s mother hired you to do a little digging and find out who killed her son. She didn’t hire you to tear around Mexico shooting corrupt cops and smuggling girls out of the country with fake passports.”
“I didn’t have much choice. Those men looked like they were going to kill you after they had raped you. Either way, I couldn’t just let them attack you like that.”
“I know they were. You saved my life, but you didn’t have to.”
“I did,” replied Munro. “I did because I could.”
Anna looked at him closely, like he was a museum exhibit. “Those weren’t the first men you had killed were they? What were you before you investigated murders in Venezuela?”
Munro took a sip from his water bottle.
“I was in the army for a long time,” he said, “Iraq, Afghanistan, West Africa. I was sent to some pretty bad places. You have a job to do and you do it. It’s that simple really.” He looked away from her and took a deep breath. In the beginning it had been that simple. Easy even. But it was never simple, never easy.
Anna turned to him, a determined look in her eyes. She looked at him closely again. “I’m sorry, I know it’s rude to ask a soldier if he’s killed people. But most people might have tried to talk their way out of that situation with the asshole cops. You didn’t. You did not hesitate, you just took them out.”
“There were six of them. They all had guns. They were all hostile. If I lost the element of surprise, I would have been killed. It was all I had. I couldn’t guarantee them being reasonable men open to reasonable persuasive argument. They were about to rape you.”
“And you saved my life.” Her tone had softened, and she smiled at Munro.
“Yeah yeah,” he said laughing to change the tone, “enough of this. I need to get a description from you, and I need it now.”
Munro pulled out his laptop and went to an application that Rudd had borrowed from the FBI. It enabled anyone, with about an hour’s training, to play around with a computer-generated face and create a photo fit of a suspect. In the absence of a proper police artist, it was the most effective way of putting a face to a suspect.
He called Rudd in London.
Rudd had just closed his computer down for the night. It was raining and his train line was down. His choices to get home were either to walk (wet), get the bus (slow) or take a taxi (expensive). When the phone rang and he saw it was Munro, he was actually quite relieved.
“Good evening Jack.”
Munro put the phone on speaker and placed it on the dashboard. He then said a little louder, “I have Anna Neuberg with me. She’s ready to give us a description of the suspect. We’re all set up this end.”
“Well done Jack,” said Rudd as he went into the application at his desk in Mayfair. “When did you learn to set this up?”
“When you sent me on a day long IT course, remember?”
“Of course,”
laughed Rudd, “Glad you learnt something there.”
“Ok, let’s start,” said Rudd, his voice coming out remarkably clearly from the Blackberry’s tiny speaker. The laptop screen came alive and an amorphous face came onto the screen.
“Here we have the base face for your average Latin male,” said Rudd. The face looked like a slightly skewed boiled egg, albeit a boiled egg with a tan. There was no hair, no eyebrows, no real features of any kind whatsoever. It did not look like the face of anything even remotely human.
“How old was the guy?” asked Rudd.
“I don’t know,” said Anna. “Somewhere between mid-thirties and early fifties.”
“Ok,” said Rudd tapping a few keys. Suddenly the blob aged slightly. It was an odd process; the image still did not have any distinguishing features. It now just looked like a slightly older boiled egg.
“Let’s start with the eyes,” said Rudd. “Were they bigger or smaller than these eyes?”
Rudd tapped few more keys and a set of eyes and eyebrows appeared.
Munro stepped out the cab. Rudd was more than capable of handling the technical stuff alone. He took the guns to a corner of the lay-by that could not be easily seen from the road. There he laid them out on a tarpaulin that had come with the pick-up. He should have stripped and cleaned them as soon as he had got them, you could never trust another man’s gun maintenance. But he had not had time until now. He started with the AR15. It was a long rifle, semi-automatic. It normally held 32 rounds, although this one had an extra-large magazine that held 50. It was an excellent gun, the civilian version of the standard rifle issued to the US army. It was also a fairly competent sniper rifle, accurate to about 400m without a scope. Unfortunately, this rifle only had five bullets left in the magazine.
