by JD Dutra
Nathan raised his eyebrows and shrugged before lifting the binoculars again. He was used to not being told until the last minute, but he trusted his superiors; they had never failed him in the past.
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough, here they come” he said.
The line of busses was in full view; there were seven of them on the main dirt road. Then one of them turned off the road and began to drive towards Nathan and his team, but the other six kept on going northwest in a caravan. The old bus came to a stop a few yards away, and Nathan walked up to it. A middle aged man stepped out, dressed in worn out jeans and a sweat stained polo shirt so tight and colorful, it looked like it belonged on the body of a pro golfer.
“Nathan, good to see you son!” The man who had jumped out of the bus smiled and walked towards Nathan, clasping hands with him and leaning in for a mutual tap on the back.
“Tom! Good to see you too, it’s been a while,” Nathan said, walking Tom towards the El Camino. Illegal immigrants, dressed in similar clothing as Nathan and his team began to pour out of the bus, carrying water jugs, hats and a look of hope for a better future. They stood by the baggage door at the bottom of the busses, waiting for instructions.
“Yes it has, how are Isabella and the girls?” Tom asked, hoping for better news than he had last time.
“They’re all good… and that Chad guy is gone,” said Nathan with a half-smile.
“That’s great; you’re a good man for forgiving her. Couples hurt each other sometimes.” Tom squeezed Nathan’s broad shoulder as if giving him a jolt of encouragement.
“My little girls need me,” he said, deliberately leaving out Isabella. He’d stay around, for now. “How is Mariah?”
“She’s great. I’m going to see her tomorrow, after I get out of this forsaken place.” Tom sounded relieved and looked like he was getting too old for this.
“So… who are these guys?” Nathan asked, stopping before he got too close to his men so that he and Tom could have some privacy. Tom looked over his shoulders, and spoke softly.
“I’m not supposed to tell you, but these guys are Iraqi Special Forces. The Arab Spring starting kind of Special Forces.” Tom paused and looked at Nathan as if expecting him to say something, but the younger man only looked a little puzzled for a moment; he said nothing so his boss continued.
“These are very smart guys who know how to rally a mob and can throw Molotov cocktails like it’s nobody’s business. They are here for a refresher is what I was told. They’ve been smuggled in before a few times, so you shouldn’t have too many problems with them. If you do, you have government authorization to kill them on the spot.”
Nathan nodded and had a sip of water, then asked.
“They couldn’t get the team who brought them in last time to do it again?” Nathan ran a finger across his forehead, to wipe away some sweat before it got into his eyes.
“Well, I think they needed more people, there were 20 busses leaving the rally point in Matamoros by the coast. Your team will be taking 10 Iraqis along with some real illegal immigrants, most of them Mexicans, but some Chinese and Africans too. There are similar batches on the other busses, so I’d say there are about 200 of these Iraqi guys in total.”
“Interesting ...” Said Nathan, still not sure of what to think about this.
“You look nervous. Are you ok? You usually don’t ask questions, Nathan. What’s on your mind?” Tom placed a hand on his shoulder again and looked Nathan in the eyes.
“Well, after you get dropped into a place like the Maidan in Kiev in the middle of an infernal protest and get told to shoot protesters and policemen alike, you tend to start to wonder why the hell you do certain things and —”
“Nathan,” Tom interrupted him. “You know our country does certain things that aren’t easy to swallow, but it’s for the greatness of the nation. It’s like chopping off a cancerous finger to save the entire body, you know what I mean? Don’t concern yourself with things that are out of your control Nathan, you are a patriot, a hero. The National Clandestine Service works off the radar for a reason. Your conscience is heavy so that millions of Americans can sleep like babies at night… including your family. I’m sure your ancestors had these same feelings sometimes. It’s the cost of the American Dream that nobody talks about. Play your part well, and trust those people above you. They depend on this country - on this machine - as much as you do.”
“I need some time off after this assignment, I need some family time. I need to decompress. Can you keep me out of the schedule for two or three weeks?”
“Sure thing, son. After that Mariah and I would love to have you and your family over for dinner again, what do you say?”
“You’re a good boss, Tom, thanks for the pep talk. We’d love to come over again anytime.”
Tom patted Nathan on the back and they started walking again. The five men stood ready to go. They looked like a lineup of immigrant workers at the local hardware store, except all of them were in top fitness condition beneath their ragged clothes. Tom smiled and began to speak.
“Boys, thanks for coming over to the party. You’ve all been briefed so you know what to do in making sure these people get to where we want them to go. You may be surprised to see that some are Middle Eastern, but they do special work for us so they are okay to enter. Think of them as your co-workers from a branch in the Middle East and recognize they are your equals with similar strengths and capabilities. That means you try not to step on each other’s toes, but if anyone, Middle Eastern or not, becomes a problem, your government authorizes you to execute them where they stand. Are there any questions?”
The men were full of questions, but all of them knew better than to ask. They all simply shook their heads as one of the men who had come in on the bus asked for the key of the El Camino. Nathan tossed him the keys and he drove away after a nod towards Tom.
“Enjoy the walk and good luck boys… Like Ozzy says, ‘I’ll see you on the other side’”, Tom said, the men nodded and said mumbled thanks before they went to mingle with the illegal immigrant group. Two of Nathan’s men spoke fluent Spanish and began engaging them right away. Nathan looked at the group; it was hard to pick out the Hispanics from the Middle Easterners while they picked up the rest of their bags. They were equally tan, their faces kind of blended together. None of the men had beards, some of them had mustaches. After studying them for a few moments, he thought he had a good idea of who was who, but he wasn’t completely sure.
“Nathan,” Tom whispered just before nodding his head at a spot on the desert sand, away from the group. They wandered further from the bus and a third man joined them. He was wearing leather sandals and worn out jeans that were too short for him. His white button down shirt was dirty and had yellow stains under its arms, and in some parts, transparent with sweat.
“Pete, this is Nazeer, the leader of the Iraqis in your group.” The name was Nathan’s usual one on a job and didn’t even blink when Tom used it.
At first glance, the man Tom called Nazeer, looked to be about Nathan’s age. Nathan extended his hand out, and a dark, calloused one reached for his. Nathan felt like he was shaking hands with a stone statue and it looked like the guy was trying to memorize Nathan’s face for some time in the future.
“A pleasure to meet you… Pete,” the accented voice said with an unnatural smile. There was something in the way he said the name that gave Nathan an uneasy feeling. He knew that he wasn’t in any of the government files or computer systems and didn’t even have any social media accounts. Also, he didn’t allow his wife and oldest daughter to have them, so neither Nathan nor his family could be traced just with a real name and picture of a face… but that didn’t stop him worrying about people like Nazeer.
“Welcome Nazeer, the pleasure is mine,” said Nathan gazing into his eyes for a brief second. There was something in those dark eyes, perhaps a lifetime of hardship in the desert somewhere or maybe it was the heat. Nathan used the opportunity
to turn the tables and memorize the man’s face and features. His face was naturally thin, and so were his lips and nose. Nazeer had short, curly hair and although he had shaved he was so hairy his skin was dark gray where his beard was supposed to grow. Tom’s voice broke their gaze, as they measured the levels of suspicion of one another as politely as they could.
“I’m ready to get out of here gentlemen, so you two remember your roles in this. Help each other, look natural and just make it to the rally point. It’s that simple.”
“Yes Andy,” said Nazeer using Tom’s usual cover name; Nathan just nodded.
Tom smiled at them, said his goodbyes then stepped into the bus. The door shut and moments later the bus made its way back to the dirt road.
“Let’s go!” Nathan said and he began to walk towards the American border, everyone followed without a word. The sound of the hot wind blowing the small shrubs cut into the silence of the group.
Nathan’s stomach was full of water, but his mouth was bone dry, the first water stop was five miles away, right before the US-Mexico border. The walk began with everyone in silence, the Mexican and Central American women were the first to start talking to one another. Some of the Hispanic men followed the conversation, and soon some of Nathan’s men began chatting with them. It was as if they had forgotten they had met under such unusual circumstances. Nathan walked in front, sometimes using his binoculars to make sure they didn’t have any unwanted company.
“The heat seems bad, but in Iraq it is worse,” Nazeer said to Nathan, trying to strike up a conversation after he’d drawn up alongside the American.
“I was in Syria a few months ago, but it was winter, so I missed the heat,” Nathan said with a friendly smile.
“Syria is bad too, but nothing is as bad is Iraq,” Nazeer continued with a grin.
“Are your men doing okay?” Nathan asked, noticing how easily Nazeer stepped on rocks and dry plants with his thin sandals. Nathan’s tennis shoes weren’t the greatest and he could feel every rock pushing up into his feet.
“Yes, they are used to the heat. This desert is familiar to us; we crossed here about a year ago.”
“That’s what Andy said. You guys have done this before?” Nathan blew a bead of sweat off his nose and opened a new bottle of water. He took a sip and offered the bottle to Nazeer who shook his head.
“Yes, this is my fifth time in three years.” Nazeer’s face looked dry, but his arms were lightly coated with sweat and his hairy body was soaking through his shirt.
“Is that right? What do you think of America? Have you seen any of the cities or did you just get trained and left?”
“Yes I have passed through Austin and San Diego, they are beautiful places. Someday I want my family and my countrymen to live like your people. Perhaps I won’t, but my child will. I have faith.”
“I can understand that, but wouldn’t it be easier to just move them somewhere else like Europe?”
“My country needs men who won’t abandon it anymore. Men who are willing to sacrifice themselves and do what no one else will, so that it can rise once again. With the wars, millions have fled to other countries and we need to grow again in every sense. Iraq was the birthplace of the Sumerians you know, they were the oldest civilization in the entire world. The Babylonians were our ancestors too. My people have forgotten their heritage, their pride. I don’t want my child to live like that, under shame.”
“Only a few people understand what it’s like to sacrifice everything for one’s country,” Nathan said, wondering if this was some kind of lip service or if this man’s words were genuine. No matter how much this operation made sense in his mind, something inside Nathan’s heart told him he would regret every step of this journey.
Chapter 8
Tent City Jail, Phoenix, Arizona
Wednesday, October 21st, 2020
1:03 P.M.
Daniel Cross stood in line in the food hall located in the central pavilion of the Tent City Jail. He saw a line of shaved heads of all colors in front of him, a few of them turning to chat with each other, others looking worried over their shoulders. He knew exactly what those men felt like. There was something even worse than being watched 24 hours a day by the guards or the cameras that seemed to be everywhere; it was the feeling of being studied, analyzed, and talked about by his fellow inmates. It was a feeling that wouldn’t go away no matter how many times he dared to look over his own shoulder and realized no one was directly looking at him.
“Hey yo! Gimme some more of them cheese crackers! They don’t feed us enough in here man, come on!” Growled one of the inmates, holding up the line after grabbing his handful of prepackaged food. His tone was menacing, the inmate who was handing out the food gazed down and shook his head.
“Sorry man, they’ll lock me up in solitary if I do it,” the inmate handing out lunch said.
Daniel saw that he was a young kid, probably the age of his daughter. The young kid’s gaze shifted to the next inmate in line, trying to ignore the threatening eyes that glared at him. The inmate who felt he didn’t get enough food made a rude gesture to the nearest guard and screamed in anger.
“We ain’t animals in here man, give us some of dat good food ya’ll eat. This ain’t fair!”
Before he was even done shouting, the guard had his radio to his lips; two others immediately loomed in the corner of the room but did not approach; their presence was enough. The guard returned an emotionless stare at the inmate, who mad dogged him right back until he’d walked far enough away to break his gaze and sit down, grumbling into his food.
Daniel finally let go of a breath he was holding and realized it was his turn to be served. He was handed a water bottle along with a dry turkey sandwich on a hard roll, some crackers in a plastic bag and a small apple. That was it.
“Thank you,” Daniel said quietly to the inmate who handed him food. The younger man just nodded at him and served the next inmate in line.
Not since his early school days had Daniel felt like he needed to choose very carefully where he’d sit down to eat. He had completely forgotten what that felt like, that familiar feeling of nervousness brought back unwanted memories of avoiding the school bullies and trouble makers. As he looked around the lunch tables, a pale white arm quickly went up in the air. Waving in his direction was a man with a crooked smile on his face.
That looks friendly enough.
Daniel walked over to the man’s table. He was white and bald, like everyone else, and a large, blond handlebar mustache, and as Daniel got closer he realized the man had an unusual amount of blisters on his head. The other men at the bench were white, and it was then that Daniel realized everyone was sitting together according to their race; there was no mixing at all.
“Are you gonna sit down and eat with us or just watch us from above like a drone?” The man with the blond mustache grinned a friendly tobacco yellow smile. His voice was strange, hoarse, choked in his throat as if he had a malignant cancer growing there somewhere.
“Yeah sorry, I’m new here. My name is Daniel, go by Danny.” Once again he felt like the awkward youth in the new school.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Danny, I’m Whitey,” the man said, exaggerating his politeness. His light blue eyes were restless and alive with something bizarre; Daniel couldn’t quite decide what it was. There was definitely something wrong with his skin, it was pasty, wrinkly in places it should have been smooth. Maybe it was some type of disease. It was hard to tell how old this man was, probably somewhere between 30 and 50.
“Nice to meet you too,” said Daniel, offering a warm smile. Whitey extended a large, blistered and dirty hand Daniel would never have shaken if he wasn’t in jail. Now it seemed like the right thing to do. He took it, shook it twice and he felt his own hand moisten in certain places, probably from the open blisters in the man’s palm. When the other inmates introduced themselves, Daniel offered to shake hands, but they only gave him fist bumps instead.
“Since you are new t
o the beautiful Tent City Resort, let me give you a tour,” said Whitey with glaring eyes in a strange and deranged way. He was breathing heavy and chewing with his mouth open and Daniel couldn’t tell if he was mentally ill or just trying to be funny. The other inmates around him seemed to respect Whitey, but something didn’t feel right about him.
Suddenly Whitey’s head tipped back and his eyes rolled to the back of his head for a few moments. His breathing got slower, heavier and then those crazy blue eyes fixed onto something behind Daniel. Whitey’s jaw and lip started to twitch and dance nervously under his upper teeth, as if he were chewing a piece of lime. Daniel wanted to look behind him, but Whitey’s behavior was too much not to stare. One by one the others on the table moved their heads to look in the same direction Whitey was.
“Oh man… they’re here,” said one of them and Daniel couldn’t resist and turned to look. A team of six police officers wearing tactical black clothing entered the lunchroom, holding guns and riot shields. Looking like they were about to kill someone, they went directly towards the inmate who had complained about his lunch earlier.
Very quickly all the other inmates around him began to stand up and leave, until the complaining guy was alone, encircled by the tactical response team. The entire lunch room began to empty now, inmates leaving as fast as they could without making themselves look guilty of anything.
“Leave your food let’s get outta here,” Whitey whispered as he stood up, everyone else at the table was on their feet. As Daniel followed them into the yard an argument broke out between one of the tactical officers and the loud inmate. When Daniel turned his head to look at the tactical team, they were pepper spraying the inmate and pulling out telescopic batons.
Everyone walked back to their tents quietly, not saying a word as guards watched like hawks from the towers above. Whitey was walking in front of the group, hands whipping in the air along his sides, picking and scratching at himself, grumbling an argument with whatever invisible enemy he was seeing in front of him. He was headed towards one of the tents. Once they got there, Whitey turned to Daniel, eying him and then an empty bed.
