by Leland Davis
Next, Héctor picked up the hotel phone and dialed the number for his cousin’s Blackberry. Ortiz picked up.
“I have arrived in California,” Héctor told him. “I’ve seen the dormitory, but it will be very difficult to locate the girl. I have help arriving soon. What is the status of the vote?”
“We can delay the vote until the holiday. It will cost one million dollars, and I need it delivered by tomorrow morning.” Ortiz knew he was pushing his luck. In truth, he had convinced a senator who supported the bill that he could change his boss’ mind if the vote was delayed until after the holiday, and the man had been more than happy to help. It wouldn’t cost another dime. The money was one more way that Ortiz could cover his ass if this whole thing turned to shit—and he figured there was now a very good chance that would happen. He’d need some funds to run with.
Héctor was not pleased, but he had expected this. He’d known that meddling with the American political system would be no simple thing. This operation was getting very expensive, but what choice did they have? He would have to convince Cardenas that it was simply the cost of doing business. Maybe they could cut back on the amount offered to Moore once they had his daughter. Yes, that was the solution. He got the offshore account number from Ortiz and then disconnected the call, promising to confirm the funds transfer first thing tomorrow morning. He would call Switzerland late tonight—they were nine hours ahead of California—and have the funds moved to the Bahamas as soon as the day started there. There was no way he could wait for morning on the west coast—they would need confirmation before the Senate met tomorrow.
Twenty minutes later there was a knock on the hotel room door. He opened up to allow a man to enter. Jesús “Chucho” Morales was a short, solid looking Hispanic in jeans and a windbreaker carrying a worn black gym bag. He was Héctor’s best problem solver in the United States, well known for completing the most difficult and dangerous jobs. Héctor also knew that Chucho was a complete sociopath, so he would have to monitor him carefully lest anything unfortunate happen to the precious object of their current search. Although Héctor admitted to himself that Chucho was probably not the best person to call for this delicate job, he knew the man was reliable and the best person he could find so close to the Bay Area on such short notice.
Chucho put the bag down on the second hotel bed and took off his windbreaker, revealing massively muscular arms protruding from a sleeveless t-shirt, and the butt of an automatic pistol sticking up from the rear waistband of his jeans. One of his ropy arms was adorned with a tattoo of an almost cartoon-like, bare-chested, large-busted Mexican woman with flowing black hair that wrapped around the sides of his bicep and tricep, her face appearing to move through a range of expressions as the muscles rippled in the man’s arm. He opened the bag and pulled out a pair of handheld two-way radios and a cheap nickel-plated .45 with a faux-wood plastic grip. He passed the pistol and one of the radios to Héctor then rummaged around in the bag and found a few pairs of plastic flexicuffs. They each pocketed a radio and a pair of flexicuffs, and Héctor stuck the ridiculous nickel plated .45 in the back of his pants, pulling on a jacket from his own bag to cover it. They headed out for a bite to eat before setting up surveillance at the dorm.
13
Thursday, November 17th
MOORE DIDN’T KNOW whether to be frustrated or relieved. The senator from New Mexico had submitted an amendment to the bill at the last minute, and a raging debate had begun. Although everyone knew the bill was not going to pass, this would certainly delay the vote for the foreseeable future.
Moore was terrified to make his vote, but terrified not to. There were so many possibilities that he had no idea what to fear most. Should he fear the drug lord? Should he fear getting caught? Should he fear the prospect of being stuck in this place for years to come, or fear the prospect of having to leave it? The more he thought about every possible outcome, the more they all scared him. The wait was killing him.
He finally noticed Craig standing up and heading for the door. Moore followed the Texan as discreetly as he could. He made it into the hallway and called out to his friend as soon as the door to the senate chamber clicked shut.
“Hey Wes, you got a minute?”
“Sure Sheldon, what can I do for you?”
Moore picked up his lumbering pace to close the distance between them.
“Uhhh, I was curious about your little project in Mexico,” he began tentatively, his tone questioning. He knew this line of discussion was probably not going to be a welcomed one, but it was the best idea he’d come up with. If he was clever, he might get a little bit of information that would put his mind at ease. It was all he needed.
Craig paused for a moment, regretting that he had ever said anything in the first place. He’d wanted there to be whispers that he’d been involved after that fact, but he was not prepared to be confronted with it this soon.
“Well,” he answered diplomatically, “I’m really not at liberty to discuss that.”
Moore had anticipated this stonewall.
“I understand. I just wanted you to know that I appreciate what you’re doing down there. I respect the hell out of your judgment, Wes, and when you mentioned to me that you were doing something ‘bout it, it got me thinkin’ how important that was. That’s why I changed my mind on this bill. I can’t believe I let Ortiz convince me that nonsense was a good idea.”
“Well, I appreciate that,” Craig said earnestly.
“Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do to help,” Moore plowed on.
Craig wondered what Moore could possibly do to help. While he respected the man’s political abilities and thought he was a hell of a good guy, he knew that Moore didn’t have the finances or motivation to help a project like this. The Alabama senator wasn’t a mover or a shaker—he was known rather as the ultimate congressional maintainer, mildly working the system without ever bucking it enough to get tossed out. He’d hoped that after this mission was successful, Moore would quietly spread the rumor that Craig had somehow been involved. He’d never expected this kind of full-court press before things wrapped up. Right now, the first and only thing Craig could think of that Moore could do to help was to forget that he’d ever heard about the operation in the first place. But it was too late to for that. It dawned on him that Moore was more likely to be quiet if he felt like he was a co-conspirator. How the hell was he going to do that? He hadn’t the slightest idea. Maybe he could let him feel like he was on the inside without really telling him anything.
“There’ll probably come a time before long when we’ll need your help to keep things going, but right now the most important thing is that we keep it absolutely quiet. I’ll be in touch when we need you. It’s good to know I can count on you, Shel.” That was about as vague an answer as he could come up with.
“So it’s more than just taking out this drug lord?” Moore asked, raising an eyebrow. Keep him talking, he thought.
Shit. Craig had given away more than he wanted to anyhow.
“Taking him out is the first step. We’ll have to see where things go from there,” he said evasively.
“Will it happen soon?” Moore’s heart raced as he finally blurted the question he was most desperate to know the answer to.
“Any day now,” Craig replied seriously. He was committed now. Might as well tell Moore what he wanted to know and then swear him to silence.
Moore breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He’d made the right decision about the bill. He hated that he wouldn’t get the money, but he’d take survival over profit any day.
“I don’t know how you’re gonna pull it off, Wes, but best of luck to you. I hope it works out.”
“It’ll work out.” Craig lowered his voice, “We’ve got some boys on the job who’re as good as it gets at taking out big time targets.” He gave Moore the old insider’s wink.
“Sound like a good team,” Moore whispered back, nodding in approval.
“Yep. Four mean
sons’o’bitches. They’ll get the job done. Please keep it between us, Sheldon. Those men’s lives depend on nobody finding out.”
“You let me know if I can do anything,” Moore said again, grasping Craig’s hand in a firm handshake. “Keep up the good work.”
Craig nodded and moved on out the door, and Moore walked back into the senate chamber. He hoped this would all be over soon.
*
Héctor sat in his minivan, parked underneath a tree near the southwest corner of the dormitory. From his position he had a view across the grassy area in front of the building on the west side, as well as across the parking lot that bordered the building to the south. Chucho was sitting in his PT Cruiser in the parking lot to the northeast of the building with the heavily-tinted windows rolled down so that he could see better. He had a view across the east side of the dorm as well as across the open area between the dorm and the cafeteria to the north. Between them they could see every exit from the building. It was 1:30 in the afternoon. They had watched in shifts throughout the night, knowing it wasn’t perfect, and had both been on the job today since 7 AM.
Héctor had observed an endless stream of young people walking to and from the dormitory all day. The hardest part was not dozing off. He must have glanced at the photo on his Blackberry a thousand times. He’d seen several girls who looked similar to Samantha Moore and had even gotten out of the car to follow one. It turned out to be a false alarm. If they didn’t find her today, hopefully they could intercept her on the way to the airport on Saturday.
Héctor startled to awareness. A tall, thin blonde with long straight hair had just stepped from the passenger seat of a metallic blue BMW in the parking lot on the south side of the building and quickly disappeared into the door on the end of a wing of the dorm. The BMW stayed where it was, idling just outside the building with the driver still inside. Héctor picked up a pair of cheap binoculars he’d bought that morning at a nearby Walmart and held them ready, hoping the girl would return.
About three minutes later, the door burst open and the girl came out and jumped quickly into the waiting car. She had changed clothes, but it was definitely the same girl. Héctor had gotten a good look through the binoculars. It was Samantha Moore. He radioed Chucho to tell him the news, then started the van and pulled out of the parking lot to follow the car at a discreet distance.
A few minutes later, Héctor followed the BMW as it merged onto I-280 South. As he brought the van up to speed about one hundred fifty meters behind the car, he could see Chucho’s PT Cruiser catching up to him in the rear view mirror. They would take turns in their pursuit so that the occupants of the car would not discover that they were being followed.
Fifteen minutes later they rolled down an exit ramp in San Jose and turned right onto a city street. He instructed Chucho to hang back a block as he carefully followed the BMW. When the car turned onto a side street, Héctor continued straight, allowing Chucho to take his place. Héctor turned on the next street and circled the block, hoping to fall in behind Chucho when the cars emerged.
Chucho’s voice crackled over the radio. “They stopped at a house. It looked like they were buying drugs. Here they come.”
Brett and Sam decided to stay in the car today. Yesterday they had been startled by a jogger running on a trail that followed the stream where they had gone to smoke up. This time, Brett made his way back to the interstate while Sam took the baggies and pipe. As they pulled onto the freeway, the car briefly filled with white smoke before the acrid, sticky-sweet odor of burning plastic was carried away by the air blowing from the dash vents. Sam’s head nodded up and down for a moment, then she broke into a wide smile. Brett gunned the car up the interstate.
Héctor knew the boy would be a complication. With him there, it would be difficult to grab the girl in public without making a scene. They had followed the pair back to campus and watched them enter one of the large fraternity houses two hours ago.
Finally the pair emerged from the frat house. The boy was carrying a small backpack which he threw into the back seat of the car before climbing in. After a short drive to her dorm, the girl hopped out and ran inside. Héctor radioed Chucho and told him to stay and watch for the girl, and Héctor followed discreetly behind the BMW as it made its way off campus.
A few minutes later the car pulled into the parking lot of a low concrete building with tall black bars covering the glass storefront. Héctor watched from a half block away as the guy jumped out of the car, retrieved the backpack from the back seat, and walked into the pawn shop. Héctor pulled slowly into the parking lot and took the space next to the driver’s side of the BMW. He turned off the motor and climbed into the back seat, positioning himself just inside the van’s sliding side door. The bulk of the minivan would block any view from the street. There would almost certainly be security cameras in the shop, so he would have to stay low.
Twenty minutes later, he saw the boy come back out of the store. As he stepped between the cars to open the door to his BMW, Héctor pulled the nickel-plated .45 from the back of his pants. He opened the sliding side door of the van and stuck the fat barrel of the gun into the startled kid’s ribs. With his other hand, he slowly pulled the boy into the van, ushering him into the back cargo area before sliding the door shut.
Héctor used flexicuffs to secure the kid’s hands behind his back. After an initial period of stunned silence, the kid began to babble nervously.
“I don’t know what you want, man, but this really isn’t necessary.”
Héctor grunted noncommittally.
“Let me go. Hey, I’ve got money. I can get you money if that’s what you want.”
Héctor leaned down to rifle through the kid’s pockets where he found four hundred thirty-five dollars in cash. He stuffed the money in the pocket of his own jeans.
“Hey! What the fuck, man?!” Brett protested.
Héctor silently pointed the pistol at Brett’s head and gave him a hard stare until the boy fell silent. He then climbed back into the front seat and started the van.
Twenty-five minutes later, Héctor rolled the van to a stop in front of a black chain-link gate that blocked a small dirt track leading away from a secluded road. He’d found the location the night before using the Google app on his iPhone, and then driven here early this morning to scout it out. He put the van in park and got out, walking around to open the sliding door on the passenger side. He looked both ways up and down the road to make sure nobody was coming, then reached in and dragged Brett from the car by his hair. He picked up the backpack from the back seat and turned to Brett. He pushed him across the road to the downhill side, then prodded him with the end of the .45 until he took a few steps off the road into a patch of scrubby woods.
Brett was crying and begging as he stumbled through the brush ahead of Héctor. About twenty feet into the trees he fell to his knees and began sobbing loudly, calling out hysterically to his dad. I’m sorry Dad, and please help me, and other foolish nonsense like that. Héctor couldn’t stand the sniveling. He raised the pistol and contemptuously fired a heavy round into the back of Brett’s head.
He threw the backpack on the body and turned and left the corpse, pausing only for a moment to make sure that it wasn’t visible from the road before he climbed into the minivan and headed back to campus.
14
Friday, November 18th
STATIC CRACKLED FROM the two-way radio on the passenger’s seat of Héctor’s minivan, and he reached over to pick it up.
“Si.”
“I can see her.” It was Chucho. “She just walked right past my car.”
“Good. Follow her on foot. Let me know which way she’s heading.” Héctor started the minivan and pulled out of the parking lot. She was walking away from campus, not the direction he had expected her to go. That was why Chucho was on that side of the building and Héctor on this side. It would take Héctor a minute to drive to the other side of the dormitory, taking a circuitous route through the maze o
f campus roads. He hadn’t gone far when the radio sprang to life again.
“She’s getting on a bus,” Chucho relayed tersely.
“Which way?” Héctor asked as he drove.
Chucho searched for a street sign and finally replied, “East on Serra.” He relayed the bus number.
Héctor glanced at his map and turned left onto Campus Drive and then right onto Serra. It only took him a moment to locate the bus, and he followed it for about ten minutes as it turned right onto the wide divided avenue of Camino Real. He radioed his position back to Chucho, who had retrieved his PT Cruiser.
Finally the bus took another right, drove one block then pulled over, and he saw the girl get off. She immediately began walking back the way the bus had come from and passed straight by Héctor before he could react. There was some sort of large business complex on his left, so he pulled into the parking lot to turn around and follow her.
Shit, Sam thought as she climbed off the free campus shuttle. She had forgotten that the buses didn’t go all the way to the train station this early in the day. What’s more, the bus was five minutes late, and it had just driven her a block in the wrong direction before she could get off. She turned back up California Avenue and walked briskly, hoping she could still make the 2:07 train. She had about half a mile to walk and twelve minutes. She could make it, but she’d have to hurry. She reached the intersection with Camino Real, pushed the crosswalk button, and impatiently shifted her weight from one foot to the other for about ten seconds while she waited for the light to change. When it still hadn’t changed, she began pushing the button again, repeatedly jamming the heel of her hand against it in frustration while traffic poured by in front of her on the busy thoroughfare. Finally the light changed, and she half-walked, half-ran across the seven-lane road and continued briskly down the street, passing businesses and parked cars without even noticing them.
