by Ellie Danes
Bree was able to sample three courses as we waited. I kept having to remind her to observe the restaurant. What kind of people came and went? Were any new wait staff coming onto shift?
“I don’t know, Nathan. It all looks pretty normal to me. And you should try this shrimp. It’s is the best I’ve ever had,” Bree said.
“Not a big fan of shrimp,” I said.
“What about Kobe beef? This course is a heavenly kind of surf and turf.” Bree held out a bite for me.
I shook my head. “I’m not hungry.”
“At least you could have a glass of wine,” Bree said. “They uncorked it at the table.”
I shook my head and waited, every nerve singing as I sat with my back to the busy room. I wanted a shot of whiskey to calm my nerves but then I reminded myself it wasn’t all bad. I couldn’t see what was behind me but Bree was there. And she was definitely the best view in the place.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Bree
“Oh, god, Nathan, this might be him,” I hissed.
Nathan glared at me. “You’ve said that at least a dozen times now, Tanya.”
My breath caught in my throat. I’d used his real name!
I dropped my voice another level and leaned across the table so only Nathan could hear me. “This time I’m serious. He’s coming straight for us.”
“What does he look like?” Nathan asked.
His fingers knotted together until his knuckles turned white. Nathan was worried whoever approached about the ‘job’ would recognize him.
“You have to relax, remember? Your memory won’t clear up if you try to force it,” I said. I leaned back a little as Nathan glared at me. “All right, I’ll describe him: heavy-set, wider waist than shoulders, dark hair, can’t tell if it’s dyed or not. He looks older. Fancy suit.”
Nathan groaned. “That doesn’t help. I have to look.”
He swiveled around right as the older man stepped over to our table. Quick fingers checked his cufflinks, then the man extended his hand to Nathan.
“Nice to meet you. Both,” the man said.
Nathan’s shoulders relaxed a notch as he shook the man’s hand. They had clearly never met. The man stepped back when Nathan stood up and looked him over thoroughly.
“Sorry. I like to think two people are better than one,” Nathan said in his fake Southern accent.
“Well, you do make a good couple,” the man said. “Americans.”
It wasn’t a question, just a confirmation. He gave a bored but professional courtesy smile. A younger man brought him over a chair and he sat down at our table.
“Thank you for the lovely meal,” I said.
The man’s dark eyes seared onto me. I felt him see my age and my inexperience. Then his gaze fell to my body and took on the gleam of an appraiser.
Nathan cleared his throat. “Yeah, thank you, but we didn’t order anything. We didn’t come here expecting to pay for a meal.”
The man tore his gaze from me and smiled at Nathan. “Don’t worry about the bill. The real issue is that we have transportation needs. You, obviously, have money needs.”
“What do you mean ‘transportation’ issues?” Nathan asked.
“We need nice, unassuming Americans to return from vacation with more than the normal junk. And we are willing to replace all those trinkets with money,” the man said.
“Like mules,” Nathan said.
The man nodded and sat forward, heartened by the fact he didn’t have to explain further. “We don’t expect our employees to lug heavy backpacks through the brush and across the border, though some find that easier to handle. No, for you, we have an excellent deal.”
Nathan leaned forward to look at the photograph on the man’s phone. I started to lean as well but felt the man’s eyes move back onto my body. I stayed back and forced myself not to cross my arms over my chest.
“An RV?” Nathan asked.
“Exactly. You return to the United States in an air-conditioned, luxury recreational vehicle. Then all you have to do is make it to the specified location at the correct time, and you’ll be paid in full.”
I shook my head. “What if they ask to see our IDs?”
Nathan gave me a sharp glance, then covered by saying, “We don’t want to get caught with illegal cargo and have it on our permanent record.”
The man patted Nathan’s arm. “An excellent point. You will be given all the necessary paperwork including the RV’s registration and new passports and driver’s licenses. Does that about cover it?”
“Um, wow,” I said. “You make it sound so easy.”
“It is,” the man said. “Unless you prefer other forms of work?”
Nathan jumped in. “So, you do this a lot? What’s the phrase, ‘success rate?’ What would you say your success rate is?”
The man checked his cuff links again. “I don’t have the exact numbers but our employees are very pleased with their pay.”
“Unless they’re in jail,” I muttered.
Nathan walked a fine line between asking for the information we wanted and blowing his undercover persona. “I think I’d be more comfortable if I knew you set this kind of thing up every day.”
The man gestured for his young lackey to bring him a glass. The young man returned in under a minute and opened the bottle of light red wine himself.
Once he’d gone through the ritual of smelling the cork, tasting the wine, and accepting a pour, the man turned back to us. “I find myself in this situation often enough to assume my explanation is sufficient. Yes, there is a risk but it is offset by a large gain. The decision is yours.”
He offered me a glass of wine and I accepted. “Is it always an RV?” I asked.
He smiled, feeling conversational as he lingered over my glass. “We have different methods. Some tailored to fit the individual.”
“So, you don’t have a type?” I asked.
Nathan reached for my hand under the table but I batted away his warning. If I had to flirt to hear what we needed to know, then I was going to do it.
The man wrapped his hand around mine over my wine glass and guided it to my lips. Then he watched as I sipped the fruity vintage and licked his own lips.
“In our business, everyone is a potential employee from a child to a man to a woman—”
“To a couple?” Nathan interrupted.
“Wait. Did you say you use children?” I asked.
The man shrugged and sat back to sip from his own glass. “Children are small, hard to spot, and they usually follow directions very well. Better than most adults, to be honest.”
“Why?” Nathan asked. “They’re just kids.”
“As I said before, we have transportation needs. Those needs supersede childhood. Our employee pool must remain as large as possible.” The man looked around his restaurant, bored with us.
“But we’ve got to be a better bet than some poor kids,” I said. “Don’t we look like the perfect couple for a big job?”
The man raised an eyebrow and smiled at me. “Perfect? I can’t say that you are perfect.”
I pouted to Nathan. “I think we’re perfect.”
The man put his hand on my wine glass again. “I normally look for people who are unassuming, who don’t stand out in a crowd. You stand out.”
“Is it my hair?” I joked, springing one of my curls up and down.
“And your boyfriend can’t hide his feelings. He wishes he was sitting between us right now,” the man said with a teasing smile. “I need someone with a good, how do you say it? Poker face.”
“Oh, Hank’s real good at poker. That’s what he was doing hanging around that bar where he met your guy,” I said.
The man nodded. “That part’s good, but you two need to blend in with the tourists more. The fewer people who look your way the better.”
“We’re just a couple on vacation. That’s not an act,” Nathan said. “And we’re not going to perform some big show. If this is too complicated, we walk.
”
The man sat up and held up his hands to sooth Nathan. “No complications. That’s what we want, too. And, in order to make sure there are none, we have certain benefits available.”
“Like dental?” I asked.
“Like a tail to the border who will ensure you are not bothered by petty criminals or the local police. We also give you half the money up front, the rest on delivery. All cash. All unmarked.”
The man snapped his fingers and his lackey handed him a leather-bound pad of paper and a pen. He scribbled a number, tore off the page, and handed it to Nathan.
Nathan didn’t have to feign shock at the number but he had to muster up a look of excitement for me. I saw in his eyes the realization of just what a huge monster we were up against.
“But what happens if we get caught?” I asked.
The man stroked my hand and prompted me to take another sip of wine. “We provide lawyers if you should be detained by the authorities. They will see to it that you come out free. Mostly they can prove you were coerced and then you walk.”
“I think we have a deal,” Nathan said.
He couldn’t bear to hear any more. The cartel had more resources, more networks, and a farther reach than he had ever considered. Nathan wanted to retreat and regroup.
I stood up as the men shook hands, then took Nathan’s arm. He stepped away from the table but the man laid one hand on his chest.
“Now that we have a deal, there is a van on its way. Go to the back door. It will arrive in ten minutes.” He smiled at me. “I suggest you think of all the fun ways you are going to spend your new fortune. Enjoy your trip.”
The bottom of my stomach dropped out as I realized we’d had a lucky encounter. The man walked off and two large bodyguards followed him. Our meeting could have gone one of two ways and we chose the pleasant one.
Nathan knew it, too. He grabbed my arm and pulled me close. “They were never going to let us walk.”
“At least the lawyer will be able to prove we were forced,” I said.
I nodded toward the two returning bodyguards. They followed behind us to the back door and then stood there like a wall between us and the restaurant. There was no way out except the door and it was soon eclipsed by a black van.
Nathan got in first and then pulled me onto the seat next to him. I huddled in his arms as the door slammed and we sped off into the night.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Nathan
The van’s windows had been painted over from the inside. When I reached over to scratch open a small hole with my fingernail, the man in the front passenger seat turned around. He didn’t say anything, just watched until I leaned back in my seat and left the windows alone.
Bree huddled next to me, and I could feel her occasional shivers. She’d done great at the restaurant, pushing further and daring more than I wanted her to, but she got good information.
We now knew for certain the cartel used children as drug mules. And we were on our way to the same fate.
As we bumped along in the darkened van, I went over the interview at the restaurant. I wondered how many people said ‘no’ only to find out they had no choice. I was certain the man in the suit would have calmly adjusted his cufflinks while he threatened our families and loved ones. No one given a job offer by the cartel had ever been able to turn it down.
I was glad we got out of the restaurant with only the stubborn presence of the bodyguards to remind us we didn’t have a choice. Others weren’t so lucky, I was sure.
The van ride smoothed out, and I leaned forward to glance out the windshield. We were flying along a wide strip of concrete and fast approaching a massive warehouse. The driver went straight through an open door and parked the van in the center of a cavernous room.
“Get out,” the driver said.
Bree and I had no choice as the other bodyguard tore open the van door. His expression said he would wait but only about ten seconds. I pushed Bree toward the door even as she scrambled to hold my hand.
My grip tightened on her as the van sped away and left us standing in the enormous warehouse. It felt more like a hangar except the walls were lined with vehicles instead of planes.
“What is this place?” I asked the bodyguard.
He stepped away from me, mouth shut, and watched as another man in a dark suit approached.
It was a long walk across the wide building, and I had time to check out the array of vehicles around us. There was every kind from small economy cars to pick-up trucks and buses. One entire wall held nothing but delivery vans. Another displayed an entire row of RVs.
“I don’t like this,” Bree whispered.
“Welcome. No need to look so nervous. You have a simple assignment, and I am sure there will be no problems,” the man said.
“There’s one problem,” I said. “We’re being treated more like prisoners than employees.”
“Security precautions. Nothing more,” the man said. He waved for us to follow him.
The bodyguard continued close behind us as we approached the wall of RVs. The man in the suit walked us past them, occasionally making a note on his phone.
“Have you driven one of these before?” the man asked me.
I nodded.
He almost gave a smile, made another note, and then flagged down a young man. He ran across the wide warehouse, heard whatever the man whispered in his ear, and then took off again at a sprint.
“What’s the deal here?” I asked. “When can we go back to our motel room and get our stuff?”
The man in the suit shook his head. “Everything you need will be provided.”
“Whoa, what? You’re not letting us leave?” I stopped walking and Bree ran into me.
The man sighed. “Tonight, you will prepare and you leave first thing in the morning.”
“Prepare?” I held up both hands. “We were told this was just a simple drive. What are we supposed to prepare?”
The young man ran back across the warehouse and handed the man in the suit a thick manila envelope. His gaze flickered over Bree before he ran back to his post on the far side of the warehouse. I watched him take up his position and wondered what was behind him.
“You will need to spend the night learning your new identities and practicing your backstory. Nothing complicated, just enough details to get you across the border without any questions.” The man in the suit carefully opened the envelope and showed us new passports. “We take photographs next.”
“My name is going to be Matilda?” Bree asked.
The man cracked a smile. “Nicknames are encouraged. They make you sound more natural.”
“Great. Fine. We’ll take these and work on it back at our motel,” I said.
The man’s smile vanished. “These are valuable documents. You will study them here. Besides, you have an early morning.”
He gestured for us to follow him back down the line of RVs to the second one he had noted. When he pulled open the door and climbed inside, we had no choice but to follow him. The bodyguard stood close at the door behind us.
The RV was a couple of years old with some wear and tear. The interior was a jumble of border town postcards and souvenirs. I shifted uncomfortably when I spotted a candid photograph of a young couple amidst all the postcards. I wondered what happened to them.
“So, there are drugs hidden in here?” I asked.
The man nodded. “Inside the cabinets behind a false wall at the back. Keep the pots and pans messy, let them rattle around as you drive. It discourages border security from digging too far inside.”
I highly doubted he was telling us the whole truth about where the drugs were hidden. As we toured the tight little RV, I saw at least three other likely spots. If that vehicle made it across the border, hundreds of kilos of cocaine would hit the US black market.
Then I saw the keys laid out on the dashboard.
“Are we supposed to sleep in here tonight? Does the bathroom work?” I asked.
The man
shook his head. “Come. We need to take your passport photographs.”
We were ushered across the wide warehouse to a long, narrow office along one wall. Inside, a camera and white backdrop were all set up, and a bored man with a laptop waited. He waved me over in front of the camera and took my picture without a second glance. Bree made him linger just a little bit longer.
“You will have new driver’s licenses and passports within the hour,” the man said. He nodded to the bodyguard.
The large man swept his hands over us, searching for our documents. “Nothing,” he said in a gruff voice.
“No ID?” the man in the suit asked.
I shrugged. “We weren’t sure if we were going to do something illegal or not.”
The man frowned. “Too bad. We reuse documents.”
“Good, they recycle,” Bree muttered.
The man at the laptop gave a short chuckle before swallowing hard and getting back to work.
“Never mind. In this envelope, you will also find a map and itinerary. You are expected to be at the drop-off site on time. In order to avoid extra problems, I suggest you drive straight there. Early is better,” the man said.
I glanced inside the envelope but didn’t get a chance to look deeper as the bodyguard ushered us back out of the office. Again, we crossed the wide warehouse and headed toward a set of doors I hadn’t noticed before.
A long hallway of what used to be storerooms stretched parallel along the entire length of the warehouse. The man in the suit unlocked one of the first doors and gestured for us to go inside.
He flipped on a light and gave a wan smile. “Your room for the night.”
“Hank, no,” Bree said. She plucked at my sleeve as we peeked into the room.
It was a square storage room with two low cots, a thin rug, and a rickety card table. A bare bulb glared down from the center of the ceiling.
“What’s down there?” I asked.
Farther down the hallway a man paced back and forth, obviously on guard. I reviewed my quick mental map and realized the young man I had watched out in the warehouse was also guarding that area.
