Gage briefly thought about the acusador, Cortez Redon. Valentin said he was the one who would arrange for the phone to be delivered. Gage had no use for Redon, and Colonel Hunter’s intel had said he was not to be trusted.
So who did Redon use to deliver the phone? Whoever it was, in Gage’s mind, now knew more than they should. Gage hated leaks. Leaks get people killed.
Pushing the concern aside, Gage soaked his face and prepared to shave without shaving cream. Before he did, he noticed two men in the paper-thin aluminum mirror—both were adorned with the distinctively large Semental neck tattoo.
Gage turned. It was the two aggressors from his first day. The tall, thin boxer and the muscled Semental with the nasty tongue bite. They were waiting outside the cell’s threshold, saying nothing. As Gage eyed them, feeling the thud of his own pulse, the muscled one, supporting himself on crutches, nodded to Gage. The tall one nodded as well. Gage didn’t respond in kind but bumped his leg against Salvador’s bunk. Salvador glanced at him and Gage lifted his chin. Seeing his hombres, Salvador thanked Gage as he stood and slid his sandals on.
“You want to meet with them in here?” Gage asked. Salvador stared back in amazement. “Go ahead,” Gage said, wiping his face one more time before hanging up his blood-marked washcloth and making his way out of the cell. The two Sementals moved out of his way, both dipping their heads until he passed.
Gage noticed that the large man’s mouth wasn’t closed completely. He could see the man’s swollen tongue.
Ouch.
Gage walked to the fence, not seeing much going on in the main bay. Having never made a full revolution of the concourse, Gage decided to do so, stretching his legs as he tried to walk at a regular gait despite the throbbing ache radiating from his back and shoulder.
Estimating that a full revolution of the second-floor terraza was nearly a quarter-of-a-mile, Gage wondered if anyone ever jogged it for exercise. Bet that’d go over big, he thought. His eyes were drawn to a cell not far from his. As Gage passed, he looked inside, seeing a man holding another to the wall, his forearm under his neck as he harassed him with slaps to the face. A third man was standing outside of the cell keeping watch, the revolver visible on his neck. He eyeballed Gage.
Gage ignored the scene and continued to walk.
Halfway around the terraza, Gage noticed that every time he passed a Leones gang member, the Leones would see him coming, as if they were looking for him, and each time the gang member would nod as if to say, “I know who you are, and I have respect.”
It didn’t feel right.
Two-thirds of the way around, when he glanced down through the wire mesh to the main floor below, he noticed Cesar, standing in the center of the floor, motioning to him. Gage stopped and stared.
Cesar opened his arms as if he were some long lost friend then, again, he beckoned Gage.
There was not a more public place to meet in the entire prison. And Cesar had told Gage to stay away. Something, indeed, was very wrong here.
Not exactly knowing how to react, Gage decided to comply with Cesar’s request. He descended the two flights of stairs, crossing the main floor to where Cesar stood, hands on his hips as if he owned the place. As Gage approached, the other prisoners that had been nearby, all marked with Los Leones neck tattoo, dissipated.
“You talk to my papa yet?” Cesar barked as Gage approached.
Gage moved close enough to ensure their conversation would be private. “No, Cesar. Today is actually my phone day, but I don’t have a number to call your father.”
“Yeah, right. Well, when you do talk to papa, and I know you will, you make sure you tell him I’m fine and I don’t need his help.”
“I heard you the first time, Cesar.”
Cesar thumped his own chest then pointed at Gage. “But you should know, cabrón, that it’s me protecting you, and not you protecting me.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Los Leones are staying away from you because of me.” Again he hit himself, slapping his chest as he snarled, “And only because of me.”
“Really?” Gage said, making sure his tone was one of boredom.
“By now they would have turned your asshole into the Vielha Tunnel. And then, when you could pleasure them no more, they would kill you in the worst way you could imagine.”
“But instead, in all your benevolence, you’ve saved me?”
“You don’t seem very grateful.”
Turning his eyes, Gage noticed the stares. All around him, even on the terraces, he noticed every man with a Leones tattoo staring at his verbal exchange with Cesar.
Again, something didn’t feel quite right. Gage began to feel the way he always had in the military when he’d been given bad intelligence, at the moment when all was quiet but, somehow, someway, he knew a shot was about to ring out from an area that had been pronounced all clear. It felt exactly like that.
Struggling to wet his mouth, Gage said, “Well, thank you, Cesar. I appreciate your intervention.” He turned and began walking away.
“Que mierda!” Cesar bellowed. Gage turned, watching as the wiry man stalked to where he stood. “You never walk away from me, or any León, unless told to, comprende?”
The feeling had been crawling in Gage’s direction since he’d first met Cesar. And now, as he stood toe-to-toe with Navarro’s only son, Gage knew he’d somehow been had. The elder Navarro wasn’t in on it, at least Gage couldn’t see how or why he would have any motivation to incarcerate Gage and risk his money in the process. No, the father’s worry for Cesar was genuine but, for whatever reason, he didn’t know about Cesar’s “membership” in Los Leones. Earlier, Gage had recalled the elder Navarro’s words, telling him that Los Leones were going to torture his son until the end of his sentence, at which time they would kill him.
Now, standing inches away from Cesar, Gage read the situation in a completely different way. Cesar acted as if he were in charge. Los Leones did seem to be taking orders from him, hence the leeway Gage was now given. But there had to be more to the situation than that.
And, for whatever reason, Cesar was not marked with their tattoo.
Regardless, such a situation was treacherous and, until he figured out what was going on, Gage knew he’d be wise to comply. He dipped his head a fraction. “I apologize and I won’t turn my back on you again.”
Somewhat mollified, Cesar’s voice was pure arrogance. “See that you don’t.”
Gage nodded then waited.
“My protection ends very soon, maricón. If you were smart enough to come here with an escape route, I’d suggest you use it.” Cesar twirled his hand all around the prison. “Because, whenever I’m tired of you, I will snap my fingers and laugh as these men eat you alive.”
Cesar shooed Gage away like he would a pesky gnat.
As Gage trudged away, it was all he could do not to vomit.
* * *
When the encounter was over and the American had moved out into the yard, Cesar walked to the area where El Toro stood, doing business with several others. When the others were gone, Cesar was beckoned over.
“Did you see the American approach me, jefe?”
El Toro nodded.
“He will call my father now,” Cesar said. “I left him nowhere else to go.”
“You’ve done very well,” El Toro said, patting Cesar’s face with affection.
Based on his reaction, a person might have thought Cesar had just won the lottery.
When Cesar was dismissed, El Toro turned to his top man. “Watch that American every second of the day. He’s hiding that satellite phone somewhere.”
Chapter Sixteen
Lunch chow consisted of a watery soup that was imbued with some sort of gamey, stringy meat, reminding Gage of a possum he’d once eaten during a survival training block at the Army’s JRTC. Following lunch, with the aftertaste still coating his mouth, Gage stretched his body in a corner of the main bay before climbing the stairs and walking to his
cell.
And that’s where he found trouble.
Standing in the cell, above Salvador, was a large man with the distinctive tattoo of Los Leones. He was probably at least fifty years old, but in incredible shape for his age. He had a rounded face with beady brown eyes. His pants were around his knees and his hands were gripping Gage’s bunk. The man was steadily growling curses at Salvador, who was leaning back on his own bunk, shaking his head. The man was thrusting his erect manhood at Salvador.
It was a disgusting scene as the man was clearly trying to take something that Salvador had no interest in providing.
Gage took two deep breaths and stepped to the threshold.
“What the hell is this?”
Without pulling up his pants, the man turned to Gage, his voice a growl. “Vete a la mierda, maricón.”
Gage lurched forward, shoving the vulnerable man against the sink, making him fall to his knees. Without taking his eyes off the intruder, Gage said, “What’s up, Salvador?”
Salvador kept his eyes down. “Because you beat me up, he now considers me one of los más débiles.”
“The weak?”
“Yes. But here, that means men who act as women.”
The muscular León was on his feet now, having pulled up his pants. Gage watched as he balled his fists.
“Leave now, before you get hurt,” Gage said, hitching his thumb to the door.
The León charged Gage.
Knowing he was in no physical condition for a brawl, Gage sidestepped the onrushing man, attempting a kick that was largely futile. Salvador began to come off his bunk but Gage motioned him back.
Uninjured and huffing loudly, his face and neck splotchy with rage, the León turned and faced Gage. Judging by his initial bull rush, Gage believed he could use the gang member’s aggressiveness against him. Gage stood his ground, telling him to come and get some.
Gage’s challenge, and the insulting word Gage added to the end, were too much for the León to bear. He rushed forward, cocking his arm for a strike. Gage waited for it, ducking when it came, and catching the man in the gut with his own shoulder. They struggled there in the middle of the cell, both men at a disadvantage on the concrete floor with the thin prison sandals.
A long grappling match would not favor Gage. He was weakened due to the stab wounds and knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out long against the muscular gang member. Still in a clinch, Gage had the advantage of underhooks, ignoring the pestering slaps coming from the León who was steadily cursing Gage.
The two men struggled and turned, and that’s when Gage noticed a group of Los Leones gathering outside the cell. They seemed inclined to watch, but Gage didn’t know what they might do if Gage were to defeat their fellow León.
Just then, the man in Gage’s grasp pulled backward, sending a left hook into Gage’s face as they broke from one another. Briefly dazed, Gage was simply too weakened to provide a game fight for the gang member—unless he could come up with a fight-ending sequence in short order.
Your legs are just fine, Gage. Use them.
Circling each other, the muscular, but older and wiser, León must have been aware of what Gage did to Salvador and his Sementals. He was being very wary, cursing Gage with every insult in the book as they prepared for the next sequence in their fight.
When the León had his back to his fellow gang members at the cell’s entrance, he called for a puñal, holding his hand backward as if expecting to have it handed to him. Gage had heard the word puñal, but didn’t know exactly what it meant. He thought it had something to do with a person’s hands.
He found out soon enough.
One of the gang members reached through the doorway, putting a homemade knife, a shiv, into Gage’s opponent’s outstretched hand. He grinned maniacally at its feel, his eyes never leaving Gage.
“Attack now,” Salvador hissed at Gage. “Don’t wait.”
It was good advice.
Using what strength he had remaining, and remembering his own advice about his available leg strength, Gage rushed forward into the clench again, using both of his arms to control the man’s right arm. The two men grunted and growled. But Gage knew that such a close quarter battle would eventually be futile so, still holding the right arm, he spun to that side and unleashed a powerful knee into the side of the man’s right thigh.
Such a strike is known as a lateral femoral assault and, if used correctly, can completely disable a person’s leg. The key is the branching lateral femoral cutaneous nerve that runs down the leg. It’s more than a pressure point—it’s a motor point. If stunned with great enough force, it will drop a man, as it dropped this León. He went down on his side, his leg cinched up as he yelled curses and insults.
Gage unloaded with a right hand, catching the man in his jaw and watching as he went briefly limp, his hand releasing the homemade knife.
And that’s when numerous feet could be seen surrounding the downed León. Gage kicked the knife away and stepped back to the sink, his chest heaving as he viewed the assembled members of the Leones gang.
For whatever reason, they weren’t on the attack. Instead, though they eyed Gage with contempt, they lifted their fellow León and dragged him from the cell. When the group had cleared, Gage saw two men standing at the fence of the terraza, staring at him. One was the man with the nose ring, known as El Toro. He was a member of Los Leones, and Gage had heard Salvador say he was the most powerful man in the prison. Next to El Toro stood Cesar. Both men glared at Gage.
“You see, puta,” Cesar said, pointing his bony finger, “I have saved you again. Soon, I will let them rape you both, for days, before they gut you.”
Bent double, hands on his knees, Gage had no response.
Laughing, the two men shuffled away.
Salvador stood momentarily before dropping back on his bunk, covering his face with his hands. “You saved me,” he muttered, his voice shaky. “You saved my life.”
Gage leaned against the cool bars, catching his breath, trying to make sense of what was going on.
“I will never be able to thank you enough,” Salvador said, unsteadily standing and holding the bars.
Gage shook his head.
“Do you hear me?” Salvador asked.
Gage turned to his cellmate. “I did what anyone would do.”
“Not here, mi amigo. Not here.”
“Maybe you and your friends can watch my back, too.”
Salvador nodded, clapping his cellmate on the good side of his back.
Unbeknownst to either man, the León who had fought with Gage, and the man who provided him the homemade knife, were mercilessly gang-raped after nightfall. A week earlier, all Berga members of Los Leones had been given implicit instructions not to harm the American named Harris. The gang rape was their initial punishment and, according to Los Leones tradition, the two would be on probation for a period of ninety days.
If they didn’t please their superiors in every way possible during that period, they would be marked for death.
Most members of Berga’s Leones gang felt they were let off too easily.
* * *
His situation here untenable, Gage decided to make the call on the following day. It baffled Gage that a man with Ernesto Navarro’s power wouldn’t know about his son’s traitorous behavior. Wouldn’t there be someone here who would report such matters to Navarro?
Maybe there had been, Gage thought. Maybe everyone with Navarro’s interests in mind had all been eliminated. And after spending a few days in Berga, Gage wouldn’t be the least bit surprised.
Once the yard was open, Gage found Salvador on his bunk, reading. “Ten minutes of privacy?” Gage asked.
“Sure,” Salvador replied. “Need more?”
“No. That’s all.” Taking his book with him, Salvador quickly departed.
Gage unscrewed the bottom of his shaving can, removing the phone and the skin-colored hands-free device. Acting as if he were using the sink, he powered up the AAA ba
ttery-powered phone, making certain it was set to silent. He quickly learned that the device had already been programmed for silent-mode only, and that the light behind the LCD keyboard and display had been disabled.
Dropping the phone into his right pocket, Gage tried to view himself in the inadequate mirror. Deciding that the phone, while slim, might be noticeable through the thin fabric of his pants, he used a flattened wad of toilet paper to break up its outline.
Glancing down and now satisfied that no one could see the phone, Gage exited his cell, walking downstairs and outside to find a suitable location to call Señor Navarro. This entire job had been a fool’s errand and Gage intended to tell Navarro just that. Cesar seemed quite safe in Berga, unwilling to accept Gage’s assistance—and was now openly threatening to sic hundreds of men after Gage’s ass. Literally.
Navarro was a businessman and Gage expected to find him relieved, and perhaps bewildered, at the news of his son’s clout. Gage would tell the mobster the unvarnished truth and propose that Navarro’s flunky district attorney, Redon, extract him immediately. Once Gage was safely out, he would refund Navarro a prorated portion of the initial payment he had received and everyone could go about their business.
As Gage stepped into the warm sunshine of the Spanish afternoon, his warmth was far outweighed by a temporary visualization of Justina. The payday for this mission would still be substantial. And, if Gage applied himself, he knew he could probably double what he’d been making before beginning this job. That would provide enough money for him and Justina to live, and would hopefully leave enough left over to send to Justina’s mother and brother.
Surveying the prison yard, Gage shook his head over the turn of events. He was no quitter, but staying here would be a suicide mission.
“Let’s set these wheels in motion and go home,” Gage whispered to himself.
He had no idea of the wheels he would actually set in motion.
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