Final Target

by John Gilstrap

  * * *

  “Tomás. Are you awake?”

  Tomás wasn’t sure he’d ever fallen asleep. He half lay, half sat at the base of a tree, his legs pulled up to his chest, his forehead resting on his knees, wondering how long a single night could actually last. When he looked up, he saw two silhouettes against the blackness of the forest. “Who is it?” he whispered.

  “Hugo,” a voice whispered back. “Alonso and Franco are here, too. So are Mia and Lia.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We don’t want to do this,” Hugo said. “Is it true they want to take us to America?”

  “Shh,” Tomás hissed. “Keep your voice down.” Despite his promise to Scorpion to keep the plan a secret, he’d shared the details with Santiago and Diego, who were about his age and he thought he could trust to keep things quiet.

  The others all moved in closer to him, squatting so they were all eye-to-eye.

  “But is it true?” Hugo pressed. Twelve years old and skeleton thin, there’d always been something a little off about Hugo. He had few friends, and Tomás did not number among them.

  “You’re not supposed to know that,” Tomás said.

  “But we do,” said Mia. She was thirteen and beautiful, and Tomás often found himself tongue-tied in her presence. The same applied to her twin sister, Lia. They stood so close together now that in the darkness, their silhouettes looked like one body with two heads.

  “He just said it was true,” Lia said.

  “And we have to walk all the way to Laguna de Términos first?” This from ten-year-old Alonso, another kid that Tomás did not care for. He whined constantly about everything, and he was largely reviled as a tattler. As such he’d been one of Nando’s clear favorites among the residents of Saint Agnes.

  “We can’t do that,” Franco agreed. “That’s hundreds of kilometers.”

  Tomás craned his neck to see if there was other movement nearby. Scorpion was going to be very angry when he found out that his secret had been so widely leaked. “We’re not going to have to walk,” he said. “We’re going to set out tomorrow for a place to hide while they go to Tuxtla Gutiérrez and steal a vehicle for us.”

  “What about a boat?” Mia asked. Or maybe it was Lia.

  “I don’t know. They didn’t talk about that part of the plan.”

  “So we might just get stranded on the beach?” Hugo asked.

  “Scorpion knows what he’s doing,” Tomás insisted. “And so does Big Guy.”

  “He can’t know the unknowable,” said Lia. Or Mia.

  “We have to trust him,” Tomás said. “We don’t have a choice.”

  “He can’t make us go with him,” Hugo said.

  “What is the alternative?” Tomás pressed. “We can’t stay here in the jungle. Saint Agnes is gone, and the Jungle Tigers are looking to kill us.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Mia-Lia said. “We’ve done nothing wrong. They are not looking to kill us. They are looking to kill Scorpion and Big Guy.”

  “And Gloria,” Alonso added.

  “But not us,” Hugo said. “Don’t you see? We’re just children. Alejandro Azul can’t hold us responsible for the things the soldiers did.”

  Tomás shifted position, rising to his knees so he could be as emphatic as he needed to be. “Do you hear yourself?” he hissed. “Have you forgotten what the Jungle Tigers did to your families? Did you forget how you ended up at Saint Agnes to begin with?”

  “Azul doesn’t even know who we are,” Franco said. “To him, we’re just kids. He doesn’t have to know who we are. If he doesn’t know, then he won’t care. Why would he?”

  Mia-Lia added, “Franco’s right. Alejandro Azul doesn’t know who we are.”

  Tomás got the feeling that they’d rehearsed this presentation. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because we thought you would want to know,” Alonso said.

  “To know what?”

  “That we’re leaving. We’re trying to take everyone with us.”

  “No,” Tomás said. “You can’t do that. Have you told Gloria?”

  “Of course not,” Hugo said. “She’d never allow it.”

  “Not that she has any power to stop us,” Mia-Lia said.

  “Who else have you been talking to? Who else is thinking about killing themselves?” Tomás’s mind raced to find the right thing to do.

  “It’s just us for now,” Hugo said.

  “You cannot tell any others,” Tomás said. “This is a stupid idea, and I won’t let you get the others in trouble. You’re all acting crazy.”

  “You are the crazy one,” Alonso said. “You think you are a grown man because you know how to carry a rifle and because you’re in love with your new boyfriend, Scorpion.”

  Tomás felt anger rise. No one had the right to speak to him that way.

  “But you are not a man,” Hugo said, picking up from Alonso’s insult. “You are a boy just like me, but you’re not smart enough to know that you can’t survive the trip Scorpion wants you to take. None of us can.”

  “You heard him—”

  “He’s a trained soldier,” Mia-Lia said. “He says those things to make us feel stronger than we are. His words don’t mean anything. They don’t change the facts.”

  Tomás settled himself. Trading insults would accomplish nothing. “So, what is your plan? Are you just going to wander the jungle? I heard Scorpion say that nothing is left of Saint Agnes. There’s nothing to go back to. Everything is gone. There’s not even a charity to live off of. Saint Agnes was the charity to live off of.”

  “That house down the road from Saint Agnes,” Mia-Lia said. “We can go there. They will help us.”

  “The Gabay family?” Tomás said. “They already have, what, five children? Six? What are they going to do with more?”

  “They’re very nice,” Franco said. “I’ve done chores for them a few times. They will help us. I know they will.”

  “Help you do what?” Tomás said. It was getting harder and harder for him to keep his voice down. “Do you think they are going to adopt you?”

  “We don’t need more parents,” Hugo said. “All we need is someplace to stay for long enough for all of this to blow over. A couple of days.”

  “The same couple of days when you could be finding your freedom,” Tomás said. “In America.”

  “Or dying in the jungle,” Franco said.

  “It’s better than walking into a torture chamber,” Tomás said. “Please don’t do this.”

  “Come with us,” Hugo said.

  Ah, so that was it. That was the reason they’d come to Tomás. They wanted him to lead the way back.

  Tomás shook his head. “No,” he said.

  “Because you don’t want to break your promise to your boyfriend,” Alonso said. He was too stupid, apparently, to think up an original insult.

  “Because I want to live. I want to get out of here. I want to have a life that isn’t about being afraid of Alejandro Azul. Scorpion is my way out.”

  “He’s your way to a grave,” Hugo said.

  “Then at least I’ll have died trying,” Tomás said. Until he heard the words pass his lips, he hadn’t realized his true motivation for pressing forward. He was tired of being frightened, and he was tired of living in corruption.

  “The Americans don’t even want you,” Mia-Lia said.

  “Maybe. But they’re not trying to torture and kill me,” Tomás said. “Is there any way I can talk you out of this?”

  All the silhouette heads shook in unison. A silent, unanimous no.

  Tomás’s head swam with a thousand questions and concerns. “You have to promise me that you won’t try to bring more of the kids with you.”

  “Why?” Mia-Tia asked. “They have a right to know that there are other options.”

  “But there aren’t,” Tomás insisted. “I know you don’t agree, and I understand that I can’t change your minds. But if you tell others what you are
planning to do, you’re going to create a panic. You’re going to make it more dangerous for everyone.”

  “They’re going to notice that we’re gone,” Hugo said. “It’s not a secret you can keep.”

  “They’ll know in the morning,” Tomás said. “Everything is less scary in the daylight, especially for the younger ones. We’re only a kilometer or so away from Saint Agnes. You hear the engines of the Jungle Tigers’ trucks. A lot of crying and carrying on is only going to draw more attention. I’ll let them know what you did, but not until tomorrow.”

  The others fell silent for a while. Alonso broke the silence with what Tomás imagined was the question common to all their minds: “Do you think that the Jungle Tigers are still at Saint Agnes?”

  “I think they’d have to be,” Tomás said. “Bodies have to be buried. I don’t imagine they’re going to do that at night. If I’m right, you’re stupid to go down there tonight.”

  “We have to go now,” Mia-Tia said. “We go now, or we’ll talk ourselves out of it. We’ll talk ourselves into getting lost in the jungle.”

  “You’ll talk yourselves into good sense,” Tomás said.

  “We’re not going to go to Saint Agnes,” Franco said. “We’ll go straight to the Gabays’ house.”

  “We’ll scare them to death if we arrive at this hour,” Alonso said.

  “Then we’ll wait out of sight until first light,” Hugo said. “And you are sure you don’t want to come along, Tomás?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “What are you going to tell Gloria and Scorpion?”

  “Exactly what you told me,” Tomás said. “And what are you going to tell the Jungle Tigers if you are caught?”

  Even in the dark, Tomás could see Hugo puff up with angry indignation. “Are you suggesting that I would turn you all in to Alejandro Azul?”

  Tomás answered the question—and made his point—with silence.

  “You are an asshole,” Hugo said, and he stood. “I would never turn on my friends.”

  Tomás watched as the jungle consumed his friends. How could they be so stupid? There was such a good chance for freedom—perhaps the best that any of them would ever see. Yes, the plan was risky, and yes, they would be chased. Maybe there would be shooting, but if there was a chance to kill Alejandro Azul, then even death would be a reasonable price.

  Now he just needed a way to tell—

  “You did a nice job,” said a voice from very close by. Tomás whirled, and there was Scorpion. “I’m disappointed that you shared our plan, but perhaps it’s best. This voyage that lies ahead is too dangerous to be taken by people who don’t want to be there.”

  Scorpion grasped Tomás’s shoulder and gave it a little squeeze. “Get some sleep, kid,” he said. “We’ll be moving again in about two hours.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Gail saw the scrutiny she was receiving from Wolverine’s security detail. She could feel the heat of their glare and having walked that walk in her past, she could probably recite their radio traffic without hearing it. They were doing all the things that Gail herself would be doing if she were tasked with protecting the security of the FBI director. The trick for the next three minutes would be to do nothing to spook them. No sudden moves, empty hands in plain sight, and, for God’s sake, stay in the car.

  Just to make sure that the entire world was up earlier than they wanted to be, Venice had rousted Father Dom to place an early morning phone call to Irene Rivers—Wolverine—and arrange for this early morning meeting with Gail. Because of her elevated position in the government hierarchy, Irene’s official schedule was subject to public scrutiny. All phone calls were logged as a hedge against accusations of misconduct, but there were certain exceptions. For example, calls to or from her spiritual advisor. Even the director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation was allowed private time with her priest.

  Wolverine lived in a surprisingly modest single-family house in Reston. Built probably in the 1990s, it sat on a half-acre lot with more trees than Gail liked—and frankly more than she imagined the security detail liked. Except for those transitional moments when the protectee was moving from building to vehicle or vice versa, unobstructed fields of fire were the bodyguards’ friend. Trees provided hiding places for cover that could give bad guys a false sense of security.

  At precisely 0630, the security detail started to churn. The two-man team at the front door that had been giving Gail the stink eye for the past five minutes moved in what looked like practiced unison to the black SUV that blocked the end of the one-hundred-foot driveway. When they were in place, the garage door rose to reveal another black SUV, this one no doubt containing Director Rivers. When her car started to roll, the vehicle blocking the driveway pulled forward and stopped until Wolverine’s vehicle cleared the driveway and turned right—toward Gail’s Lexus—and then it fell in behind as a follow car.

  The tiny motorcade traveled all of two hundred feet before Wolverine’s SUV stopped next to Gail and her detail got out and flanked the Lexus. An agent in a tailored black suit exited the rear door closest to the Lexus and walked to Gail’s passenger side. He pulled the door open and leaned in.

  “Do you have something to say to me?” he asked.

  “I can’t wait for winter,” Gail replied. It was the prearranged code phrase.

  “Come with me, please,” the agent said. He was pleasant enough, but as with all government types in his position, he exuded an understated threat. Back when she was a Fibbie herself, Gail frequently summoned that same look.

  She opened her door and stood, waiting for instructions one move at a time. These guys seemed jumpier than normal, and she didn’t want to trigger a fight that couldn’t possibly end well for her.

  “You can approach Director Rivers’s vehicle,” the agent said. “Are you armed?”

  As she closed her door, she said, “Not at the moment. There’s a firearm in the center console.” She’d intentionally left her cane in the backseat. She’d been trying to wean herself from it, anyway.

  “That’s fine,” the agent said. “But you should probably lock your door.”

  “The fob’s in my pocket.”

  The agent smiled. “That’s fine, too. I’m told you used to be an agent yourself.”

  Gail found the key fob in the pocket of her jeans and pressed the LOCK button. She didn’t say anything to the last comment, because it sounded a little too much as if he was hitting on her. If there was anything she did not need in her life right now, it was a new romantic entanglement.

  As she strode to Wolverine’s SUV, the detail agent walked ahead to open the door for her. This wasn’t about courtesy—well, maybe a little, given the potential for being hit upon—this was about control. Gail had never been on a protection detail herself, but she was familiar with the training. These guys never made a move that wasn’t purposeful. She admired that.

  Irene Rivers sat in the position of honor—the backseat, passenger side—and as Gail entered the vehicle, the director was texting like crazy on what appeared to be an old-school BlackBerry. Gail helped herself to the opposite end of the bench seat and waited to be recognized.

  “Good morning, Gail,” Irene said without looking up from her device. “I believe this is your meeting.”

  Gail cast a glance forward to ensure that the glass partition was closed. “That screen is soundproof, right?” she asked.

  That pulled eye contact. “Assuming that NSA agents did not infiltrate my garage overnight, we have complete confidentiality.” She turned the BlackBerry over and placed it facedown on her thigh. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve seen you,” she said. “I must say you look much better now than you did then.” She sold the words with a smile.

  Gail reflexively adjusted the hair near her scar. “Less dead, certainly.”

  “Certainly. A little bird told me that you left Digger’s madness. Or at least made a transfer to a quieter side of the business.”

  “Your little bird was c
orrect. So the fact that I’m here should tell you something.”

  “Try to remember that you’re actually not here,” Irene said. “Never have been.”

  “Of course.”

  “My security detail is handpicked. Finally, I have a team that I can fully trust. What’s up?”

  Knowing Irene’s limited attention span and zero tolerance for bullshit, Gail had rehearsed the first part of this conversation on the way over. She relayed what she knew about the betrayal in the jungle and about Jonathan’s need to find safe passage home.

  As Irene listened, her features darkened. “How did Digger get tangled up in a DEA plot in the first place?”

  Something flipped in Gail’s gut. “It came from you,” she said.

  “Me!” Irene recoiled. “I didn’t recommend any DEA operation. Hell, of all the alphabets, they’re the least likely to share anything with me. Ever. I don’t trust anyone, but at least I pretend to. Those guys don’t even make an effort. What made you think I was involved?”

  “That’s what Digger’s contact told him.”

  “And who was that?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t think to ask.” This was turning to shit very, very quickly. It was bad enough that Jonathan had been hoodwinked into working for the wrong group, but that was made even worse by the fact that the wrong people knew to leverage Wolverine’s identity to make the deal. “But I think you have an unfortunate leak.”

  Irene’s shoulders sagged. “Damn. Okay, that’s for me to find out. Next time you speak with Dig, find out what you can about his source.”

  “I will,” Gail said. “At some point. For the time being, the urgent issue is to find him a way home.”

  “Not necessarily,” Irene said. “If we can’t get a good idea of who turned on him at home, how are we going to guarantee his safe return?”

  Gail laughed before she could stop it. “I don’t think there’s been a moment in Digger Grave’s life when ‘guaranteed safety’ was anywhere near his radar. I do have this, which might help.” She reached into her back pocket and withdrew a thumb drive. “The guys were able to pull these data off of the cell phones of the guys who were redirected to fight it out. They took pictures of the bodies, as well—at least the faces. Can you give us a hand finding out the whos, whats, and wheres?”