by M C Rowley
Once we were on board, I turned to Jairo. “Tell me you know where Estrella is.”
He looked down. And slowly, without looking up, he nodded.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I do.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
I knew in my heart where Estrella was before Jairo told me. It all made sense. Andino, Reynolds—he had thought this through for too long.
Estrella was being held in El Pacayal. Where I had been less than twenty-four hours before.
Jairo confirmed it.
Jean agreed to take us there. Rose didn’t argue, but sat there grumpily while Jean cut him out of the cuffs.
The chopper was Mexican military. Jean had found them back in Veracruz once she’d made it to shore and cut a deal. Morning light had broken in the East and I listened to Jean talk as we flew along, keeping my eyes on the green land passing under us. We had left the rain back at the coast and it was hotter now in the morning sun.
El Pacayal, where Jairo had grown up, a stolen child. Of course Andino had chosen the place for Estrella. The people there were clearly experts in child kidnapping, too.
I wanted to burn it all to hell.
After an hour and a half, Jean told us we were close. Rose lay on the bench, still. Luciana was quiet. Jairo, like me, stared out of the window
“You,” said Jean to Luciana, “are staying right here.” And she cuffed her up.
Jean looked at Jairo. “And you? Will you help us?”
“Yes. What do we have, weapons-wise?”
Jean breathed in. “Not much. Three Berettas, one rifle with a scope. And these.” She withdrew from a military bag around ten metal balls. Grenades.
Jairo nodded. “When we get to El Pacayal,” he said, “fly around the border. Find the highest spot.”
“Agreed,” said Jean.
“I’m coming down there, too,” I said. “You can’t stop me.”
“Alright then, get ready. We’re nearly there.”
The pilot started to make adjustments and the Chiapas jungle below twisted and turned. I looked to the horizon and saw the town, nestled among small hills. Jean told the pilot to take us around the whole place once and then find the highest possible place to land.
“We’ll have twenty minutes to find her,” she said. “Only enough fuel for that if we want picking up.”
We flew low along the border of the town, which must have been less than half a kilometer wide. I could see people in the streets.
“Here,” said Jean, passing me one of the Berettas. “It’s locked and loaded. Make each one count.”
“Are we going to search every building?”
Jean shook her head. “No time for that. We’ll draw them to us, then do some polite asking.”
The pilot signaled that he had a spot, and as he got nearer, I saw why. One of the hills sloped gently into the town and there was a small plateau. We got closer and closer, and the gusts we were creating whipped the plants and grass below around in a frenzy. Jean, Jairo, and I stood and held on to the side of the door.
“Ready?”
I nodded. Jairo grunted. And as the wheels touched earth, we jumped out.
The chopper rose and flew away.
Suddenly, there was silence. A million crickets scratching their legs and nothing more.
We turned to face the town below us.
“They will be expecting this is Andino,” said Jean. “If the call was made.”
“Let’s do this,” said Jairo, and he pulled a grenade from the bag, released the pin, and threw it toward the town and into the shrubbery.
We waited a few seconds and—BOOM! It went off.
Immediately, people started coming out of their houses and accumulating on the street. But it was just regular folk with no weapons as far as I could see.
“Throw another,” said Jean. “We have to watch to see where they come from.”
I said, “Who are we looking for?”
“People with guns,” said Jean.
Jairo let off another grenade and the explosion plumed up in the air. I could hear a commotion in the town and more and more people gathered to see what was happening. We scanned the streets for movement.
“There!”
We looked.
About ten or so men were running from a street to the west of the town, and I could just make out rifles in their hands.
Jean shouted, “You see where they came from?”
I hadn’t seen at all.
Jairo nodded. “From the church.”
The men were hustling through the streets toward us, only a hundred meters away but having to zigzag through the blocks to reach us.
“Let’s move,” said Jean. “Scott, stay close to me.”
Jairo, Jean, and I began descending the hill into the town, to meet the armed men head-on. We made it to the first buildings and the street that led into the town. The men would be a block away. Jairo ran, head down, to the other corner and slammed his back against the concrete structure there. He had another grenade in his hand.
Jean hissed across the street to him, “On my word.”
We waited. Jean poked her head around the building to see when the men were in range. It wasn’t necessary; we heard them. One of them was already firing shots into the air. Jean peered one more time and then shouted across to Jairo.
“Now!”
He pulled the pin, crouched, waited a few seconds, and then underarm-threw the grenade into the street.
We heard a scream, a shout, and then a mighty explosion.
“Go!”
We ran into the street and saw carnage. People were screaming close by, but all I could see was a cloud of smoke and a few bloody bodies on the cobbled street. We advanced to the next available alcove and put our backs to the wall.
“Again,” said Jean, but Jairo had already read her mind and was throwing another grenade into the fading smoke.
Another explosion and another set of screams.
“We’ll keep them busy,” said Jean. “Get to the church.”
I nodded. I turned back the way we had come and circumnavigated the town and entered a new street. I kept my gun held out as I ran. There were a few people—older women and men, children, too. They were terrified of me. I didn’t care. I kept moving toward the center and the church.
Behind me, two more explosions sounded. And then gunfire. My heart was hammering in my chest. But I kept going, moving toward the center through the back streets as fast as my legs could carry me. As the sound of gunfire got further away, I realized I was close. I saw the dome. The same dome from the photo of Jairo and Luciana as children, the same one Eleanor and I had used to find this place only yesterday.
My heart sank as I thought of Eleanor. Her sacrifice, or her murder? Andino had killed her. But had she wanted to live? I wasn’t sure and it broke my heart. But she had asked me to find our granddaughter. I would not give up.
I made it to the corner of a street that opened into the central plaza, where Jean had rescued me last night, and saw the church. I didn’t know what to expect. But this was their base. People were running about everywhere in a panic as a response to the sounds of fighting in the north of the town. How many citizens were involved here? I didn’t know, but I suspected a fair few. If that was the case, then except for the young and innocent, they could all burn in hell as far as I was concerned.
I scanned the plaza for armed folk and saw none. I ran again, stooped and fast, across the cobblestones and to the front steps of the church. The door was ajar and a man slipped out with a long, ancient-looking rifle and leveled it at my head. I had found the action.
I didn’t hesitate, raising my small pistol in front of my eyes and pulling the trigger. I hit him in the eye.
He slumped, half in, half out of the large wooden door, and I took my chance, running to it and slamming my weight into it before it could close. I fell onto the cold floor and rolled behind the pews at the back. There, at the altar, was a middle-aged prie
st in his robes and four men with guns aimed at me.
They started shooting.
I swore and cursed my mistake. I was a sitting duck here, protected by some thick but ancient wooden pews and nothing else. The bullets slammed into the wood behind me and I stared at the door.
Well, I thought, at least I’d found the place. Maybe Jean and Jairo could take over once they got here and find Estrella and leave my body here to rot. I shook my head hard and snapped out of it.
The shots stopped as they reloaded, and I swung up over the pew and took aim. I got one guy in the leg.
Not bad.
I went back behind as they rained more shots down on me. Then, when it went quiet again for a second, I rose and shot again. This time, one of them went down. I got his shoulder.
The priest had gone.
Then I heard the men walking toward me.
One of them shouted, “Ya se acabó.”
It’s finished.
Not on my watch.
I kept spinning upwards and taking pot shots. It slowed their advance a little at least. I managed to hit another one in the leg, but that was it.
They were close now. I swooped up to take another shot and the gun just clicked. I was out of bullets. I slumped against the pew and listened to their steps.
I saw the face of the first man as he rounded on me, raised his rifle, and aimed. I closed my eyes and heard a shot fired. But not from him.
I opened my eyes and saw Jairo standing at the door, gun raised, smoke coming from the barrel like a thin, ghost-like snake. He turned to the other men and executed each one of them with a single shot to the head.
He came to me and crouched and put his hand on my shoulder. Then he smiled.
I looked at my son. “Thank you,” I said.
“You have to understand,” he said, “I grew up here. I was raised here. I didn’t know it was wrong.”
I nodded and felt a lump rising in my throat. I put my hand on his. He flinched ever so slightly, but didn’t draw away.
“We always loved you,” I said. “Your mother never gave up on finding you. Nor did I when I discovered you were alive.”
Jairo nodded. “I want to thank you.”
“For what?”
He shook his head. “Just, thank you.”
Jean was behind him. Jairo stood and helped me up.
“There was a priest,” I said. “He went through the door there.”
We went to the opening, an ornate white door with gold leaf decorations, and opened it and found a stairway going down. Guns drawn, we started down the steps. They were lit by small LED lights but it was dim. We reached the end of the steps and the space beyond was in darkness.
Then a frightened voice called out, “En el nombre de Dios y La Virgin, ayúdame. Ay Dios, Dios.”
The priest was crying to himself.
Jean moved to the wall and I heard a click and the space was illuminated.
We all stepped back.
There were four beds. Each had a small child on it.
The priest had knelt down, praying aloud.
I went to the first bed. It was a boy. I checked his pulse. He was alive. I breathed out hard.
I went to the next bed. Jean was checking the other two.
I found a girl. She had brown, wavy hair. She was lying on her side, facing away from me.
I put my fingers on her tiny wrist and felt a pulse. I turned her over.
There was no mistake. She looked like Eleanor.
In sleep, her angelic face was the picture of serenity; her smooth, light skin undappled, unhurt. I felt tears run down my cheeks. And I lifted her tiny frame into my arms and held her and cried. I felt Jean’s hand on my shoulder.
She said gently, “The others are okay, too. It’s over, Scott. We found her.”
I couldn’t let Estrella go. But somehow I released her and laid her back on the bed. I could hear a chopper outside, in the distance. Our way out of here.
“Jairo,” I said.
Nothing came back. I understood. The daughter he’d never met.
“Jairo,” I said.
I turned around, but he wasn’t there.
Jean said, “I’ll check upstairs. He must’ve gone up to call the chopper down.” And she left, hauling the crying priest roughly by the arm.
But I knew Jairo wouldn’t be there. And I knew why he had said thank you to me in the church upstairs.
I looked back at Estrella and held her. I held her like she would never be away from me ever again.
Epilogue
Estrella and I had set up home in my native England. I had wanted to be as far away from what had happened as possible. Bringing up a child was something I would have to learn from scratch. And the peaceful green fields and village life of Sussex seemed the perfect setting to learn.
The first two years had been difficult. Estrella and I spoke in Spanish most of the time, but slowly and surely she began mimicking me and using more English words. After a time, I enrolled her at the local primary school, and before long her radiant and energetic charm helped her make friends.
Estrella was the spitting image of Eleanor as a child. And I saw my wife in her more every day. The way she fidgeted with plates at the table while she spoke. The way she listened to music, closing her eyes and humming along. I liked to think that Eleanor lived on in Estrella. A cliché, I know, but true all the same. It comforted me.
As for Jairo, I never heard a thing about him. That day in El Pacayal, he had escaped through the jungle. It was his land. His people. He understood. I had let him go.
Until one day, I got a phone call from my lawyer, who had helped me get Estrella’s papers in order and the adoption process in check.
Estrella and I were in the garden, playing badminton over the clothes line, when the phone rang in my pocket. I answered it.
“Scott?”
My lawyer, David, had a soft voice at the best of times, but today he was mouse-like.
“What’s up, David?”
“I think you should come into the office.”
I paused. “Tell me here.”
“No,” said David. “It’s best you come in.”
That afternoon, Estrella and I went into town, a short eight-kilometer trip in the car, to see David, who had insisted we meet that same day. Lawyers working weekends—whatever next? I thought.
We arrived and David’s jovial secretary offered to keep an eye on Estrella. I still didn’t trust people with my girl, but I was trying to let go of that feeling as much as I could. I kissed Estrella, told her to be good for the nice lady, and went into David’s office.
He looked worried.
I sat down. “What is it?”
“I’ll cut straight to it.”
“Please do.”
“I got a call from an accountant in Mexico City.”
My heart fluttered.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “Your adoption papers are rock solid. No one’s taking Estrella away.”
I breathed out. “So what then?”
“Well,” said David, “an account has been set up in Estrella’s name. A trust fund. It’s legit and legal and all the i’s are dotted and the t’s crossed.”
“Go on,” I said.
“It comes into action on her eighteenth birthday.”
“Who set it up?”
“Accountant wouldn’t tell me.”
I already knew who.
“That’s it?”
“Scott,” said David, “it’s five hundred million dollars.”
I sat back.
I smiled.
Jairo had thought about his daughter. One day maybe she would want to meet him. And I had a fair few years until I had to tell her about the trust fund.
“Okay, David,” I said, getting up. “Thanks.”
David stood and smiled.
I went back to the reception, scooped up Estrella, kissed her, and asked, “Who wants ice cream?”
Mexico City
The n
ew president of Mexico had had a good run of it. The end of Código X had been attributed to him and that had bought some serious credit with the electorate. He knew he had done nothing to bring them down, but that was politics. Don’t turn down a free shot. But he was a good man, in general. And he wanted to turn Mexico around.
Today he was meeting someone from the dark side. He knew that drugs grew in Mexico like wildfire. He knew the demand was as big as ever in the States. And he knew the narco industry would not die.
Today he was meeting its new leader.
Jairo Morales.
The president was in the presidential suite of the Intercontinental Hotel in Mexico City, where business dealings could be conducted in discretion and privacy. He heard three knocks on the door and his chief of security popped his head around it.
“Señor Presidente,” he said. “Ha llegado.”
He’s arrived.
The president nodded.
The door opened and in stepped a young man, no more than twenty-five years of age, dressed in black, with an open shirt.
The president stood. “You must be Mr. Morales,” he said.
Jairo walked to the desk. “Good morning, Mr. President.”
“Have a seat.”
Jairo sat. His presence made even the president a little on edge.
He said, “Something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”
Jairo shook his head. “No, Mr. President. Let’s talk business.”
THE END
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The story will continue…
The Blood Ties Trilogy is complete. But young Estrella’s story is just beginning.
COMING SOON:
Book 4: Blood Burden
Estrella, now grown up and living in Washington DC is trying to find her way in the world of politics. But she has a dark secret. Certain powers around her want her to catch a dangerous criminal.
