Dead Line

by Jack Patterson

  He passed out a prepared briefing for everyone on the team to read, so they could familiarize themselves with the case. It contained all the facts of the case, including pictures from the grizzly murder scene the evening before. Only the rustling of papers interrupted the silence in the room before one of the agents spoke.

  “So how are we going to crack the Hernandez family without the help of the Mexican government?” one of the agents asked.

  “Good question,” Anderson said. “I’ve got an angle that I think just might work.”

  * * *

  CAL HAD JUST FINISHED covering Seattle’s early afternoon press conference when his phone rang. He found a quiet nook in the tunnel of Reliant Stadium to talk.

  “Got any good news, Anderson?”

  “Kind of.”

  “What do you mean, kind of?”

  “Well, I have an idea of how we can rescue Jake.”

  “Excellent. I know Noah will be happy to hear that. Do you think it will work?”

  “Yes, but it’s contingent upon one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Your help, Cal. I need you to help me.”

  “Anything. Just tell me what to do.”

  “You might not want to volunteer so quickly until you hear what it involves.”

  “Look, I don’t care. Just tell me what it is.”

  “I need you to go interview Hernandez in Juarez.”

  “What? Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope. I’ve already cleared it with Fink if you’re willing to do it.”

  “What could I possibly interview him about?”

  “He’s got a legit coffee company that is preparing to launch in the U.S. next month. And guess what city he’s starting in?”

  “Seattle?”

  “Yep. And all I want you to do is go interview him at his place. All you have to do is gather some information for us about his compound and we’ll take care of it from there.”

  “OK, you do realize there’s this thing called the Super Bowl I’m covering this week, right?”

  “Yeah. That’s why Fink is sending someone in your place.”

  “But the deal is, you’ll be able to write this story before anyone else.”

  “Well, that’s all I need to hear. The Super Bowl will be a Page 2 story compared to this. I’m in.”

  “OK, I’ll email you some information. But we need you to act on this right away for this to work. Got it?”

  “Yeah, got it.”

  “Oh and one more thing. You’ll probably need to take a photographer. You think anyone at the paper would be up for this assignment.”

  “Hmmm. I doubt the photographers down here would give up covering the Super Bowl for this story, but I might know someone who would do it. I’ll call you after I get the information.”

  “Great. It’s on its way now.”

  Cal hung up the phone. His first thoughts were about having access to writing the story of the year, if not the century. His next thoughts spiraled into what an idiot he was. Who did he think he was? This was the Hernandez family. They put people’s heads on a pointy stick just for challenging them on Twitter. They hang dead bodies from overpasses. Did he have a death wish?

  It took Cal a few minutes to sort everything out in his head. He finally concluded that if it were his son in this situation, he would hope someone else would have the courage to do what he was being asked to do. He didn’t care to be a hero. But he did give Noah his word that he would help, and little Jake’s life was at stake.

  If he made it out alive, he would have one heck of a story to write.

  Now he just had to convince Kelly to join him.

  CHAPTER 16

  CAL CALLED FINK TO LET HIM KNOW he was going to assist the FBI. Getting the opportunity to cover the Super Bowl was a cherry on top of Cal’s sports writing dreams. But that was when he was young and had yet to experience the rush of covering a national story with a sinister storyline. And this was even better—it was an international story! There was no scenario he could have imagined where he would forfeit his Super Bowl credentials. Then again, this scenario was unimaginable to him.

  Moments after hanging up with Fink, Cal received a text message from Josh. It read: “Thx, bro. I owe you big time.” Cal knew his friend was a worthy replacement. After all, it was just another football game.

  Cal sent a text message to Noah’s phone, letting him know that he was helping the FBI’s investigation and that he would call him with more information when he could.

  With almost all the details handled, a key one remained: Kelly. How would he convince Kelly to leave behind her Seahawks in the Super Bowl and enter a dangerous faux photo shoot in Juarez at the home of a cartel boss? This might be his biggest task.

  He dialed her number.

  “Cal? What are you doing?” Kelly said.

  “Just finished today’s press conference. What are you up to?”

  “Oh, just picking out an outfit for a party I’m going to tonight.”

  “Really? Who’s throwing a party?”

  “I’m not sure, but I met this guy in the lobby who gave me two tickets to a party at this swanky club downtown. Wanna come?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? Are you kidding me? You need to have some fun this week, Cal. Enjoy the moment. This is the week of the Super Bowl. Don’t be a stick in the mud.”

  “Well, OK. But I need to ask a big favor of you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I kind of need your help.”

  “With what?”

  “The FBI is asking me to play a role in getting Noah’s son back.”

  Cal paused. Kelly remained silent. She knew there was more—and she didn’t like the anticipation hanging in the air.

  “And what, Cal? You want me to do something, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I want you to come to Juarez with me on a photo shoot.”

  “What? Are you crazy? The Seahawks are playing in the Super Bowl this week. The SUPER BOWL! This is like Hailey’s Comet rare. I’m not going to miss it.”

  Cal had a hunch she would protest with something like that. He came prepared.

  “OK, I understand. But why would you want to see the Seahawks play out a pre-determined script? You know they’re going to lose, right? Unless I help Noah Larson get his son back, he’s going to throw the game.”

  “Oh, no, Cal. It’s not just that. This is dangerous stuff, stuff that’s way over my head. I may have stumbled into it last time with you, but you’re not dragging me into this.”

  “Where’s your sense of adventure? Don’t you want to reunite this dad with his son? Watching the Seahawks lose in the Super Bowl won’t compare to that moment—that much I can promise.”

  “Cal, this is not some Indiana Jones adventure. This is serious. Have you been reading about what is going on in Juarez? That place is a death trap.”

  “I know the risks. But getting killed is far from a foregone conclusion. Jake dying is if we don’t do something about it.”

  “We? So, now this is contingent upon us? Where did this ‘we’ come from?”

  “OK, I’m sure I can find another photographer. I don’t need you. But I want you. I want you to be with me. We’ve done this before, this exposing the bad guys thing.”

  Cal’s more direct appeal to her seemed to work. Kelly softened

  “Suppose I agreed to go. What would I have to do?”

  “All the FBI is asking us to do is pose as reporters—which shouldn’t be that hard—and gather some information on Hernandez’s compound. We can do this.”

  “Oh, Cal. Why are you doing this to me?!”

  “It’s either watch the Seahawks lose, which you and I both know how miserable that makes you, or join me for an adventure in Mexico and save a little boy from certain death. Is it really that hard to choose?”

  “Yes, Cal. Yes, it is. I want to relax and have fun at parties this week, not risk my life by photographing a cartel boss.”

/>   “Well, think about it and call me back. I need to know something very quickly.”

  Kelly paused.

  “OK, I’ll do it.”

  “You will? You sure you don’t want to think about it?”

  “Just take my yes, Cal, and don’t make me mull it over. I might change my mind.”

  “Thank you, thank you! Kelly, I owe you big time.”

  “You sure do.”

  “I’ll call you later this afternoon with all the details.”

  Cal hung up the phone and let out a big sigh. His chances were better with Kelly than anyone else.

  CHAPTER 17

  CAL PORED OVER THE INFORMATION Anderson sent him. Logistical details. Background notes. Contacts at the FBI’s field office in Houston. Cal’s final remaining hurdle was to convince Hernandez to let him conduct an interview in his home on Friday afternoon. Simple enough.

  He dialed Hernandez’s number.

  “Hernandez.”

  “Hi, Mr. Hernandez. My name is Cal Murphy and I’m a reporter with The Seattle Times.”

  “Hello, Mr. Murphy. How did you get this number?

  “A good reporter never reveals his sources.”

  Hernandez chuckled dismissively. “Well, what can I do for you?”

  “Well, we heard a rumor that your coffee, Buenisimo!, is coming to Seattle next month and we would love to do a story on you and your coffee for the paper.”

  “That sounds great. When would you like to do it?”

  “What about Friday afternoon?”

  “This Friday?”

  “Yes. Does that work for you?”

  “I’m sure we can make that work. You can call me back on this number then if you like.”

  “Oh, no. This is Seattle. We don’t do phone interviews on something as serious as coffee. I would like to come to your place and talk there. I’ll have my photographer with me.”

  “I’m not sure I can accommodate that request, Mr. Murphy. I’m very busy Friday.”

  “I understand. I’m in Texas covering the Super Bowl this week and my editors just heard about your coffee. They thought they could save a little on the expense account. Budgets are tight these days. So, if you can’t do it, you can’t do it. We won’t be able to do the story any other time either.”

  “Well, maybe I can make it work. But I can’t do a long interview. I have much business to attend to.”

  “I understand, Mr. Hernandez.”

  “OK, let’s do it in the afternoon. I’ll give you an hour.”

  “Outstanding.”

  “Call my assistant and she will give you all the details about what time and how to get to my place.”

  Cal took down all the information for Hernandez’s assistant and hung up. The plan was coming together.

  * * *

  HERNANDEZ HUNG UP THE PHONE and summoned one of his men. He needed someone to relieve Diaz, another one of Hernandez’s specialists, from watching the boy. He had a new job for his ruthless clean-up man.

  Diaz’s appearance frightened even the boldest bare-knuckled brawler. His baldhead had a large skull and cross bones tatted over it. A rigorous workout regiment led to bulging biceps that served as a canvas for his intimidation. He was a walking billboard for Juarez’s finest tattoo parlor and every splotch of ink displayed something related to death, guns, or vague drug references. There was even one about torture. At 6-foot, 4-inches, his mean frame cast a terrifying shadow on all those in his path.

  He lumbered across the compound for Hernandez’s private office.

  “What is it, boss?” Diaz asked as he strode into the room.

  “I need you to go on a little trip for me.”

  “Where to?”

  “Houston. I need you to look into a reporter for me. A Cal Murphy. He called me up and requested an interview suddenly. I think he might have other intentions. Tail him and find out what you can for me. You can take my plane. I’ll have it gassed and ready to go by the time you get to the airport.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  Hernandez valued his prized soldier. There wasn’t a thing Diaz wouldn’t do for him. Diaz didn’t care about getting his hands dirty—and it forever endeared him to his boss. He once cut a girl’s tongue out with a butter knife because she spit at Hernandez. Another time he used a paper cutter to slice off a man’s nose when he wouldn’t talk. Ruthless. And loyal. There were no two better traits to get you promoted within Hernandez’s organization than those two.

  If Cal was lying, Diaz would find out.

  CHAPTER 18

  CAL AGREED TO ATTEND the mysterious Super Bowl party that evening as Kelly’s date even though he was quite sure the man inviting Kelly intended for her to bring another girl. He put on his lucky suit and hoped for an evening of fun to divert his mind from the burden weighing upon him. Cal hated keeping secrets, especially the kind that belonged in the newspaper. This story stuck to him, consumed him. He couldn’t stop thinking of all the possible angles, and how depraved the human race had become. There were infinite ways to make money in the world but the quickest ones always seemed like the sickest ones. Ransom a child. Sell some drugs. Cheat a client. Making money by any means necessary had overrun most every virtue. What verse did he remember the priest quoting the last time he attended mass? The love of money was the root of all evil? It was four years ago, but he remembered. Surely Hernandez had plenty of money, more than he could spend in a lifetime. But he loved it so much he wanted more of it. And now he had taken another man’s child to ransom him for profit. Hernandez needed to pay for this.

  Upon reaching the lobby, Cal immediately lost his train of thought once he noticed Kelly. Those legs. He knew he would have trouble preventing other men from hitting on her tonight. She looked stunning in a silky black dress accented with an elegant pearl necklace.

  “Ready?” Kelly asked, smiling.

  “Sure thing. You look nice. Where are we off to again?”

  “Thanks, and here’s the invitation card,” Kelly said, handing it to him.

  Cal looked outside and decided to have the concierge call a cab. The rain splashed against the lobby windows. It appeared to move in sheets horizontally across the street.

  “This should be fun,” Cal said.

  “Are you being sarcastic, Cal? You know how I hate sarcasm.”

  “Guilty as charged. Can’t see how you think going to some strange party in this nasty weather is going to complete your Super Bowl experience, but whatever.”

  “You don’t have to go, you know.”

  “I know. It’ll be all right. I just despise these functions.”

  “You don’t even know whose party it is.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What if it’s a party being thrown by Dennis Rodman?”

  “Dennis Rodman? Uh, no thanks. Not interested in attending a freak show.”

  “What about Shaq?”

  “Why do you think only NBA players can throw parties at the Super Bowl?”

  “Because that’s how they roll. Glitzy parties. Famous people. Expensive champagne.”

  “Since when do you like that stuff?”

  “I don’t. I just thought it’d be fun to try it once.”

  “Well, watch yourself tonight. This could be some party thrown by a drug dealer who slips something into women’s drinks and takes advantage of them.”

  “You need to chill on the conspiracy theories, Cal. Just because you’re right one time, doesn’t mean it’s always a conspiracy.”

  “Fine. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

  “I know. Just try to have some fun tonight, will you?”

  The concierge motioned to Cal.

  “Looks like our ride is here.”

  They followed the concierge out the lobby door where he shielded them from the driving rain with an umbrella. Cal tipped him as he and Kelly slid into the cab.

  * * *

  DIAZ EASED HIS BLACK SEDAN out of the parking space located some 20 yards from the hotel entranc
e. He had been waiting patiently for Cal to emerge from the building. It was just a bonus that Kelly was with him, too. He noted they looked dressed for a party, but after running surveillance missions for Mr. Hernandez for the past 12 years, he knew looks could be a faulty indicator.

  He began following the cab.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE PARTY WAS A DUD. Cal employed his journalistic skills to learn that it was hosted by Jere Adams, a hacker-turned-computer corporation employee. A stark white room was lit with pale blue lamps. Techno music thumped the walls. Mildly attractive waitresses dressed in suggestive t-shirts with slogans like “Search my engine” on the front and the company’s logo on the back. Cal amused himself by wondering where the “escape” button was. This was an unmitigated disaster.

  “I would have rather gone to a Dennis Rodman party than this flop,” Cal said to Kelly.

  “What? I can’t hear you?” Kelly responded loudly.

  “Kelly, there’s like 40 people here. It’s not that loud.”

  Kelly smiled. Cal knew he was right but he also knew that she wasn’t going to let him spoil her fun, even if the party was a bomb. Then again maybe she wanted to stay since she was easily the most gorgeous woman in the building. The nerds began descending upon her like zombies looking for their next meal. Cal had to get something to drink.

  He motioned for the bartender and ordered a scotch on the rocks.

  Cal looked at the man next to him, staring intently at his drink. He fit the profile for a computer genius. Mid to late 40s. Still had all his hair. Looked smart. Zero social skills.

  “Do you work for Mr. Adams?” Cal inquired.

  “Yes.”

  Oh, great. A talker. This is like talking to teenage student athletes.

  “What do you do for him?”

  “I’m in R&D.”

  “Oh, a researcher. That must be fun.”