Dead Line

by Jack Patterson

  “Oh, no. I’m just visiting here on business.”

  “Feel free to take a look around and pardon our construction. Let me know if you have any questions.”

  Cal started to walk away and stopped. He turned back toward the priest who hadn’t moved.

  “Actually, Father, I do have a question for you.” A warm smile invited Cal to continue. Why do you think bad things happen to good people?”

  “Oh well, my goodness. I was expecting something more like, ‘Where are the restrooms?’ But you start with the difficult questions first. I like that.”

  Cal looked up to see Kelly slowly working her way along the artwork at the far corner of the room.

  “Let me ask you a question first, my son: Why do you ask such a question?”

  Cal shifted his weight back and forth and rested his hand on his chin, contemplating how to answer the Father’s question.

  “Well, I have this friend whose son was kidnapped one time. He was six. They traumatized him. They screamed, yelled, threw things at the poor child. He made it out alive but he didn’t deserve any of it. And I just wonder why God would let such a horrible thing happen to an innocent little boy.”

  “Perhaps God didn’t let it happen.”

  “Yeah, but if God is all powerful and so good, why didn’t he do something to stop them?”

  “I see you are deeply troubled by this. This dilemma is hard for even the most devout to understand. Especially when the evil touches them. I find a lot of people think God should be like a magic genie from a fairy tale. They just want him to make everything perfect. Poof! Throw a few lightning bolts or whatever it takes to stop evil things from happening. But have you ever considered that maybe that’s a mistaken perception of God, that maybe he wants us to partner with him to do good. Maybe there is value in the struggle to overcome the evil and selfishness in our own lives. Could it be that our struggle to oppose evil by choosing good is necessary to create something beautiful in us?”

  Cal didn’t have an answer. He had a million questions about God and he wanted to argue with the priest, but oddly the old man’s wisdom made some strange sense. His answer was worth pondering.

  The priest continued.

  “As the Patron Saint of our chapel once said, ‘God judged it better to bring good out of evil than to suffer no evil to exist.’ Perhaps God has done more good than you give him credit for. Maybe he stopped greater evil from happening to your friend’s son by sending someone to rescue him. We, who question, have no way of knowing the full story.”

  Cal froze. It was his job to always know the full story before reporting it. And it was hard to realize that he didn’t know the full story now. He knew every detail, down to the men’s names and addresses who were holding Jake for ransom. But he was stepping into Noah and Ellen and Jake’s story. He was stepping into the story of a Super Bowl that was fixed. He was stepping into something that hadn’t yet been written. Could his desire to see justice done in this situation be divinely inspired? Cal hadn’t considered that possibility. Maybe the priest was right. Maybe God was using him to do good. The idea was both overwhelming and horrific at the same time. What if he failed? What if Jake died?

  “Son? Son?”

  Cal’s rumination on this idea had left him in a trance.

  “Sorry, Father. I was just thinking about what you said. Thanks for your time.”

  “My pleasure, my son.”

  Kelly had finished working her way around the inner walls of the church and was now standing next to Cal.

  “You ready, Cal?”

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  They turned toward the exit.

  “What were you and the Father talking about?”

  “Stories. They always seem to get worse before they get better.”

  With that, the pair of journalists stepped into the bright sun and crossed the street toward the park.

  “I think that’s our rendezvous point if anything happens. What do you think?” Cal said.

  “I agree. San Augustín Chapel it is.”

  CHAPTER 25

  CAL TWISTED AND TURNED in his bed. His mind raced with possibilities of what the next day would bring. He thought about what the priest said. If Cal had his way, he would write a satisfying ending and be done with the mystery. It was fun to uncover the unknown. It was painful to anticipate it. Especially when the unknown consisted of walking into the home of one of the most ruthless cartel bosses in the world.

  Eventually, Cal stopped thinking about the dangers lurking in the shadows. He would face evil head on—and the FBI would rescue Jake. That was the story he wanted to write. And he wanted to write it so it would appear on the front page of every newspaper in America on the morning of Super Bowl Sunday. He finally drifted off to sleep.

  * * *

  CAL MET KELLY FOR BREAKFAST downstairs in their hotel. They exchanged pleasantries before going over plans for their 2 p.m. meeting at Hernandez’s estate.

  “So, you know what you’re doing, Kelly?”

  “Yeah, I’m taking pictures and you’re pretending to interview Hernandez.”

  Cal sighed. “Do you have to mock my profession?”

  She laughed and winked at him.

  Cal finished going over the plan, which was simple: identify where they could possibly be keeping Jake. The FBI suspected a certain building, but wanted to make sure before sending in a tactical team. With Cal and Kelly on the ground, they could ask to see certain parts of the property and better ascertain the exact location based on the openness of Hernandez’s response.

  Cal trusted his instincts heading into the interview, but he also didn’t mind an assist from technology: James Wisher’s X-Ray Vision app. The device was unassuming and Cal already had a story about how it helped him record interviews. He knew he could get away with using it if he could get close enough to one of the buildings on the perimeter. Getting within 50 yards didn’t seem like it would be a problem. It was better than any tool the FBI offered and less conspicuous too.

  Cal checked his watch. It was 9 o’clock and time for him to check in with his FBI handler. As he got up from the table, two teenage boys collided with him. Cal tumbled to the floor. He spun around to watch the boys dash away with his iPhone.

  “Hey! Stop those kids!” Cal yelled.

  Nobody moved. The four other patrons in the restaurant barely looked up from their breakfast plates.

  Cal scrambled to his feet and raced off after them. He caught sight of them slipping out a back door. The door opened into a side street and by the time Cal opened it, the street was empty.

  He started to panic at first about the phone and then about Kelly. In his desperation to catch the two thieves, he left her all alone, vulnerable.

  When Cal returned to the table, he was out of breath.

  “Oh, thank, God, you’re fine,” he said as he pulled out his chair to sit down again.

  “Really, Cal? You’re going to do this whole macho save-the-girl routine? I can take care of myself.”

  “I know. I know. I’m just on edge OK. And I need your phone now?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ve got to check in or else they’re going to pull us out.

  Kelly handed her phone to Cal. He pecked out a text message for their handler, alerting him of the new situation.

  “It gets worse before it gets better, right?” Kelly quipped.

  Cal didn’t laugh.

  * * *

  IT WAS ALMOST NOON and Hernandez had just finished handing out orders to his men. Rivera had been instructed to watch Jake and would get his instructions from Diaz. He poked his head out of the door in time to see Diaz striding across the property toward him.

  “You can go see Hernandez now,” Diaz said.

  “I thought you were going to tell me what to do,” Rivera said.

  “I just did. Go see Hernandez.”

  Diaz slammed the door behind him. He growled at Jake. Rivera could hear Diaz’s threats through the wall.
<
br />   “If you want to see your mommy and daddy again, you better keep quiet this afternoon. You got it?” boomed Diaz.

  Rivera pictured little Jake nodding his head and wiping away his tears. He couldn’t imagine his own son being treated that way. It’s why he had to detach himself emotionally every time he guarded the kid.

  Rivera walked toward the house to see Hernandez. He didn’t know how much more he could stomach watching Jake. Any new orders would be a welcome relief.

  He knocked on the door to Hernandez’s office.

  “Come in,” Hernandez said.

  “You wanted to see me, boss?” Rivera questioned.

  “Yes, Rivera. Have a seat. I have a new assignment for you.”

  “Is it about the kid?”

  “Yes. He’s been through enough and we don’t need Diaz or Morales torturing him any more. I know you’ll make it quick and painless for him, right?”

  “Yes sir, boss.”

  Rivera started to feel sick. He couldn’t kill Jake and he knew it.

  “Oh, and there’s one more thing I need you to do.”

  Rivera sat back down.

  CHAPTER 26

  CAL AND KELLY DROVE to Hernandez’s property using a route selected by the FBI. The lack of side roads would make it difficult for Hernandez to capture the journalists and transport them to another place. There were a handful of FBI agents scattered along the road, watching for any suspicious activity. As soon as they established where Jake was, those same agents would move in and break him out of the compound.

  The road remained mostly unused, as there were more direct paths. It wound along a small river that supplied irrigation to rows and rows of crops dotting the countryside. Primitive farms interrupted the wealthy farmers’ landscape. It was easy to spot the difference as the scenery changed from precise rows of singular crops to no discernable rows at all. Subsistence farming versus commercial farming.

  “Who lives out here?” Cal finally wondered aloud.

  “Looks like lots of poor farmers who live off the land—and lots of wealthy farmers who own everything else,” Kelly answered.

  “Whoever they are, it’s a great place to hide from the government.”

  Cal veered onto the prescribed dirt path as their car bumped along the dusty road. The only identifying mark was a small sign: Hernandez.

  They could see the compound ahead. It appeared to be at least three-quarters of a mile away, a sprawling hacienda constructed in traditional Spanish style. Red barrel roof tiles. Stucco façade. Winding staircases on the exterior of the house leading to a balcony with a view. A bubbling ornate fountain. Cobblestone circular driveway. If a Hollywood producer wanted to film a scene at the home of a Mexican drug dealer, they couldn’t have imagined a more perfect setting.

  One of the gardeners paused from trimming the three-foot hedge that enclosed the long driveway. Cal’s paranoia began to escalate. He wondered if they were walking into a trap, as if the gardener might drop his clippers and pull out an automatic weapon. Cal started losing his confidence quickly.

  “I don’t know about this, Kelly. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

  “Oh, Cal. Would you just chill out? Act normal. Interview this piece of garbage and let’s get out of here so the professionals can do the dirty work.”

  Cal just shook his head. The drive down the runway felt to him more like an inmate marching down death row to the electric chair. He knew they needed to act fast. He asked Kelly to text a message to their handler letting him know they had arrived and they would be dark for the next 90 minutes. She then erased the sent folder and slipped the phone into her camera bag. Extreme caution was required.

  When they got out of the car, an attractive lady wearing a Buenisimo! nametag greeted them.

  “Hi, my name is Iselda,” she said offering her hand first to Cal and then Kelly. “I’ll be showing you around the property today before your meeting with Mr. Hernandez.”

  “I thought we had a one o’clock interview?” Cal asked, growing more uneasy with each passing second.

  “Oh, you do. But he won’t be able to join us for another fifteen minutes. He had a conference call that is running a little late.”

  Cal relaxed momentarily. It sounded plausible enough. He looked at Kelly. She didn’t seem bothered at all by anything. Cal took a deep breath and began following Iselda.

  “So, you’re from The Seattle Times?” Iselda asked.

  “Yes,” Cal said.

  “I hear they make great coffee there,” she said.

  “The best in the world.”

  “Well, not quite the best.” She turned and winked coyly at Cal.

  Cal wondered if this is how Hernandez did it. Send out the pretty lady. Charm them. And then slit their throats. Or maybe she was going to do it. He certainly didn’t suspect her. Maybe she did all his dirty work. Cal’s guard went back up.

  While the house was the crown jewel of the property, there were several smaller homes located nearby.

  “Who lives in these houses?” Cal asked.

  “Most of our staff remains on the property at all times. Cooks, gardeners, wait staff, drivers. Even Mr. Hernandez’s pilots live here full-time.”

  Cal couldn’t find any part of this story that didn’t make sense or at least appeared to be true. And judging from the sprawling complex, it would take a small city to run things.

  As Cal glanced around, he saw a small stable. Growing up in Idaho, Cal lived down the road from several horse breeding farms. He knew a horse stable when he saw one.

  “Does Mr. Hernandez have any horses?” Cal asked.

  “Actually, no. He doesn’t have time for horses. The previous owner of this property had horses, which is why you see that barn. But there are no horses currently being housed there.”

  They rounded the corner of the house where Iselda was ready to show off the floral grounds. But Cal glanced back at the barn. He saw a large man open a side door and let another man in. Two seconds later, another man exited.

  Was that a shift change? That must be where they are keeping Jake! Cal observed that the barn had curtains in the windows and looked very functional even though there wasn’t a horse to be found.

  Kelly walked in front of Cal. She was snapping pictures left and right of the back patio and adorning trellises. The view was magazine worthy. A wooden fence marked the rear of the property and looked as if it flowed into rolling hills. But that wasn’t the case. There was a drop of about 150 feet into a ravine below, adding to the mystique of the property. The wooden post fence made it seem so serene and open. But the truth was Mr. Hernandez didn’t want any one on his property without him knowing.

  When Iselda turned her back, Cal tapped Kelly on the shoulder.

  “Shoot a picture of the barn behind me. I know that’s where they are keeping him,” he whispered. It was barely audible but Kelly understood.

  She knelt down to take a close-up of a flower but Cal knew she was focusing her lens elsewhere. Just as she was taking the picture, the side door opened and out came another man. Kelly had remained calm, but Cal watched her begin to turn pale. She knew too. No longer was this about pretending to be journalists—this was about surviving a situation more dangerous than either of them previously believed. And Cal was convinced a trap was being laid for them.

  Just then a booming voice from the back door called Iselda’s name.

  Cal spun around to see a large man standing with his arms folded outside the back door. The man’s mere appearance didn’t frighten him, but something else did. On his forearm were these words tattooed: La Pelona. Cal shuddered. He couldn’t be sure if it was the same guy, but he knew instantly that the FBI agent had lied to him. Cal knew for sure this was a trap.

  Kelly and Cal followed Iselda up the back steps and into the house. He wondered if this was the last daylight he would ever see. Cal stared at the blue sky before glancing at his tormentor. Cal couldn’t see the man’s eyes since a dark pair of sunglasses shielded them, but h
e knew he was being watched. Cal stepped inside.

  Mr. Hernandez greeted him immediately with an outstretched arm.

  “Mr. Murphy, so pleased to make your acquaintance. Thank you so much for coming to my humble abode.”

  Cal smiled. There was nothing humble about Hernandez’s place. The opulence oozed from every nook in the room. It screamed, “Look at me and love me.” But it made Cal sick. From the marble floors to the priceless Egyptian antiques affixed to the walls, the decadence made Cal wonder how many inhumane and ruthless acts it took to earn the money to afford such riches. But he had to stop. He was here to help Noah get his son back, not judge a known cartel boss.

  Cal finally spoke. “You have a very lovely home, Mr. Hernandez.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Murphy. Right this way, please.” He ushered them down the hall to his library where Cal was to conduct the interview.

  Cal and Hernandez both sat in plush chairs across from one another while Kelly knelt and stood. Even if the interview was fake, she wanted to capture a powerful portrait of one of the world’s most ruthless men. It wasn’t every day that these opportunities arose and Kelly wasn’t going to ignore it.

  Cal pulled his pen and pad along with his recorder out of his bag and prepared to begin the interview.

  “Is it OK if I record this?” Cal asked. “My desire is to be as accurate as possible in using your responses in the article.”

  “I’m comfortable with that. Are you ready to begin?”

  “I am. Are you?”

  “Go ahead and start asking questions whenever you want.”

  Cal pushed the red button on his digital recorder and began the interview.

  “So, Mr. Hernandez, let’s start at the beginning. When did you first get involved with making coffee?”

  Hernandez shifted in his chair before he spoke.

  “Well, ten years ago, I was on a trip for pleasure in Colombia and I met this beautiful woman at a private beach resort. It turns out her father ran one of the country’s most successful coffee operations. Two years later, I married her and I began to learn the family trade.”

  “What have you learned during that time?”