Were gonna have to go, I tell her.
But where is my father? she says.
He could be on the other side of the ship, behind the superstructure, or in one of the cabins. Or possibly hes already down on the dock.
She looks at me with a certain anxiety in her eyes. Or he could be dead, she must be thinking. But she doesnt say it.
We cant wait any longer, I tell her. We need to get to the taxi, grab our stuff at the room, and get out there. I point to the end of the road that runs along the top of the breakwater where it merges with the coast highway heading north. If we lose them now, well never find them again.
We head off running as fast as we can along the path toward the canal.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Listen, thank him for us. How many units are they sending? Thorpe listened as he penciled notes on a pad on the table.
Rhytag looked on. They were closeted in the operations center in the bowels of the FBI building with communications at their fingertips and a small army of agents and technicians working computers and handling phones.
Any idea how long itll be before they get there? Thorpe flashed all five fingers of one hand at Rhytag twice in quick succession. Ten minutes.
Did you offer them the NEST team?
NEST was the Nuclear Emergency Support Team, a group of scientists, technicians, and engineers operating under the U.S. Department of Energy. The teams were trained and prepared to respond to nuclear accidents or incidents anywhere in the world.
Thorpe shook his head slowly and made a face. It was apparent that the Mexican government, at least for the moment, had declined the assistance of the specialists. So they understand they may be getting in over their heads?
Okay, keep me posted. He hung up the phone.
Theyve got thirty police units going in. The Mexican government is also bringing in some military forces to cordon off the area around the port. The problem is, the container may have already left the facility. They wont know for at least fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Until then theres nothing we can do but wait.
No. Youre wrong, said Rhytag. Contact the director at Homeland Security. Tell him what weve got and that our recommendation is that they close the border immediately. Every crossing from San Ysidro east to the Arizona border. Tell them to shut em down now. Nothing gets through. No cars, no trucks until we can figure out where this thing is and how to stop it. And tell them to be sure and warn our people at the border as to what theyre dealing with.
The second we shut the border the medias gonna know. Itll be all over the news. If the device is still at the port and the Mexicans stop it, the White House will hand you your head when the public finds out how close they came to another nine-eleven or worse, said Thorpe.
He was right. Too many law enforcement officials would have to be told what they were looking for to keep it under wraps.
Then the White House spinmeisters can make up a story to feed the media. We cant stick our head in the sand any longer. Ill take full responsibility. Besides, what if the Mexicans dont stop it?
Thorpe didnt have an answer.
By the time we get to the canal, Herman has a taxi waiting. Maricela and I bundle into the backseat as Herman gives directions to the driver in Spanish.
From the backseat of the taxi I am straining my eyes through the binoculars to see if I can pick up any sight of the container. From here it is a long distance across the water, and the Amora is in the way. But I can see part of the road leading out of the port, and there is a train of trucks on it, heading for the highway.
It was a strange shade of green, says Maricela. She is talking about the container. It had some lettering sprayed on one side.
She is right. I see the container on the back of a truck just as the taxi passes a building on the left that cuts off my view.
You wanna stop and pick up the bags at the hotel? says Herman.
Leave them. We cant take the time. I can once again see the truck with the container, across the harbor. It is only a few hundred feet from the exit gate at the port where a uniformed guard is checking vehicles and paperwork. If we could only get there, we could stop it.
Herman, tell him to pick it up, otherwise were gonna lose him going through town. If he gets out on that highway and takes a turnoff, well never see him again.
Herman says something to the driver, and the man says something back.
He says his foots on the floor, says Herman.
Great! Lets hope there are a lot of hills between here and wherever that trucks going, because were never going to catch him at the gate.
We make the wide swing to the left around the port, headed for where the port facility joins the highway.
When I look once more with the field glasses, the truck with the container is gone. Its already cleared the gate. As the road curves to the right and heads up the hill, I see it chugging up the grade about a quarter of a mile ahead of us. Its just ahead of a U-Haul truck struggling up the hill, unable to pass it.
Herman points with his finger and says something to the taxi driver who slides into the right lane and slows down. The highway is first world, two lanes in each direction with a center divider and cross traffic only where the divider is broken.
There are several vehicles between us and the cargo carrier. The driver wants to know if he should pass them. Herman tells him no, to keep a few of the vehicles between us, but not to lose the container truck.
As we continue to climb the hill, the few cars ahead of us begin to pull out. Within ten minutes we find ourselves directly behind the U-Haul, trying to stay shielded behind the big box truck and not appear too obvious.
Herman tells the driver to back off a little and the guy says something back to him. He wants to know how far were going, says Herman.
Tell him well know when we get there.
This doesnt seem to satisfy him. He has a longer conversation with Herman.
He says he stops at Rosarita, says Herman. He wont go any farther north than that. He says the traffic up around Tijuana coming back this way in the afternoon is too much. Hell lose too many fares.
Tell him well pay him for his time.
Youre getting pretty extravagant, says Herman. Maybe we should count up our cash again, see what weve got left.
Weve got close to six hundred, I tell him. For that he ought to take us to San Francisco.
I can tell you one thing, if they cross the border he wont go beyond there. He cant unless hes got a visa and insurance. Maricelas gonna have the same problem, and if you try and cross youll get your ass arrested. The minute he says it Herman looks at me and bites his lip.
We both glance at Maricela. She is looking so intently out the side window, her face pressed up close to the glass, that she didnt even hear him.
If they try to cross the border, at least one of us has to make it to the kiosk to get the border patrol to stop them, I tell him.
That means me, since you cant run for squat, he says.
A half hour past the turnoff to El Descanso the road becomes a freeway and the driver tells us were approaching Rosarita. Just as he says it the U-Haul hits its turn signal to make a right on the next off-ramp.
Herman tells the taxi driver to slow down, and as we fall back I nearly panic when I realize the container truck is no longer out in front on the highway. Then I see it on the off-ramp in front of the U-Haul.
Derecho. Derecho, says Herman.
The taxi driver swings to the right and falls in line behind the U-Haul, nearly plowing into the back of the truck. The driver is angry, saying something in Spanish to Herman, both of his hands off the wheel for a moment as we lumber into the outskirts of Rosarita. We drive off of pavement and onto dirt streets.
I cant tell what the driver is saying, only that he is
getting short with Herman.
You know, Im getting the sense those two are together. Herman is ignoring the driver, talking about the cargo carrier and the U-Haul.
Im hoping that were coming to the end of the trip. Maybe theyll stop for the night. Herman, you got the cell phone?
Yeah.
Check it and see if we have a signal.
He pulls it out, powers it up and waits, then shakes his head. Nothing.
Were hanging back, rolling slowly along the dusty, unpaved street when half a block up the two trucks pull into a Pemex station. The driver of the U-Haul climbs down out of the truck and starts to gas up. The container truck pulls on through and stops in a wide area next to the little mini-mart in the gas station. It looks like a bladder break, all of them suddenly jumping out of the trucks.
My father! says Maricela. Thats him! Her face lights up as she points.
Where?
Theres my father. Maricela reaches for the door, and before I can stop her shes out, running along the edge of the road.
Herman is out before I can move.
I try to go and the driver grabs my arm. Seńor! ĄMi tarifa, por favor!
He wants his money.
By the time I look up, Herman has caught up to Maricela and pulled her into some bushes off the road.
I pay the driver and tell him in my best pidgin Spanish and sign language to wait. A few seconds later I join Herman and Maricela in the bushes.
Whats wrong with you? Herman is giving her a piece of his mind. You want to get us all killed? To say nothing of a few thousand bystanders. Think, woman!
Maricela looks as if shes about to cry.
Shell be all right. Calm down. She got excited, thats all. She didnt know if he was alive or dead. When she saw him, I shrug a shoulder, she snapped. Cut her some slack, I tell him.
Herman shakes his head slowly and takes a deep breath. He apologizes and removes his huge hands from her shoulders.
As were talking I hear the engine start behind us. Before I can even turn to look, the taxi driver pulls a U-turn from his parking position and heads the other way down the dusty street.
Great! says Herman. That cuts it. What do we do now?
There is no time to think or talk. Stay here and keep an eye on her. I step out of the bushes and walk as fast as I can along the side of the road toward the gas station at the end of the block. If we lose the truck now, well never find it again. We could get ourselves killed, but what choice do we have? Ive never done anything like this before, but then Ive never been in a situation like this. Sometimes we surprise ourselveswhat adrenaline can do.
When I reach the corner, only one of the men is outside, keeping an eye on the trucks as the pump continues to fill the empty tank on the U-Haul. The guy is moving around over by the container. He is checking it out, making sure its fastened down tight on the rails that form the bed on the back of the cargo carrier.
The others are still inside the mini-mart. When I look back, the guy at the container truck has moved to the other side.
I notice that the back of the U-Haul is not locked. I swing the handle on the catch out of the way and gently lift the roll-up gate just enough to crawl inside. Once in, I lift the gate a little farther so Herman, down the street, can see me. Holding the gate in one hand, Im motioning with the other for them to join me, and to make it fast.
Before they can move very far, I hear voices coming out of the mini-mart. A foreign tongue that isnt Spanish. I put my hand out and Herman steps off the road and into the bushes with Maricela once more.
As I quietly lower the gate, I see a small piece of wood on the bed of the truck, just inside the door. I slip it under the edge at the bottom of the door just enough to keep the outside hand lever from sliding into the lock and sealing me in.
A few seconds later the voices get louder as they approach. I hear someone pull the fuel nozzle from the tank and hook it back to the pump, and a few seconds later the doors as they open and slam closed. Off in the distance I hear the diesel engine on the container truck as it turns over and starts, and a second later the U-Haul ignition as it kicks in, then the deep rumble of the engine.
I stand and lift the gate high over my head and look for Herman. He sees me from the bushes. I point with my thumb, like a hitchhiker, to the other side of the street.
Quickly Herman grabs Maricela by the hand and the two of them scoot across the street and end up behind an old pickup truck off its wheels on blocks at the side of the road.
Its a gamble, but Im assuming these guys have pulled off the highway for gas, which means they may be heading back to the highway. I hear the container truck as it swings in front of the U-Haul to make the turn back down the dusty street to the freeway. The U-Haul starts to make the turn to fall in behind it. I am holding on to the gate to steady myself, hanging on to it over my head as the truck rocks back and forth leaving the pavement and going onto the dirt.
The driver misses a shift and grinds the gears just as Herman steps out from behind the parked pickup. He is carrying Maricela on his shoulders and before the truck can get up to ten miles an hour he tosses her up to me. All I can do is break her fall with one hand and part of my body as I hold the gate for Herman. A second later he is on board.
I look down at Maricela. Shes smiling back at me. Shes fine. Herman and I carefully lower the gate and I stick the piece of wood underneath it again.
We can barely see each other in the dark, but there is no chance theyre going to hear us up front, not with the rumble of the engine and the road noise.
May as well make ourselves comfortable, says Herman. He grabs a heavy packing blanket off the top of a wooden crate up front, brings it back, and spreads it in a double thickness on the floor, for us to sit on.
I catch my breath, but still cant believe weve just done this. That we are so close to risking it all.
FIFTY-NINE
So they have no idea where the truck is headed? said Rhytag.
Thorpe shook his head. According to our agents the Mexican police are pushing them pretty hard. They got the captain and two of the others down belowdecks right now teaching them about the inquisition. Thorpe was talking about the ships crew, the captain and the others brought on board the Amora to replace the original crew members, who have all disappeared except for two who signed on in Colombia.
All we know right now is that the current crew members appear to be connected to the Tijuana cartel. Most of them are seamen or have some sea experience. They were contacted by people they knew in the cartel to bring in the ship. Theyre telling the Mexican authorities thats all they know. When they were shown the photos taken by Nitikins daughter, they IDed Nitikin as being on board as well as at least three and possibly four other individuals in the photographs. According to the cartel crew members, they have no idea what Nitikin was doing or what was in the container. We did get a good description of the container, color and size. Its a twenty-footer, lime green, and one of the crew members gave us a partial plate number off the truck. It was a Mexican commercial plate. Mexican government is checking it now as to the owner and possible destination. Also, there was another vehicle, a box truck. One of the crew members said he thought it was a rental truck of some kind but he couldnt remember the name of the company or the license number. There was one thing that was curious though.
Whats that? said Rhytag.
Some of the crew members said it looked as if the Russian was being held captive. According to them he was being guarded pretty heavily and was locked in a cabin on the ship most of the time.
You think hes acting under duress? said Rhytag.
Who knows?
What about the others, the people with him?
All foreigners. One of them spoke Spanish and some other language. He seemed to be doing all the interpreting. The crew members said th
ey didnt know what the other language was, and they claim they didnt overhear any of the translated conversations. The Mexican authorities dont believe them. According to them somebody had to overhear something. Its why theyve got the captain and the others belowdecks having discussions.
Rhytag took a deep breath and thought for a moment. When he spoke again his voice was a near whisper so that none of the others in the room working the computers or the telephones could hear. For the record, I didnt ask this question, he said, but have the Mexicans taken them surfing?
Surfing was a euphemism for waterboarding. ACLU types condemned it as torture, but experience had proved that when time was of the essence, it was the one sure way to extract information and to do it quickly. Oftentimes less than two minutes.
That may be a touch too subtle for the Mexicans, said Thorpe. According to our agent on the scene, they got the captain hooked up to a car battery with a coil and alligator clips, charging up his nipples and various other body parts every minute or so. They let him rest just long enough to stop glowing. If he knows anything, hes not talking. Seems the Mexicans are willing to keep at it all night. If they have to, theyll bring the crew down in shifts and get some more batteries.
The problem is that if the crew doesnt know where the truck is headed, all that pain is likely to extract is false information. Which means we could find ourselves sent on some wild-goose chase, said Rhytag. What do we have by way of assets up along the border?
You mean besides the worlds biggest traffic jam? said Thorpe. At last count we had two hundred highway patrol men, another hundred on the way. The NEST team is already deployed to San Ysidro. Were assuming thats the nearest border crossing, so thats likely to be where they try to come in. Weve pulled in border patrol from as far east as Yuma. We have two FBI SWAT teams, and Delta Force is sending us two of their crackerjack sniper teams, but were told thats not for public consumption. Were also bringing in one of our own hostage-rescue teams.
Why hostage rescue? said Rhytag.
Guardian of Lies: A Paul Madriani Novel Page 40
