by PAUL BENNETT
‘How many students do you have senora?’ I asked.
‘Around sixty, in theory that is. I have two classrooms — this one and the one opposite. Sometimes I teach two classes at the same time: other times Padre Patrick helps me by teaching a class. So sixty is possible, but the number of students varies according to the time of year, dropping off drastically at harvest time for instance. The older ones, too, have less of a commitment. If they can pick up some work in the village or manual labour in Sonora, they prefer the lure of ready money to that of education.’
‘It must be a hard life here,’ I said.
‘Would be even harder without Senor Estevez. I think he doesn’t need so many people working in his fields, but feels a responsibility to the community. It is Senor Estevez who funds this school as well. He is a great role model for the youth of our country.’
‘I am due to meet him tomorrow morning. I look forward to it.’
‘You will not be disappointed. He is a true son of Mexico. The country needs more like him. I am hoping that Senor Rojo will embrace the village as Senor Estevez has done.’
‘You do know how he gets his money?’ I said.
‘I try not to be judgemental when it comes to the good of the school. I have a list of other prospective donors who I have yet to approach.’
Hard task getting Rojo and other deliberately non-judged men to part with money for a school where there was nothing in it for them. Stranger things have happened I suppose, and she would make a persuasive argument I was sure. Shame that we were probably going to put a spanner in the works. I wondered just how much she knew of Rojo and his Colombian provenance and the damage it was doing to the people it was exploiting. Would she go as far as using a touch of blackmail? I got the impression that the school was very important to her and she would do anything to fulfil its needs. Too much passion can be dangerous though.
‘We are only here for a week or so, but if there is anything I can do to help, please let me know.’
‘And what are your skills, Senor Silver? What could you teach these children?’
I thought long and hard. Killing wasn’t going to be a good answer to her question. ‘Moral dilemmas,’ I said. ‘How to balance right and wrong.’
‘A worthy subject. Is that how you decide who should live and who should die?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I have seen the video.’
‘Has everyone seen the video? Is there no one on this planet unaware of who I am and what I did?’
‘I suspect not,’ she said. ‘But it will pass. Fame is fleeting. Tomorrow there will be something else to catch the imagination. Until then you must bear the burden that goes with your deeds. I will keep your offer in mind Senor Silver. But you would help most by making sure Chico comes to school on Monday.’
Chico squirmed beside me.
‘But . . . ’ he said.
‘No buts, Chico,’ I said. ‘You are a smart boy, but you could be even smarter with some education. I will bring you here myself and you can help us when school finishes.’
Senora Sanchez smiled. ‘We will see then,’ she said. ‘Miracles do happen.’
‘Come, Chico,’ I said. ‘We must let Senora Sanchez get on with her work and continue our tour where we left off. Lead on. Thank you for your time, senora. See you Monday.’
We gave the rest of the village a miss — much of a muchness, I assumed — and headed back to the square en route to Rojo’s ranch. In the north-west sector of the village there was a road of crushed rock which wouldn’t do the tyres of Red’s MPV any good, but probably wouldn’t harm a bigger vehicle. Therefore, they had bigger vehicles. I had learned something already.
We followed the road for about half a mile and a big ranch house came into view. It had a large plot surrounding it and was double storeyed. The house was painted white and glowed a soft pink in the setting sun. Around the house was a wall about seven feet high. At each corner was a raised watch tower. This wasn’t a house: it was a fortress.
The layout was bad news. Four watchtowers meant four guards per shift, so we might be talking at least twelve or sixteen guards.
‘Did Senor Rojo build this house?’ I asked Chico.
‘Si, senor. He bring many men. Not from this part of Mexico. Maybe even further away. Trucks were coming and going every day. It took him six months. He must be very pleased.’
‘I guess so,’ I replied. ‘Does he not use any of the people in the village?’
‘He sometimes has lots of guests. My mother and three of the other women from the village act as . . .’ — he searched for the word — ‘waitresses?’
‘Time to be getting you home to your mother, Chico,’ I said. ‘Will she be wondering where you are.’
‘No, senor, I often go for walks around the village and the fields.’
We reached his house and he opened the door. Inside was a woman of stunning beauty. Her skin had a deep tan, her natural colour enhanced by working in the fields. Her eyes were like ebony. Her lips were full. She was tall for a Mexican woman, from what I’d seen so far, and had full breasts contained — just — in a dress of faded russet with a drawstring under her bosom.
‘Chico, where have you been?’ she said, wagging a finger. He hadn’t quite got her mood right.
‘It’s my fault, senora. Chico was showing me around the village and introducing me to the padre. I am Johnny Silver, senora. I and my friends will be staying here for a short while. Maybe you could lend Chico to me from time to time. Our Spanish is very poor and we would be very grateful.’
‘He will pay me, too, mother. Maybe we would have enough for a new dress for the fiesta.’
She looked at Chico, then me and gave a sigh.
‘All right,’ she said with a small smile. ‘It may keep you out of mischief.’
‘Thank you, Momma,’ he said, hugging her.
‘Be at our house at nine in the morning, Chico,’ I said. ‘Guard the cars till I need you and your Spanish.’
He gave me a huge grin. ‘Si, senor. I will be on duty in the morning. Gracias, senor.’
* * *
‘We need a housekeeper,’ I said to Stan. The meal was over and we were sipping the remains of three bottles of Californian merlot. Stan had done a good job with a small range of ingredients — simple food cooked well. Pieter even ate some guacamole and pretended not to like it. ‘We can’t afford for you to spend time cooking and cleaning. Chico’s mother could fill the role.’
‘What qualifies her for the job?’ Red asked.
‘Her house is spotless and Chico seems well nourished. She does occasional waitressing for Rojo too, and I bet his demands are higher than ours. Plus, she needs the money. Trying to bring up a growing boy with very limited resources can’t be easy.’
‘How much of this is head and how much heart?’ Bull asked.
‘I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that question.’
‘I thought you’d say that,’ Bull replied.
‘We’re not here for long — only eight days left at the most — and at the moment we don’t have a plan. That’s where Stan’s time needs to be spent, not housekeeping. Maybe Estevez shouldn’t be the only philanthropist in town too.’
‘Philanthropist?’ said Red.
‘It means a guy who helps people,’ Bull said. I raised an eyebrow.
‘I’ve been reading the dictionary,’ Bull said. ‘Not much story, but I can understand all the words.’
‘Hey,’ Red said, sounding offended. ‘I know what a philanthropist is. I don’t need it explained. It’s well known that Comanches are among the most intelligent races on this planet.’
‘Well known among who?’ Bull said.
‘Among Comanches,’ said Red.
‘I thought you’d say that,’ said Bull.
Red looked at him intently. ‘What are you? Psychic all of a sudden?’
‘I thought you’d say that,’ said Bull.
‘Boys, boys,’ I said. ‘Let’s mov
e on, please. Chico showed me Rojo’s ranch this afternoon. It only needs a moat and a drawbridge to be totally impregnable. We need a strategy for how to get past four watchtowers, inside the house, grab the girl and get out again in one piece.’
‘I’ve seen it from a distance,’ Stan said. ‘Didn’t want to get too close in case I attracted attention. It’s going to be a hard nut to crack.’
‘Bull and I have an audience with Estevez tomorrow morning. You three take a closer look. If you do happen to attract attention, at least we will know how they react.’
‘Not a very comforting thought,’ said Pieter. ‘What’s our cover story?’ asked Red.
‘We’re just passing through. We needed to get out of the States for a while. That should intrigue them. That might buy us some time. Sooner or later we’re going to have to shake the tree and see what falls out,’ I said.
‘Same old approach then,’ said Bull. ‘If it works, why fix it?’
‘Reckon so.’
Chapter Eight
Chico was waiting for us when Bull, Red and I stepped outside the front door. ‘Where are we going, senor?’ he said to me.
‘We’re going to your house,’ I said.
‘But I have just come from my house.’
‘Isn’t that a coincidence,’ I said.
He looked at me with a puzzled expression on his young face. ‘All will become clear,’ I said. ‘Trust me.’
‘Si, senor.’
His mother’s name was Rosa and she was thrilled by the opportunity to earn some money. Red took her and Chico back to our house and opened the doors to his car. They were all off to stock up on supplies, Chico translating where necessary.
Bull and I walked along the narrow main street, if it could be called that, and came to the house of Emmanuel Estevez. It was large, but understated, as if he didn’t want to rub the noses of the peasant farmers into the difference in their fortunes and his. It was built in the adobe style so that it was in keeping with the village. There were no grand columns either side of the front door, no swimming pool or tennis court that I could see. Behind the white two-storey house I could see his fields spread out and the white clothes of the workers dotted here and there like snowflakes on the landscape.
There was a tall white wall topped with barbed wire surrounding the house and a pair of wrought-iron gates. There was a video camera for security monitoring and a box to speak into in order to gain entry. I pressed the buzzer, announced myself, and waited for the gates to open. Bull and I were dressed as smart as the limited options our rucksack could manage. We had on chinos and bomber jackets over the shoulder holsters containing our guns. From now on we would always be packing, taking no chances. We didn’t expect any danger here, but it was a good habit to get into.
We walked up the drive and saw a maid standing with the door already open. She was middle aged, with short dark hair, and was wearing a black skirt, white blouse and low-heeled black shoes. With a wave of her hand, she motioned us inside and along a corridor to a room at the back. It was Estevez’s study, furnished in classical Mexican style — light wooden furniture, colourful rugs on the floor contrasting with the white walls. Behind a large desk sat Estevez. He rose as we entered, greeted us with a big smile and a firm handshake and indicated we should sit on the two sofas facing an armchair.
He was tall for a Mexican — six foot I estimated — had intense black eyes and a mop of black hair that was showing grey at the sides. From the grey and the lines on his face I put his age at fifty. He was dressed in a beige suit and blue shirt with top button undone, no tie. He sat down opposite us in the armchair.
‘Welcome to my house. While you are here mi casa es tu casa. Feel free to come here whenever you like. If I am not here, Carmen will see to your needs.’
Carmen, the maid, entered with a tray containing a pot of coffee, cups, sugar and cream. She placed the tray on a low table and Estevez thanked her and nodded that she could go.
‘Help yourself to coffee as you like it,’ he said. ‘It is a special blend that is made just for me. I will drink no other. I hope I won’t spoil you for any other coffee.’
I poured coffee — black, no sugar or cream — for Bull and myself, and passed the pot to Estevez. He poured the coffee slowly, almost lovingly, as if he was already savouring the flavour. He had plain black too, adding nothing to interfere with the flavour of the roasted beans.
I took a sip. A fine brew. Made from arabica beans was my guess — I have to admit that I am a coffee aficionado (or bore, my friends said) — it didn’t have the bitter edge that robusta gives you. Finely ground and high roasted. Coming from Latin America I would say, if pressed. Every man has at least one weakness; seemed like Estevez shared one of mine.
‘I owe you both a debt,’ he said, bringing me back from my coffee reverie. ‘The situation in the restaurant could have been very different, very nasty, without your intervention. Many peoples’ lives were at risk. You saved them. You generated a lot of good publicity for Mexico Real, too. You can’t mess around in a Mexico Real restaurant, that’s what everyone will feel.’
‘We just did what we have been trained to do,’ Bull said. ‘Instinctive in those kinds of situation. We wish they didn’t have to die, but there was no alternative.’
‘You are too modest. I have watched the video many times. I doubt that anyone has seen shooting of that calibre before. Inch perfect. Your services will be much in demand from now on.’
‘We’re retired,’ said Bull. ‘We’re only doing this job because we were given no other choice. As soon as we’ve got your daughter back, we’ll return to our families and a quiet life.’
‘Tell me about your daughter,’ I said.
Estevez got up, walked over to his desk and picked up a framed photograph. He handed it to me and sat down. The picture was of a girl around seventeen or so. What you could see of her face was pretty, the rest was hidden by long, dark hair like a veil. She had big brown eyes and a tanned face. She stared straight and hard at the camera, as if defying it to take a bad photo. This was a girl with fire in her belly. I showed the picture to Bull. He gave me a nod saying he’d stored it in his memory banks in the section marked ‘Trouble’.
‘Her name is Maria,’ Estevez said. ‘Our only child. Eighteen years old three months ago. Home on vacation from university in Veracruz. Studying law. Bright girl, but strong willed — you might as well know the bad as well as the good. Hard to control at times, but maybe that is just her age. Be easier when she’s matured a little. That’s my hope, at least.’
‘Boyfriends?’ I asked.
‘I don’t see that that is relevant,’ he said.
‘I’m trying to build up a picture of her. Anything that might help when we’re trying to get her back. There’s a high probability that we might have to storm Rojo’s house to get her back. Bullets may be flying. We will need to gain her confidence when we first meet, otherwise it could get very dangerous for her. Any information that will convince her we are friends will be of great advantage. We will need to gain her trust and to do it quickly.’
‘No boyfriends,’ Estevez said. ‘Not that we encouraged any. She has a dog called Tino that she loves more than me and her mother I suspect, if that’s any help.’
‘Is she healthy? Need any medications we should know about?’
‘Healthy and fit. Goes to a gym a lot at university. Does karate, too.’
‘So we’ve got to rescue a feisty, stubborn, headstrong girl who does karate?’ Bull said.
‘Who loves a dog,’ I added.
‘Who loves a dog,’ he repeated, nodding his head.
‘From a fortress guarded by at least a dozen bad men,’ I said. ‘Couldn’t be easier,’ Bull said.
‘Are you taking this seriously?’ Estevez asked, his voice raised.
‘Very seriously,’ I said. ‘It’s our lives that are at risk. Humour is a way to dissipate any tension. If we were tense we wouldn’t be functioning to the limits of our ability.
That is what is needed if we’re to get your daughter back and for us to survive. Rest assured, if anyone can get Maria back it is us.’
‘I am sorry to have doubted you,’ he said. ‘Please forgive me. These are very worrying times.’
The door opened and a woman entered. Bull and I stood up. She was in her late forties, wearing a light brown trouser suit and brown shoes with a two-inch heel. She was dripping with gold — necklace, bracelet, rings. But that is not what drew our attention. Her pretty face was marred by lined red eyes. She had been crying, recently, and a lot. She swept back her auburn hair in a nervous gesture and walked across to us. Emmanuel introduced her as his wife, Conchita.
‘I am pleased to meet you,’ she said, extending her hand. It was cold to the touch. ‘So you are the ones who will get Maria back.’
It was half statement, half question.
‘There are five of us in all,’ I said. ‘This is Bull and I am Johnny. The others are doing some surveillance so that we can form a plan. Time is on our side. We have seven more days until the deadline.’ I immediately regretted my choice of words — deadline. ‘Plenty of time, senora,’ I continued quickly. ‘We will get her back so that you can all celebrate the fiesta together. You can trust us.’
She looked at me, then Bull, and returned to me. She stared at my eyes and gave a shiver.
‘There is death in your eyes,’ she said, crossing herself. ‘Both of you. You killed the men at the restaurant and you will kill again here. It is the price we have to pay to get Maria back. By condoning your sin it will become mine too. I will have to confess to Padre Patrick.’
‘Not until our work is done. The fewer people that know why we are here the better.’
She nodded. ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘I will leave you now. The less I know of your plans, the less I will have to confess. I wish you good luck.’ She walked to the door and turned around. ‘Get my baby back, please. She is so precious to me.’
She took one last look at us, gave another involuntary shudder and left the room. We stood there in silence for a moment and then sat back down.
