by James Samuel
“He’s coming,” said Alex.
“Alright. What do you want me to do?”
“Sit down and shut up. Follow my lead.”
Fernando straightened up as Alex went to the door to welcome Rasgado. According to Alex, the deal they would cut with Rasgado would see them tip the tide of the war against Montoya. Rasgado was the assistant to the Secretariat of National Defence for the whole of Mexico. Santa Maria de Guadalupe would become the most powerful drug cartel in the country with his backing.
“Mr. Rasgado.” Alex shook the politician’s hand. “Welcome. I’m sorry we couldn’t have found somewhere nicer.”
Rasgado had the eyes of a wounded prisoner with a flick knife and a distorted face. Thick skin sustained from horrific burns covered the whole left side of his face. People always speculated where they came from, but none had managed to get it out of him.
Fernando stood and shook Rasgado’s hand as he entered the living room. Alex had chosen only Fernando to assist him in the negotiations. The rest of their guard convened behind the closed door of the kitchen.
Rasgado had arrived with his assistant, a short man Rasgado hadn’t bothered to introduce to them. He perched himself on the sofa looking shifty.
Alex turned to Rasgado. “Would you like to sit?”
“No,” Rasgado said disdainfully. “New suit. That sofa looks like it was found at the side of the road.”
Alex nodded and remained standing too.
Rasgado took the stance of a soldier with his legs shoulder-width apart. His expression never softened. His eyes span around in their sockets as he observed everyone and everything around him.
“Mr. Rasgado,” Alex started. “Is everything well?”
“Quezada can expect his order to be met. I’ve ensured that the police will stand down and he’ll have no trouble from the army.”
“Thank you.” Alex smiled. “Thank you very much.”
“This is a grace period.” Rasgado raised a finger. “It won’t last for more than a year. The newspapers will figure something is up if it lasts too long.”
“And the Secretariat of National Defence?”
“He’s weak. Camacho should have never been given that position in the first place.”
“Good, good, Quezada agrees that you should be considered for that position. He has a proposition for you, in addition to our deal.”
Rasgado raised his chin. “Go on.”
“How would you like to be the next Secretariat of National Defence?”
“I would.”
“Quezada can make that happen. In exchange for convincing the army and police to work with us more actively.” Alex paused for an indication that Rasgado was interested. He got nothing. “You see, when the entire police force of Acapulco was purged, it created problems for businessmen like us. If you could prevent that from happening as secretariat, we would be most grateful.”
Rasgado gave a slight nod. “And how would you guarantee that I would be made secretariat? Killing Camacho wouldn’t do. It would be too obvious that it was an inside job.”
Fernando stiffened up, an idea springing into his mind’s eye. He looked away from Rasgado, biting his tongue.
“Speak up, boy.” Rasgado’s wild look homed in on him.
“Mr. Rasgado,” Fernando shifted uncomfortably. “I was thinking that if there’s a way to make Camacho look incompetent to the general public, the president will have no choice but to remove him and give you a chance.”
Rasgado looked back at Alex. “Your boy is smart. Where did you find him?”
Alex’s jaw hardened.
“That would work. It’s been done before with other secretariats. Why couldn’t it work here? Yes, if you can step up your attacks, and I castrate the defence forces, the media would put pressure on the president. His approval ratings would fall, and he would need to do something to look decisive.”
“That isn’t a bad idea.” Alex rubbed the bottom of his chin. “As long as Quezada agrees. We’d need to arrange another meeting.”
Rasgado scoffed at the idea. “If you think I’m taking a chance by meeting you again anytime soon, you can think again. This will be my one and only meeting with you gentlemen. If I’m discovered, everything is lost.”
“But Mr. Rasgado –”
“Enough,” he snapped. “Quezada will agree because he’s a businessman and he knows what’s good for him. Quezada can contact me again and tell me his answer, but I already know he will see sense. Gardoqui.” Rasgado jabbed a finger at his assistant. “Come, I think we’re done here.”
Rasgado and Gardoqui left without another word. Alex collapsed into the sunken armchair in deep thought as the door slammed.
“Alex –”
“Not another word, Fernando.”
“But he thought it was a good idea.”
Alex looked up at him. “Yes, but that mouth will get you into trouble one day. You have no right to be making deals in Quezada’s name.”
Chapter Eleven
Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato, Mexico
Much of rural Mexico consisted of burned earth, mountains, and scrubby little trees lining dirt roads to nowhere. Diego stopped at the side of one of these nameless trails.
“Get him out of the car.”
James had already confiscated the narco’s weapon. He lifted the narco up by his torso, opened the back door and dragged him onto the ground. The man’s wounded leg left bloodstains smeared across the otherwise pristine black leather seats.
Diego climbed out and opened the trunk. He pulled out a shovel and tossed it on the ground. He threw out some cable ties and dropped a huge garrafon of water on the ground. The psychological torture had already started.
“What’s your name?” James placed a boot on one of his ankles.
“Fuck you!”
James sighed. The narco wanted to prove his manhood by resisting. He’d seen it all over the world when interrogating people.
Diego didn’t say anything as he tied the narco’s arms behind his back and bound his ankles. Hogtied, he couldn’t go anywhere.
“Nobody will hear you scream.” Diego crouched next to him. “We’re as far away from civilisation as you can imagine. You’ll talk or you’re going to die here, and they’ll never find your body.”
The narco threw a headbutt from his seated position. It didn’t make it anywhere near Diego’s head. Diego responded with a straight right hook. The narco’s nose exploded, his lower face turning a dark shade of red.
“Not smart. You know your mama will never find you, right? Your brothers, your sisters, your parents. They’ll never know what happened to you. We’re so far from Dolores they won’t even know where to start looking.”
The narco went quiet. Diego’s words had hit their mark. He understood the importance of family in Mexican culture, so he knew the one way to provoke even the most masculine of Mexicans.
“What’s your name?” asked James.
“Alejandro Vega.”
“Good. Alejandro, you have a choice today. You can live or you can die. All you have to do is give us some information. Who we are and why a gringo and a Mexican want that information is irrelevant, understand?”
Alejandro nodded.
“Your boss Quezada recently kidnapped a girl called Jessi Montoya. You heard of her?”
Alejandro nodded. “I don’t talk to Quezada, though. I’m just a falcon. I only hear about these things through other people. You need to talk to a lieutenant if you want to know more.”
“We know,” said James. “Then you’ll tell us what you’ve heard. Jessi Montoya is big news and Quezada wouldn’t be able to keep that quiet for long. It was a major victory for your cartel.”
Alejandro nodded.
“Then tell us.”
Diego moved behind the car and busied himself with something.
“Look, man, I’ve never met Montoya.”
James rolled his eyes. Every interrogation always started the same way. Nobody knew an
ything and the victim always pretended they were deaf, dumb, and blind.
“Fine. Diego.”
Diego returned from the back of the Land Rover with a flat board elevated on stubby legs. James threw their hogtied captive onto the table and stretched him out on his back, save for his tied hands pressed into his lower back. Alejandro struggled and cursed.
“Hold him down by the shoulders,” said Diego.
James did so. He knew what was coming. He’d carried out the same interrogation technique many times. It always worked in the end.
Diego pulled out a piece of cloth and tossed it over his face. No matter how much Alejandro moved, he couldn’t shift the long cloth from his mouth, nose, and eyes. He picked up the small garrafon of water and pressed his knee into Alejandro’s stomach.
Slowly, he dripped a thin stream of water over the cloth. James looked away at the horizon. He didn’t want to watch Alejandro struggle as he experienced the sensation of drowning. His airways blocked up as more water tumbled onto the cloth.
Diego whipped the cloth from Alejandro’s face after a few seconds. “Talk.”
“I don’t know nothing,” Alejandro shouted through his heavy breaths.
Happily, Diego repeated the waterboarding again and again. Each time he put the wet cloth back over Alejandro’s face, the stream of water grew longer and longer. By the time they reached the third round, Alejandro twitched and bucked. He’d started dry drowning. Much more and they would suffocate him.
“You won’t last much longer, Alejandro,” said James. “Give us something useful. Is this really the way you want to go?”
“I told you, I don’t know nothing. I’m nobody in the cartel. They won’t tell me anything like that.”
James looked at Diego, who already held the water ready to continue the torture. He shook his head at Diego to stop. A street narco like this didn’t have the mental fortitude to hide his secrets under waterboarding.
Diego released his knee from Alejandro’s stomach. Even he realised that this man had nothing to offer them.
“What do you want to do with him?” Diego switched to English. “He’s worthless to us.”
“He thinks we’re going to kill him anyway. You think he’s not telling us something?”
“It’s possible.” Diego shrugged. “Snitches and their families are usually killed, so narcos will do anything they can to stay quiet.”
“What about this one?”
Diego shook his head. “Nah, he knows nothing.”
James sighed. Now they had a worthless prisoner who knew their faces. If they released him, he would blow their cover. He knew what had to be done. Blackwind made it quite clear: no loose ends.
Diego whipped out his revolver and shot Alejandro clean between the eyes. With that, Alejandro was no more.
“We’ll need to bury him before the sun sets. We don’t want to get caught in the middle of nowhere when it gets dark. You never know who’s out there.”
“You better start digging then.” James ran his hands through his short hair. “There’s only one spade.”
James walked away to contemplate their next move as Diego’s eyes bored maliciously into his back.
Chapter Twelve
Guanajuato, Guanajuato, Mexico
The mosquitos and moths flitted around the lights of James’ garden as morning crested above the other side of the valley. James, Diego, and Sinclair sat around the table smoking cigarettes and pouring Cuba Libres. Despite the alcohol, annoyance dominated the ambience. James had reached a dead end and didn’t know where to turn next.
James took a big puff of his cigarette. “We can’t just go around kidnapping narcos in the hope someone knows where Montoya is. She could be anywhere and if too many people disappear, they’re going to lock everything down.”
Sinclair shrugged. “I really thought news of things like this would spread. We’re not dealing with a government. We’re dealing with narcos.”
Diego tutted. “You really underestimate these people. They’re not the government, but they run things like the government.”
“You say that, but criminals are not as smart as they like to think.”
“They fight the government to a standstill every day.” Diego raised his voice. “Every year hundreds of policemen die in ambushes. You gringos always think criminals are stupid. But I tell you, the Americans were defeated by a bunch of farmers in Vietnam. You British were beaten in Afghanistan by people who think a turban and a helmet are the same thing.”
Sinclair rolled his eyes and looked away.
“There’s no point arguing about this,” said James. “The point is they have Montoya, and if we don’t find her, we won’t have the help on the ground we need to get to Quezada. We’re not going to find Quezada eating at Casa Ofelia, are we?”
“Why not?” Diego smirked. “The food is good.”
James guffawed at that.
“Diego, do you have anyone high up we could contact? You’re a big man in Mexico, you must know someone,” said Sinclair.
Diego narrowed his eyes at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, come on, you know what I mean. Don’t tell me you don’t know a politician or two.”
“Maybe I do, but how would that help us?”
“It might or it might not. Most of the long-serving politicians are linked with the narcos in some way. If we talk to the right man, you never know.”
Diego’s expression darkened. James knew what it meant. Sinclair wanted to push into Diego’s private businesses in Mexico, the very reason why Blackwind wouldn’t give him any official assignments within the country.
“What’s in it for me?” asked Diego.
“Whatever happened to comrades in arms, Diego?” Sinclair teased.
He gave the two Englishmen a look of defiance. “I won’t jeopardise my business here for any mission. This has nothing to do with me. I’m doing this as a favour.”
James twiddled his thumbs as he held his cigarette between his teeth. “Asking one of your contacts isn’t going to cost you your businesses. If you do us a favour, I’m sure we can do something for you, off the record, of course.”
Diego leaned back in his chair in deep thought. It took a few seconds for him to gaze between the two men.
“Off the record,” James repeated.
“Fine, but you owe me and when I ask you to do something, you do it no questions asked, understand?”
“No problem.”
Diego drained the last of his rum. “I’ll make a call.”
As Diego moved out of the garden to make his business call, James sat in silence. What had happened today unnerved him. His role was to shoot to kill, but torture always made him uneasy. Even if narcos were a cancer bringing nothing but death and misery, did that give him the right to do what he did?
He swirled the remainder of the Cuba Libre and drained the rest of it. James’ eyes hung heavy with fatigue. His limbs felt emptied of all their strength.
Diego returned with wildfire in his eyes. “James, come. We go.”
“Go where?”
“Get in the car.”
James looked to Sinclair for support, but his intelligence agent only shrugged.
He didn’t like the murderous look on Diego’s face. That psychotic expression he’d noticed when waterboarding the narco. James thought it better not to argue and followed Diego to the Land Rover.
Diego drove into town without offering an explanation. Mexicans already crowded the streets on their way to work. The Land Rover buffeted the busy traffic aside with growls of the engine and a blaring horn.
He kept muttering curses to himself and gesturing out of the window at anyone slowing him down. They fought their way through El Centro until they arrived in the district of La Presa de la Olla. Diego parked them outside a white colonial mansion, the office of Guanajuato’s state governor.
“Why are we here?” James asked.
Diego ignored him and flew up the steps to the door.
He threw his shoulders into it and marched into the depths of the office.
James followed in confusion. He found Diego leaning over the table of the bespectacled secretary. She looked upon him with a cold, impassive expression. What had the governor said to upset Diego so much?
“Where is he?” Diego demanded of the secretary sitting at her battered table. “I know Rosher is around here and I want to see him. Tell him who it is.”
“Governor Rosher isn’t here,” the secretary repeated.
James groaned and plopped himself onto a chair with spongy red padding. He sensed he would be here for some time.
From the gist of the conversation, Governor Rosher had said something Diego didn’t like over the phone. Like lighting the touchpaper, Diego wanted to extract his pound of flesh. As James closed his tired eyes, he thought only of Diego’s shady business dealings. The voices of the secretary and Diego grew in volume. Two stubborn moose pushing their antlers against each other.
“Come on, Diego, he’s not here.” James got up after hearing enough. “This is a waste of time.”
Diego backed off and raised a finger at the secretary. “You tell him, I’ll be seeing him soon.”
James and Diego left the office. Out on the street, they stood among big colonial-style mansions bathed in the morning sun. Despite the luxurious surroundings, most of these homes were split up for student apartments. Towards the upper end of La Presa de la Olla, the little crime centre of Guanajuato City housed much of the city’s scum.
“This isn’t normal,” said Diego. “He said he wouldn’t work with me. He’s avoiding me. It doesn’t make any sense.”
James shrugged. “Well, the governor isn’t going to help us. I suppose we’ll have to think of something else.”
“Oh no, this isn’t over.” Diego’s voice shook with rage. “This land works in a different way to your country. Rosher knows my business and I know his. When a governor suddenly decides he doesn’t want to work with you anymore, it means someone has bought him.”
