South

by Lance Charnes

  “So you shopped him to–” Luis hooked a thumb at Casillas “–his people.”

  “Yeah. It had to be done.”

  “Then they made you capo.” Ray didn’t answer. Just as well. “Congratulations, Ray. I hope you two’ll be happy together. Now give me Bel and Nora’s people, I’ll get Nora on a plane and that’ll be done and I’ll be done. I’m out of this. I retire.”

  “It’s not so easy, Señor Ojeda.” Casillas spoke Spanish in a voice so low, Luis had to lean forward to hear it, which was probably the point. “We need the woman. Khaled.”

  Luis glanced toward Ray, who nodded. “Why?”

  “It’s not your concern. Bring her to us, then you and your wife can go.”

  “Or?”

  Ray winced.

  Casillas shrugged again. “Or we kill you and your wife, your son, your mother and father and brother and sister and anyone who belongs to them. We burn your home and your business. In the end we get the woman anyway, because she can’t hide forever and we know she can’t move by herself here. Your choice.” He cocked his head, touched his phone pod, then murmured something Luis couldn’t catch.

  Everything inside him went dead. Knowing this could happen was one thing; hearing Casillas recite the whole litany with a smile on his face—even a fake one—was terrifying. Luis took a couple deep breaths before he said, “Nice people you hooked us up with, Ray.”

  “That’s why we need to be their friends, you know?”

  Talk about an offer he couldn’t refuse. Luis leaned back, stared at Ray without seeing him. He couldn’t force himself to look at that psychopath Casillas. Random thoughts crawled through the sludge in his brain. “What do you want her for?”

  “It’s none of your concern,” Casillas repeated. Now he sounded irritated.

  Ray raised a palm toward Casillas. “Jorge, let me tell him.”

  “It’s not his business, Ramiro. He knows what he—”

  “Please, let me. It’ll make a difference.” Casillas shrugged and sat back. Ray leaned toward Luis. “We’re going to turn her over to the FBI.”

  Luis sat stunned for a few moments. “What for, the reward? Are you nuts?”

  “No, not the reward. They were never going to pay it anyway. You see, the Bureau and the Zetas…have an…understanding.”

  Stunned again. Luis sat there with his mouth hanging open. He looked toward Casillas, who nodded, then back to Ray. “The FBI’s in bed with—” he pointed “—them.”

  “That’s harsh. They share some intel, give the Bureau access to prisoners. If someone from another cartel goes into Zeta territory from El Norte, they give him back to the Feds. The Zetas and the Bureau lay off each other up north. That kind of thing.”

  That was how the FBI found out about Luis. “Why would the FBI bend over for them?”

  Ray spread his hands. “It’s more than just the Bureau. It’s higher than that.”

  “Higher? The government is hooked up with the Zetas?” After a while, Luis just couldn’t be surprised anymore.

  “I don’t understand why this is difficult for you, Señor Ojeda,” Casillas said. “México Unido is winning the war. When we merge with Pacifico Norte, we’ll control almost three-quarters of our nation. The Americano leaders, they are realistic men. They understand México Unido will be the next government of México.” He looked into Luis’ face and smiled, showing some seriously unmaintained teeth. “That so-called government in the Distrito Federal, they’re—” he made a dismissive pfft sound “—socialistas. México Unido represents capitalism and Christianity—”

  “While you cut off people’s heads and burn buildings with women and children inside.”

  Casillas waved that away. “Tactics. In the old days, the Americanos were happy enough when soldiers El Norte equipped led by officers El Norte trained shot Mexicanos in the street because they made protests. Their leaders understand us, as we understand them. We can do business together.”

  The sad part was, this was the first thing Casillas said that didn’t shock Luis. He could see those idiotas in Washington “doing business” with the Zetas. Their kind of guys. Then he thought of McGinley. “Not everybody’s on board. ICE is still after you.”

  “That will change soon.”

  “So Nora’s just something to keep El Norte sweet? That’s all?”

  “Oh, no,” Casillas said. “She’s very important, to us and to the Americanos. You see, we’ve been talking to their State Department for two years, maybe more. We have an agreement. Her escape created a problem, and an opportunity. So now, when we surrender her and her family to their Federales, the agreement will be completed.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning,” Ray said, “the U.S. recognizes the Zetas as the legitimate government of Mexico.”

  Luis let his head fall back until he could stare at the floor mural’s distorted reflection in the skylights above him. Of course they’d recognize the Zetas. Endless possibilities for all that drug money, all those weapons sales, the oil, maybe slave labor making a comeback where nobody would see it. “So those really were Zeta contractors at the safe house in El Cajon.”

  “Yes,” Casillas answered. “We need to finish this quickly before the moment passes.”

  “That’s why we need you to give us Nora,” Ray said.

  “You asked about your wife, Señor Ojeda,” Casillas said. “Please look behind you.”

  Dread began to drive out the chill that filled Luis’ mind and body. He sat up and swiveled the chair until he could see behind him.

  Three men in suits stood close together about ten feet away. A trail of blood trickled from one’s nose, another’s coat had a torn shoulder seam, the third favored his right leg. In the middle of their group stood Bel: blackening eye, bloody lip, hands behind her back. She mouthed “I’m sorry” at him.

  “Your wife is very spirited, Señor Ojeda,” Casillas reported. “She stabbed one of my men. I respect that. It’s why I won’t have her raped and killed yet. If you give us Khaled, you can have your wife and you’re free to do what you want. But if you don’t…well. Do we understand each other, Señor Ojeda?”

  67

  MONDAY, 17 MAY

  Nora was glad they’d retreated to the bathroom. She was on the verge of losing her room-service dinner. “Oh, Luis, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I never wanted this…”

  “I know.” Luis sat rigid on the toilet, torturing a towel in his fists. “Ray sold us out. Now those cabrones…”

  She turned to the sink to splash some cold water on her face. Not only had she risked her own family’s lives, she’d now dragged someone else’s family into danger. She couldn’t allow that. She stood there dripping into the basin, her forearms pressing into the marble counter, trying to bring some order to her thoughts. “You have to give me up,” she finally said.

  “No. Then those assholes win.”

  “You have to.” Nora grabbed a towel from the counter, turned and tried to focus on Luis while her face was coming unglued. “I can’t let them do anything to Bel, I’d never forgive myself. You have to give me to them.”

  Luis glared at her. “That’s stupid. You know what they’ll do to you. This is between me and them, and that’s how I’m gonna settle it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not worth an innocent life.” And by saying it, she realized the truth in her words. She let go of the—what was it, vanity?—that had made her inflict all this pain and fear and suffering on the people she loved and now on people trying to help. Now her only worth was as a bargaining chip. “The people in England have most of the important intel. It’ll take them longer to go through it without me, to figure out what’s there. I won’t be able to explain it to them. But they’ll work it out and they can still publish.”

  “In time?”

  Nora tried to remember the plan she’d worked out, when everything had to be done in what order to have the greatest effect. It all seemed so silly now. She’d tried so hard for so long to
keep control over her life and everything in it. Ever since she’d arrived at Dulles almost three weeks ago, though, her entire world had been flying apart, the pieces shattering against walls and cutting down innocent bystanders. It had to stop.

  “Call your friend, tell him I’ll come,” she finally said. “But I need you to do something for me. Ask if they’ll let Peter go. The Bureau doesn’t want him. I need you to take my children to my parents in Marseilles.” As she said the words, her heart came undone and she couldn’t stop the tears sheeting down her face. “Please don’t let them be brainwashed by some Christian zealot. Promise me you’ll do that.”

  “No, it’s not over—”

  “Promise me! I know you’ll keep your promise. Save my children. Please.”

  Luis’ chin grew harder. “If I can’t save you and Paul—if—yes, I promise I’ll get the kids out. But there’s one more thing we can try before you give up. Remember McGinley?”

  “That ICE agent? What can he do?”

  Luis pushed himself to his feet, whacked the towel into his palm, then stared straight at her face. His eyes were harder and deadlier than she’d ever seen them. “I’m going to find out.”

  68

  MONDAY, 17 MAY

  “McGinley here.”

  Ojeda’s voice. “What did you find out?”

  “Hello to you too, amigo. It’s a little late for you, ain’t it? What I found out is maybe you’re as smart as I first thought. There’s something going on, but damned if I can root it out.”

  “But you agree the FBI’s got some kind of back-door thing going on?”

  “Well…shit. I reckon so. Can’t prove it, though.”

  “You interested in knowing more?”

  “What’ve you got?”

  “In a while. Do you think I’m a terrorist?”

  “I think you’re up to your neck in Cartel business, which pisses me off. And I know you’re wrapped up with that Khaled woman, which pisses me off more. But a terrorist? Well…”

  “Come on, McGinley.”

  “Aw, hell. No. You’re not the type.”

  “Thanks. Is Nora the type? You’ve seen her record, right?”

  “I’ve seen it.”

  “You believe the Bureau’s story on her? That she helped with 10/19 even though she was in Somalia?”

  “What do you want, Ojeda?”

  “The Bureau’s lying to you about Tavo, and they’re lying to you about me. We agree on that. So you think maybe they’re lying to you about Nora?”

  Silence.

  “McGinley, are you there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. What do you want?”

  “It’s time you met Nora. Listen to what she has to say. I think it’ll expand your mind.”

  “Hell, son, now you’re talking sense. I’ve wanted to get to her ever since I heard—”

  “No. This isn’t me handing her over. This is me setting up a meeting we all walk away from when it’s done.”

  “And why do I want to do that?”

  “Because I’m going to tell you some things straight from the Zeta’s mouth. Things you’re gonna want to confirm. And then I’m gonna give you a target that’s way better than a whistleblower. If you play it right, you can come out a hero. Are you ready?”

  69

  TUESDAY, 18 MAY

  Not even nine A.M. yet and the traffic going into Mexicali was no faster than McGinley could walk, so he parked in a clip-joint of a lot a few hundred yards north of the line and hoofed it across. The CBP troop at the checkpoint counter just waved him through when McGinley badged him. Just like that, he was in Mexico. It always amazed him how easy it was to get in, and how hard to get out.

  He spotted Ojeda standing on the corner next to the ramp to the tunnel under López Mateos, the main drag into town, with palm trees and a white iron picket fence behind him. McGinley did a quick sweep for Ojeda’s backup, if there was any. They could be anywhere in this dogpile, cars and people everywhere, but he didn’t see any guns except on the Mex police so he figured he was as safe as he’d get.

  He dodged the swarm of taxis and delivery trucks rounding Zorilla into López Mateos and strode to within a couple paces of Ojeda. God damn, the man looked bad. Huge bags under eyes that looked like roadmaps, buzzed-off hair. “You look like shit, amigo.”

  “Didn’t sleep,” Ojeda said.

  “Me, neither.”

  “Probably not the same reason.” Ojeda held out a hand, palm-up. “Give me your phone.”

  No use arguing with the man. McGinley twisted the phone pod off his ear and dropped it into Ojeda’s palm. Ojeda fiddled with it, popped out the battery, then stowed it and the battery in a foil pouch like the kind that come out of MREs. “I hope you cleaned that out.”

  “Don’t worry.” He shoved the pouch into a shirt pocket, then took a little black box with an antenna from the other and waved the thing all over McGinley. Looking for transmitters; good thing he hadn’t worn any or he’d be taking clothes off out here in the middle of everything. Ojeda finished, tucked away his toy and said, “Let’s get a taxi.”

  They rode through everybody’s idea of a border town—one-story storefronts, every other one a farmacia or dentist or cambio, arches, big ads and little neon signs, yellows and reds faded by the sun and too much time gone between coats of paint. Buildings from the Twenties or Thirties, curved corners and details around the windows they just don’t do anymore. It reminded him of some country towns back home, the ones that never got rich enough to tear down everything old.

  “You ever notice,” he asked Ojeda, “how hard it’s getting to tell Mexico from America?”

  “It’s not that hard. The roads down here are better, and there’s no Ryantowns in the parks.”

  True enough. Buses, too. McGinley couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen a city bus back home. “How far are we going?”

  “You’ll find out. I need your weapon.”

  “Did you see a weapon on me?”

  “Mind if I check?” McGinley sighed and scooted to the front edge of the back seat. Ojeda ran his hands around McGinley’s belt and lower legs, then pulled the S&W Bodyguard backup pistol from its ankle holster. “I guess this is a toy, then?”

  “Forgot I had it.”

  They passed a city park—strange to see one of those without company logos all over like a NASCAR racer—turned right onto a commercial street where half the buildings were behind scaffolds, then stopped at a church, white with brown trim and a fancy bell tower. “We’re here,” Ojeda announced. “Hope you don’t hate Catholics as much as you hate Muslims.”

  McGinley reckoned he had that one coming, so he let it go. He expected the church would be one of those Mex fever dreams full of carved saints with blood all over them and gewgahs on every flat surface, the kind of place that gave little kids nightmares. But this one was different: plain white walls, simple wood pews, one icon over the altar, small, clear windows above the big arches between the side aisles and the church’s nave. A sprinkle of people sat in pews toward the business end of the place.

  “I gave some money to the parish in the Cartel’s name, so they’ll leave us alone,” Ojeda said. “Keep your voice down, try not to swear too much.”

  McGinley snapped, “I know how to behave in church.”

  He followed Ojeda to the right side aisle, where a woman sat next to a little girl. It wasn’t until McGinley got a few feet away that he recognized her. The woman stood when he reached the end of her pew.

  “Special Agent Nora Khaled, FBI,” she said. She held out her hand to shake. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

  He looked in her eyes—big, dark, flat, hard—and decided to skip the handshake. “Special Agent Jack McGinley, ICE HSI.” He nodded toward Ojeda. “Your boyfriend here tells a good story.”

  “Good. This is my daughter, Hope.”

  Of course she’d pick a name like “Hope.” It probably was really some weird rag thing that sounded like gargling. But she was a cute little
thing—like her mama, if he had to admit it—with thick black hair and eyes that covered half her face. He bent to get down to her level. “Pleased to meet you, Hope.”

  “Are you Mr. Luis’ friend?”

  “Mr. Luis and I do business from time to time.”

  “Are you Mommy’s friend?”

  He most certainly was not, but a bitty thing like her wasn’t part of any of that. “I just met your mama. We’re gonna have us a talk.”

  The girl tilted her head and frowned. He had that effect on women. “You talk funny.”

  “Why, yes I do.” When he stood, he caught Khaled watching him and her little girl, one of her eyebrows cocked up. “You always bring your daughter to your meetings?”

  “No, but I wasn’t going to leave her alone in the hotel. I also thought it might help if you saw that we start out as children instead of being hatched as full-grown jihadis.”

  Ouch. “I appreciate that you’re more-or-less human, Mrs. Khaled. You wanted to talk? Let’s talk.”

  “Luis?” Khaled hauled her daughter off the pew and passed her to Ojeda, who held her against him with his right arm. McGinley noticed for the first time the girl’s missing left shoe and the Ace bandage wrapped around her foot. Khaled touched the girl’s arm. “Cupcake, I need to talk to Agent McGinley for a while. Stay with Mr. Luis and be a good girl, okay?”

  “Okay, Mommy.”

  Jesus. Just like normal people. Maybe that was her point. Her jeans and tee shirt made her look like any young mom he could see anywhere. Her English was probably better than his, no accent anywhere to be found. Put on a little makeup and lay off the triceps some, maybe grow the hair out a skosh and she’d even be half-pretty. In short, nothing at all like what he’d expected.

  “Let’s sit,” she said. She pulled a slate out of a little blue-and-black gym bag behind her, switched it on and set it on the seat between them. Then Khaled looked deep into his head with those big, brown eyes of hers. “Remember 10/19?”