bottom of the driveway, instead of turning right toward the airstrip where ultra lights would make drops from above, or left toward town, they drove straight. Victor looked up from his phone when the SUV didn’t turn.
“Where are we headed, Jefe?” Victor asked.
“You will see,” was all Garza said, staring out into the night sky, the satchel between his legs.
Victor appeared apprehensive, suddenly studying their surroundings rather than his cell phone. The two men in the front seat remained suspiciously quiet. The dirt road was straight and bumpy and lined with oversized cacti. Their arms jutted out into the headlights like strangely deformed beasts reaching for their prey.
Victor had to know something was wrong because the road they’d taken led nowhere and eventually dissipated into a sea of open desert. His cell phone was now on his lap and his head moved side to side searching for answers.
After a couple of minutes, Garza made eye contact with his driver and nodded. The vehicle jerked to a stop and the two soldiers in the front seat jumped out and pulled open Victor’s door.
The driver pulled Victor from the car while the other soldier pointed an assault rifle. Victor looked back at Garza with shock on his face.
“Jefe?” he cried, as they dragged him from the SUV and threw him down in the middle of the dirt road, the intense headlights forcing Victor to blink back his confusion.
Garza rolled down his window so he could hear the confrontation.
“You are a spy!” shouted a soldier.
“No,” Victor pleaded from his knees. “You are wrong. I am completely faithful.”
“Don’t lie. We have your cell phone records. We know you’ve been calling the United States.”
“Yes, to speak with our people.”
“No, you lie again. Tell us who you’re speaking with and we’ll spare your life.”
“Are you loco? I speak with no one but our contacts.” Victor desperately pointed to the SUV. “Check my phone. You will see.”
“Just tell us a name. That is all. Then you shall live. We will drive away and leave you here.”
Victor seemed to accept his fate. He held out his arms like a martyr and said, “Go ahead and shoot me now. There are no names. I would never be unfaithful.”
“You lie. We know.” One of the soldiers spat on Victor’s pants.
Victor remained with his arms out. His eyes closed. “Please, shoot me. There will never be anyone more loyal to El Jefe.”
The two soldiers hesitated. The one on the passenger side leaned to his left to gain a better view of Garza’s open window. Garza held out his arm with a thumb up. The soldiers lowered their rifles and nodded. Garza opened his door and went around to the front of the car. He gestured with his head to his men and they wandered off into the desert.
On his knees Victor opened his eyes. “Jefe?”
Garza reached out with an open palm. “Come on,” Garza said, pulling Victor to his feet.
Victor was stiff and suspicious. He glanced into the desert to see the two soldiers lighting a match and smoking a joint.
Garza gripped Victor’s shoulders and locked him into a ferocious stare. “You are my number one warrior. I will never doubt you again.”
Victor just breathed.
Garza nodded to the SUV idling next to them. “Come on,” he said. “Get in. We have much to talk about.”
Victor returned to his seat in the SUV and remained quiet while Garza closed the door.
“Relax, Victor,” Garza said. “There’s a spy within our midst. I needed to be sure it wasn’t you. That’s all.”
“So this was just a test?” Victor said, a little puzzlement in his voice.
“That is all.” Garza shrugged. “I apologize if I frightened you.”
Victor shoved his boss affectionately. “Frightened? You want to see my underpants?”
Garza laughed. “You seemed rather nervous, eh?”
“I was prepared to die,” Victor said.
Garza pointed a finger at him. “Because you are loyal,” he said. “You had nothing to barter with.”
Victor took a deep breath and slumped back in his seat, finally convinced he was going to survive.
Garza reached down into his satchel, grabbed a large brown bag and handed it to Victor. He turned the interior lights on so his warrior could examine its contents. “This is for you.”
Victor looked into the bag and turned to Garza with a look of disbelief. “One hundred thousand dollars?”
Garza had trained his men to recognize packages of money and to formulate an approximate amount according to size, weight and denominations.
“Very good,” Garza said. “That is the precise amount.”
“But. .”
“Because you are my most valuable asset,” Garza said. “I need you to be my eyes and ears. I need you to protect me and to find out who this spy is.”
“Yes, Jefe,” Victor’s voice had regained a sense of authority.
“There is something else,” Garza said, peeking outside at the two soldiers in the distance. “We have a shipment to bring over in forty-eight hours.”
“Okay.”
“This particular shipment is different. It is not something we normally do.” Garza raised his eyebrows for affect.
“Different?”
“Yes. This is not from one of our people. This is from overseas.”
Victor seemed in deep thought. “That man, last night. Him?”
“Yes. I don’t like dealing with such people, but,” Garza pointed to the bag full of money in Victor’s lap. “Their pockets are simply too full of oil money and we cannot afford to miss the opportunity to take their funds.”
“I do not trust that man, Jefe,” Victor said.
Garza frowned. “Me neither, my friend. But once we make this transport we will never have to hear from him again.”
There was a chirp and Victor leaned over to retrieve his phone from the floor. He looked at the screen and said, “They want to know what to do with the border agent’s daughter.”
Garza shrugged. “Tell them to keep her alive for now. She might still be worth something. But they can do whatever they wish in the meantime.” Then he gave Victor a sinister grin. “And I do mean anything.”
Chapter 10
President John Merrick was getting his hair cut in the White House salon while making small talk with Georgia Faucet. Georgia had been the White House beautician for nearly two decades and understood the dynamic of a multitasking Commander-in-Chief. Merrick nodded and gave monosyllabic answers while retrieving e-mail updates on his tablet computer.
“So when’s he coming?” Georgia said, working her shears along the side of his head.
Merrick looked up from the tablet on his lap. “When’s who coming?”
“You know.”
“No,” Merrick said. “I don’t. Tell me.”
Just then, a large man wearing a gray suit carrying a napkin full of olives came into the small three-chair salon.
“Him,” she said, pointing her scissors.
Secretary of State Samuel Fisk finessed a greasy green olive into his mouth and chewed.
Merrick laughed. “Have we become that predictable, Georgia?”
The beautician grinned. “Yup.”
Fisk sat in the vacant chair next to Merrick and offered him an olive.
