“Stand up, please,” the bartender said in English as he joined the bouncer at Harvath’s table. “You can leave the knife on your chair.”
The bartender was a barrel-chested man in his late fifties. He wasn’t as big as the doorman, but he looked like he could hold his own and had done so on many occasions. Harvath didn’t want to take on either of them, much less both, but he could if he had to.
Harvath removed the knife from beneath his leg, set it on the table, and stood up. If he needed it, he wanted it close.
The bartender took two steps back and beckoned Harvath forward. “Over here, please.”
Harvath stepped around the table and walked toward the man.
“That’s far enough. Hands on your head, please.”
“What’s this all about?” asked Harvath.
“It’s just a formality. Hands up, please.”
Harvath did as he was told and was given a thorough pat-down by the bouncer.
When he was finished the bartender told Harvath he could lower his arms and added, “Norberto is going to look through your luggage now. Okay?”
It sounded like a question, but Harvath knew better and simply nodded.
As the doorman did his due diligence, the bartender continued talking. “As best we can tell, no one followed you from the airport.”
“Who’s
“My name is Guillermo,” said the bartender. “But beyond that, I don’t think we want to know much more about each other. Correct?”
“Probably not,” replied Harvath as he watched the bouncer going through his bag. “Are things this dangerous now in Monterrey?”
“Things are this dangerous everywhere now,
The bartender smiled and gave a slight bow of his head. “Consider this a portal. You can’t get there without going through here.”
Harvath wondered what Nicholas had gotten him into. “Your devotion to protecting children is admirable.”
“Let’s just say that I have a personal interest in making sure nothing happens.”
He wasn’t surprised. If there really was an orphanage and Nicholas was somehow using it for his own ends, why shouldn’t other shady characters be doing so as well?
He was about to ask the bartender a question when the bouncer zipped up his wheelie bag and nodded.
“It looks like you’re ready to go,” Guillermo stated.
“What do I owe you for the food?”
“It’s on the house.”
Harvath pulled out another twenty-dollar bill, left it on the table for the waitress, and followed the bartender out the back of the tavern.
CHAPTER 28
A block over, they came to a three-story building surrounded by a high concrete wall with a heavy wooden door that looked like it could be a couple of hundred years old. Guillermo produced a ring of keys from his pocket while the bouncer, Norberto, watched the street.
The bartender located the proper key, inserted it into the old iron lock, and turned. There was a loud click and then the door swung open. Harvath followed the man inside, and Norberto brought up the rear.
They had entered a wide rectangular courtyard. A jungle gym a stone’s throw from a statue of the Virgin Mary was all he needed to see to tell them where they were.
The walls were covered with murals of children playing interspersed with stories from the lives of the saints. Above the entryway was an inscription in Latin:
Beneath the inscription, Guillermo produced another key, opened the door, and shuttled his party through. “Wait here,” he said, once they were inside. “I will find Sister Marta.”
The interior reminded Harvath a lot of his grade school—the linoleum floors, the wooden lockers, the black- and-white photographs along the walls, even the faint scent of disinfectant—were almost identical. With all the similarities, and remembering how so many of the nuns had looked alike to him back then, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Sister Marta had been a dead ringer for the principal of his school, Sister McKenna. Sister Marta, though, turned out to be nothing like Sister McKenna.
When she appeared, she was wearing blue jeans and a Rutgers sweatshirt. She was in her late thirties with dark chin-length hair and, despite not wearing any makeup, was quite pretty.
The bartender said something in rapid Spanish to her that Harvath didn’t catch. All he was able to understand was how he addressed her. It wasn’t as “Sister Marta” but rather Martita, adding
As the door closed behind them, Sister Marta welcomed Harvath and extended her hand. “I’m Sister Marta.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sister,” said Harvath, trying to figure out what her relationship with the bartender was.
“You may call me Marta if you like. We’re not very formal around here.”
“Is that why Guillermo called you Martita?”
The nun laughed. “We may be informal, but we’re not
“Your English is very good. Did you go to school there?” Harvath asked, indicating the university on her sweatshirt.
“No. We get lots of clothing donations here. The items that are too big for the children, we pass on to the poor. Occasionally, the staff will find something that they think will fit me and they set it aside. That’s where this came from.”
“What about your English?” Harvath asked, intrigued. There was an aura of instant likability about her. She was strong and, like most nuns he’d known, could probably be quite strict when she had to be, but she was also very personable.
“My family takes education very seriously. I learned English in school and French too. I teach both to the children here.”
“They’re all somewhere sleeping right now?”
“Yes,” said Sister Marta with a smile. “Upstairs. It’s the only time I can honestly say that most of them remind me of little angels. During the daytime, it can be a different story.”
Harvath smiled in return. “I’m sure you have your work cut out for you.”
She waved her hand as if to sweep the topic aside. “It’s late and you’re not here to learn about the running of an orphanage.”
“To be honest, Sister, I don’t exactly know why I’m here.”
“You’re here because it’s where God wants you to be.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” said Harvath, “but in this case, God used an intermediary.”
“You’re referring to Nicholas.”
“Yes, and I’m assuming I’m here because you can help me get to him.”
Sister Marta nodded. “I have arranged to get you aboard a special flight tomorrow that will take you across the border.”
