North Florida
DJ pulled the old pickup into a truck stop and parked at the pumps. Nobody sold regular gas anymore and he knew that running unleaded through the old engine was going to do even more damage, but he had little choice. He didn’t want to risk going into the store itself to find a lead substitute for the tank. There were cameras inside the store and he felt it best to stay as far away from those as he could.
He slid the dead cartel member’s card into the slot and waited, praying that it would work. The small screen told him to choose the grade of fuel and he quickly punched the big yellow button for the cheapest stuff.
He shoved the nozzle into the tank and tried to lean against the bed nonchalantly as the pump ran. He slowly scanned the area and nothing set off his radar. He had to force his hand to stay away from the butt of the pistol tucked into his pants as people walked by. He watched them all intently through the mirrored lenses of the old aviator sunglasses, his head barely moving as he assessed each person.
When the nozzle clicked, DJ nearly jumped. He had to continually force himself to remain calm as he shook the nozzle off and hung it back at the pump. He slowly screwed the cap back onto the tank and slid back in behind the wheel.
He started the truck and scanned the area once more. He knew he had to get off of the highways, but he had no idea where to go.
He sat motionless for a moment, his mind racing.
Should he call the Clearing House? Should he dare risk it?
A honk behind him had his eyes shifting to the rear view mirror and the soccer mom behind him in the minivan. He shoved the truck into gear and pulled away from the pumps, the truck shuddering as the clutch protested.
DJ pulled out of the truck stop and back onto the freeway. He knew what he’d have to do, he just didn’t want to do it. If the Murillo cartel had tracked him down in the swamps of Florida, surely they could find any of his fellow team members.
He slowed the truck at the next exit and began to pull off the freeway again. If any of the others were still alive, he needed to warn them. And the only way to do that was to do something stupid. He’d have to pop up on radar. Even if it was just for a moment.
Central Texas
Lisa took the keys to the hotel room and gave the clerk a quick smile before disappearing out the door. She had to haggle to get a room at the end of the small complex, but she wanted to limit the number of neighboring rooms, if it was possible.
She quickly crossed the parking lot and let herself in. She had parked the Mercedes behind the building, away from passing eyes. If anybody was going to find that car, they’d have to cruise through the lot and behind the main building.
She peeled the clothes from her body and soaked them in the bathtub, watching the water turn brownish red from the blood. She sighed as she gripped the heavy material and began squeezing as much liquid from it as she could.
She opened the drain then turned the cold water on, rinsing the blood down the drain. She scrubbed at the clothes with the tiny bar of soap until the water began to rinse clear then squeezed them out and hung them up to dry.
She flipped the water in the tub over to hot then pulled the shower curtain closed. She scrubbed the tiny brown dots that had freckled her skin and washed the sticky residue from her body.
Lisa leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the cool tile as the hot water beat down her back. “This is so wrong,” she muttered, lightly pounding her fist against the wall of the shower. “What the hell do they want? How have I got anything to do with these assholes?” She pushed off the wall and slowly turned around, her mind racing, trying to connect dots. “They have to be cartel. But, I never had dealings with cartels when I was with the task force. The only cartels I personally dealt with were in Colombia and…”
She wiped the water from her face and kicked the shower off with her foot. After wrapping a towel around her she strode through the small room and snatched the burner phone from the small table.
She hesitated for just a moment, her finger trembling as she recalled the number. Finally she punched the green call button and sat down on the bed.
She nearly hung up when she heard ringing through the speaker but then a voice answered. “Clearinghouse, how may I direct your call?”
Lisa swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. “Uh, tracking please.”
“Please hold while I transfer you to that department.”
Lisa could feel her arms trembling as the phone rang again then a deep male voice answered, “Tracking and allocation.”
“I’d like to track some packages.”
“Very well.” She could hear typing through the line. “Customer ID.”
“Vasquez, 1682.”
“Confirm first initial.”
“Lima.”
“Customer ID confirmed.” She could hear more typing then the voice returned. “Date of your order?”
Lisa squeezed her eyes shut, her mind recalling a past she had fought to forget. “I don’t have an exact date. It would have been late spring or early summer of ’94.”
“Very well.” More typing. “Parcels you’d like tracked?”
“All parcels involved.” She tried to sound more confident as she spoke.
The voice paused for a moment. “Please confirm the operator you dealt with at the time of the order.”
Lisa felt the bile rise in her throat as the name came from her lips. “Laughlin.”
“Stand by.” After a brief pause the voice returned. “Our records indicate that two parcels have been canceled since the date of the initial order. One
