The woman takes another moment to process this, then nods and looks down at the children. She scoops the boy up again, grips the girl’s arm, and starts toward me.
I hold up a hand to stop her.
“What’s your name?”
“My name?”
“Yes, your name.”
She takes a moment to think about, like she doesn’t remember her own name.
“Maria.”
“And the children?”
“This is Jorge and Ana.”
“Well, Maria, the boat we’re about to get on is a boat you’ve never been on before. It’s very important that you secure yourself and the children so that they don’t fall out.”
Her eyes widen at this.
“We might … fall out?”
“If you don’t hold on, yes.”
I turn and start toward the trees and rocks when Maria speaks again.
“What is your name?”
I shake my head.
“You don’t want to know my name.”
“Why not?”
“The less you know about me, the better.”
I lead them past the private section of the beach, past the trees and rocks, and two minutes later we enter another small clearing. The Combat Rubber Raiding Craft is right where I left it.
The CRRC is a specially fabricated rubber inflatable boat often used by Navy SEALs and Marines. There’s no outward protection, so it’s mostly used for night missions.
I drag the CRRC to the edge of the water and help Maria and the children into the boat. Maria uses some of the ropes to strap herself and the children in.
I push the boat farther out until the water gets up to my waist, and then I crawl onto the boat and position myself near the back by the outboard motor.
“Hold on.”
I pull the cord to get the motor going, and steer us out deeper into the darkness.
Seven
I don’t go too far out into the water, but just far enough where I can still see the coast. It’s maybe five o’clock in the morning now, and the sky is starting to grow brighter minute by minute.
Maria sits at the front of the CRRC, holding both children. Neither child is sobbing now. They look too preoccupied trying to figure out what’s happening and where they’re going.
I have a GPS device that shows where we are in relation to the coast. I used it to find Ernesto Diaz’s compound from the ocean, and I use it now to get us back to where I had launched. It’s ten miles away, and takes nearly thirty minutes before I veer us inland.
I kill the engine right before we hit the sand. We come in smooth enough, just a slight jerk, and I immediately hop out to push the CRRC forward.
I help the children out, the girl first and then the boy, and then Maria climbs out of the boat onto the sand.
Keeping the CRRC where it is, I hurry over to the rocks several yards away. The gas canister is still there, along with a backpack. There are only two bottles of water in the backpack. My throat is parched, but I hurry back and offer the two bottles to the children.
The children don’t want to take the bottles from me. Now that we’re back on land, they look ready to start crying again.
“Are they thirsty?”
Maria takes the bottles from me and hands them to the children. She encourages them to drink. Jorge seems more eager than Ana, twisting the cap off and gurgling half the bottle before Maria tells him to slow down.
I return to the CRRC and slosh the gas in the canister all over the thing. I set the canister inside and open the backpack. The only other item is another block of plastic explosive. This one’s charge is a bit different. I went old school and triggered it with an egg timer.
Back in the water now, I position the CRRC so its tip is pointed back out toward the ocean. Using bungee cords, I secure the outboard motor. I set the egg timer for sixty seconds, then think better of it and make it ninety seconds. I replace the timer and the block of plastic in the backpack, step behind the CRRC, pull the engine’s cord, and let it tear away.
I’m worried that the lack of weight will cause the thing to tip up and flip over, but it travels at a good speed, heading farther and farther away from shore.
I stand in the water and count down the seconds in my head, visualizing that egg timer in my mind, and right when I get to ninety, there’s a sudden boom and the CRRC erupts into flames. From this distance, it’s hard to tell what’s even on fire, but the gas works fast, devouring the manufactured rubber, and within a minute the whole thing disappears.
I turn back to find that Maria and the children haven’t moved. Jorge now grips an empty bottle, but Ana doesn’t look like she’s even opened hers yet.
“Let’s go.”
For some reason I expect Maria to refuse again, or for the children to start sobbing, but they follow me without a word.
I lead them up a trail away from the beach onto another bluff. Unlike the bluff that Ernesto Diaz’s house once occupied, this one is mostly deserted except for a brick building. I’m not sure what the brick building is for, exactly, but it’s small and rundown and empty and sits a good quarter mile from the main road.
An El Camino is parked behind the building. I stole it late last night.
“Do you know what this building used to be?”
Maria nods slightly.
“Many years ago an old man opened it to rent surfboards to tourists.”
“What happened?”
“No tourist in their right mind wants to come here. The man lost all his money and died broke. And the building”—she shrugs—“nobody ever did anything with it.”
The windows and door are boarded over. Graffiti stains the weathered exterior.
I ask, “Where do you live?”
Maria stares at me like she doesn’t understand the question.
“Where is your home?”
No response.
“Do you know where the closest
