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  They headed for the Avenida de San Juan.

  CHAPTER 33

  CAL AND KELLY WALKED TWO BLOCKS before either of them uttered a word. Kelly broke the silence.

  “Don’t you think we should call the FBI now? It’s time to let them handle everything, right?”

  “Almost,” Cal said. “I want to check out the address first. I could be wrong about it.”

  “OK, fine. And then we call the FBI. I’m ready to get out of here and let the professionals do their job.”

  “Agreed.”

  After walking two more blocks, they arrived at Avenida de San Juan. If there was a roastery nearby, it wasn’t in use. The scent of diesel and rotting garbage overpowered any aroma of coffee beans, if there even were any. Approximately a hundred yards away was a building with the address from the cryptic message given to them by the priest. The white stucco building looked like a storage facility of some type, definitely not a roastery. Opaque square windows flanked a large roll-up door. A small door on the near corner of the building appeared to be the only other way inside.

  Cal and Kelly scouted out the quiet street. An elderly man pushing a wooden cart, pedaling floor mats and processed pastries was the only person on the street.

  “This looks like a great place to hide your drugs and weapons,” Cal said.

  Kelly agreed. “No kidding. This place is quiet. Or maybe they keep it this way.”

  “Let’s get a look inside and then I’m calling Solterbeck.”

  Cal and Kelly crossed the street, checking to see if any new people had wandered onto Avenida de San Juan. They hadn’t. Only the squeaking wheel of the old man’s cart and a few distant car horns interrupted the eerie silence.

  Cal approached the door and jiggled the handle. It was open. He turned back to Kelly and winked at her before slipping inside. Kelly followed him.

  The inside of the room was vast and appeared mostly empty. The ceiling stretched three stories high and was vacant with the exception of a catwalk that hung between the wooden trusses. Several storage containers were double stacked on their right as they walked forward. The concrete floor was swept clean. A faint smell of coffee beans permeated the air, but the smell of gunpowder was stronger. As they walked deeper into the building, Cal saw a row of machines that looked like they were used to make bullets. He caught the glare from several casings resting on top of the machines.

  Just as Cal quickened his pace in an effort to inspect the machines, Kelly screamed. He stopped and spun around to see her holding her hand over her mouth and pointing. Rivera’s body hung from the ceiling.

  “Noooooo!” Cal screamed, abandoning all sense of secrecy.

  “Cal, we’ve got to get out of here,” Kelly said.

  Bam!

  The door slammed shut. Cal and Kelly spun toward the entrance to see the looming shadow of Diaz.

  * * *

  RICKY LONGSHORE HAD BEEN WAITING patiently to hear from Agent Anderson at the FBI. The feds instructed to keep the line open and be alert for any more unusual activity. It had been a quiet week, all things considered.

  But Saturday morning, another suspicious bet appeared. It wasn’t unusual for people to place large sums of money on the underdog. But extraordinarily high amounts from new bettors always made Longshore uneasy. The relative anonymity afforded people at The Oasis made this easy to do, especially when they placed the bet in cash.

  Longshore called a few of his friends at other sports books to see if anyone had placed suspect bets in the last 24 hours. Nothing. It was business as usual. But Longshore was convinced that maybe there was something else at play, maybe someone else had knowledge of the fix. He couldn’t be sure, but the man who placed the suspicious bet was staying in one of the suites at The Oasis. It would be easy to keep track of him if anything else about him seemed suspect.

  CHAPTER 34

  “YOU’RE NOT GOING ANYWHERE,” Diaz said. He walked slowly toward the journalists. “There’s only one way to get out of here alive—and that’s with me.”

  Cal placed his hands in the air as an act of surrender. He had already run from this beast once before and barely escaped. His chances of a repeat performance with Kelly in tow weren’t nearly as good among the unfamiliar streets of Juarez. Kelly followed Cal’s lead and did the same. Cal glanced once more at Rivera’s body dangling from the rafters and winced.

  “This way,” Diaz said, pointing toward the door with his gun.

  They walked through the door and were greeted by two more of Hernandez’s men. The men shoved Cal and Kelly into a van that was parked curbside on the still-quiet street.

  Diaz followed them, keeping his gun pointed at them.

  “Mr. Hernandez found out you were working with Rivera by trying to fake your deaths. Mr. Hernandez doesn’t like employees who aren’t loyal,” Diaz said. He paused. Then he finished his thought. “You should have minded your own business.”

  Cal didn’t like being talked down to either, especially by a meathead who made his living by torturing and terrorizing others. He glanced at Kelly, who was watching Cal intently.

  “It gets worse before it gets better, right?” she said.

  “Shut up! No more talking!” Diaz growled.

  Diaz then took two handkerchiefs and blindfolded his two prisoners. It was all for show. Once Cal and Kelly took them off, they would know where they were.

  After three minutes, the van stopped abruptly. Cal could hear the van door sliding open. He felt Diaz’s beefy paws grab his arm and yank him out of the van and onto the ground. Cal tumbled out and felt Kelly do the same.

  “Get up, you two!” Diaz yelled. “I have a special surprise for you!”

  The two men helped Diaz hustle Cal and Kelly through a door. Once inside, Diaz ripped the blindfolds off of them, revealing a familiar environment: the auto repair shop.

  Josuel was the first person they saw. He grinned at both of them.

  “Hola,” he said.

  Cal lunged at him before Diaz constrained him.

  “What kind of cousin are you? Doesn’t family mean anything to you?” Cal said, glaring at Josuel.

  “Family means everything to me. Carlos was related to me on my mother’s side of the family through marriage. But Mr. Hernandez is my father’s uncle. What do you say in the USA? ‘Blood is thicker than water’?” Josuel laughed and then sucker punched Cal, who staggered back before falling down.

  “Don’t you ever talk to me like that again?! Do you understand, gringo?”

  Grimacing, Cal looked up at Josuel and slowly nodded.

  Cal got back up to his feet and looked around. That’s when he noticed Jake sitting in the office, watching a small television that wasn’t there before.

  “Tie them up with the kid,” Diaz said.

  One of Hernandez’s men marched Cal and Kelly into the office. Jake, entranced by the television, didn’t look up. Once the ropes were secured, the man locked the three hostages into the office and left. Cal watched Diaz discussing something with his underlings. There was no question who was in charge.

  Cal turned to Kelly. She looked tired and beaten. The emotional ups and downs were taking their toll on her.

  “Kelly, I know this has been rough, but I need you to pay close attention. You need to memorize this number and password in case we get separated. Do you understand?”

  She didn’t answer his question.

  “What are you going to do? Cal, don’t do anything crazy!” she begged.

  “Look, I don’t know what’s going to happen, but this is important OK. Memorize this and don’t forget it.”

  Cal went over the numbers and the password with Kelly. It would get her to their FBI handler, who could arrange an extraction if necessary. Once he was satisfied that she knew the numbers, Cal thought it might be a good idea to build some trust with Jake.

  “Hey, Jake, I’m Cal Murphy and this is Kelly Mendoza. Your dad and mom are really worried about you.”

  Jake hadn’t moved since the
y entered the office, staring at the television.

  “We’re going to get you out of here, OK?”

  Jake turned and looked at Cal. There was a three-inch cut on Jake’s right cheek that Cal hadn’t noticed when he first looked at him.

  “Are you OK? Have they been treating you well?”

  Jake turned back toward the television, still in a trance.

  “I know you’ve been through a lot recently, but we’re going to do our best to get you out of here.”

  Jake said nothing, leaving only the silly sound effects from the cartoon he was watching to fill the dead air.

  Cal looked at Kelly. “He’s been through a lot obviously.”

  He tried once more.

  “Look, Jake. I know you don’t know us and you may not want to trust us, but we want to help you get back with your mom and dad. If we run, I want you to run too and stay with us, OK?”

  Still no response. Cal would have to trust that Jake heard, understood, and would comply when the time came. Otherwise, it would all be for naught.

  * * *

  SOLTERBECK WAS GROWING CONCERNED. He should have heard from Cal and Kelly by now. It was getting late in the afternoon and still no word.

  Then his phone rang.

  “Sir, I’m patching through a call to you. They requested to speak specifically to you,” said the FBI dispatcher.

  “Who is it?”

  “He wouldn’t say, sir. Here he is.”

  “Solterbeck.”

  “Mr. Solterbeck, we need to make a trade.”

  “Who is this?”

  “Who I am is not important. Who I want you to release from your custody is. I want you to release a prisoner by the name of Hector Gonzalez. He’s serving a sentence in Pollock. You’ll do exactly as I say if you want to see two certain American journalists alive again.”

  “We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

  “That’s a lie and you know it. But neither am I a terrorist. I’m more of an opportunist.”

  “We want the kid, too.”

  “The kid? My offer only involves two journalists—a Mr. Murphy and a Ms. Mendoza. I will exchange them for Hector at ten o’clock tomorrow morning at the following coordinates.”

  Solterbeck took down the coordinates without saying a word.

  “See you there, Agent Solterbeck.”

  The line went dead.

  Solterbeck slammed his phone down. He picked his cell phone up and texted his team to be at the office within an hour for an emergency meeting.

  He then dialed the number for the U.S. penitentiary in Pollock. He already had a plan.

  CHAPTER 35

  RICKY LONGSHORE WANDERED DOWN THE HALLWAY to the security suite to check in on his mystery guest. A bank of high definition screens blanketed the far wall as well as the near wall to his right. Three Oasis security agents watched the screen with intense interest. Two of the agents were drinking coffees from Starbucks while the other was draining a Red Bull without taking his eyes off the screen.

  “You guys still have eyes on our mystery guest?” Longshore asked.

  “You mean, Dick Nixon?” one of the agents asked, chuckling. He pointed to the screen so Longshore could watch. The man was wearing a Dolphins’ jersey, jeans, a Dolphins’ cap and sunglasses. He also had a full dark beard.

  “Is that what he checked in under?”

  “Yep. Paid for his room in cash.”

  “For what he lacks in originality of a pseudonym, he certainly makes up for in mystery. What has he been doing today?”

  “Oh, nothing exciting. He’s played a couple of games at the blackjack tables. But no booze or girls, if that’s what you mean.”

  “He hasn’t been to my sports book again, so I was just wondering if he’s some high roller. But apparently not, eh?”

  “Looks like a small time gambler to me.”

  “OK, keep me posted if he does anything else suspicious.”

  Longshore reached for the doorknob to leave the room before one of his agents shouted excitedly.

  “Look, his beard just fell off,” he said pointing at the screen.

  Near the entrance of a bathroom, the guest was fumbling for his beard. He kept his head down, but nobody around him seemed to notice.

  “Zoom in closer,” said one of the other agents now leaning closer toward to the screen. “I know who that is!”

  * * *

  SOLTERBECK’S OFFICE BUZZED with activity ninety minutes later. Agents scurried about, generating reports and gathering information about the location of the swap. Operatives talked on the phone, coordinating efforts with agents on the ground in Juarez. Solterbeck secured permission to release Gonzalez and have him transported by plane to Briggs Army Airfield in El Paso.

  Solterbeck’s cell phone buzzed. It was the FBI’s deputy director, Vance Williams.

  “What’s going on down there, Solterbeck? I thought you were supposed to get this situation under control. Get the kid back. Save the Super Bowl. We’re all happy. But not only have you accomplished squat, you’re now releasing a man convicted of killing eight federal agents!”

  Solterbeck anticipated this call and repeated the lines he had rehearsed.

  “Sir, we’re trying to make lemonade out of lemons here. It looks bad but I think I have an idea about how we can come up with a resolution that makes everyone happy.”

  “I doubt there’s any scenario where releasing a cartel hit man is going to make everyone happy.”

  “You’d be surprised, sir.”

  “Well, I better be surprised tomorrow or else you’re going to be looking at another assignment. You got that?”

  “Loud and clear, sir. I’ll update you when I have some news.”

  The director hung up.

  Solterbeck buried his head in his hands. If he was honest with himself, it did look bad. Every move he had made so far had been an epic failure. He knew he never should have let Cal and Kelly go. He knew Hernandez was on to them when images of Diaz appeared in photos taken from traffic cams. Diaz had spent the last six years on the FBI’s most wanted list. For as bad as Gonzalez was, Diaz was worse. Fourteen dead federal agents over the past six years. Border patrolmen. FBI agents. He was even suspected of killing a CIA agent on vacation in Cancun just for sport. Diaz stabbed the man to death and chopped his head off, leaving it on the bed for his wife to find when she came back from the pool. He was a monster.

  But there was no time to second-guess his decisions. Now he had to make one good one, the kind that would save people’s lives; the kind that would save his job; the kind that would cross the line.

  CHAPTER 36

  CAL GREW TIRED OF SITTING locked in the tiny office. Kelly slept splayed across the couch, while he sat on one of the couch arms. Jake just stared at the television. Hour after hour of cartoons rolled by on the screen. They seemed like mindless short stories with no real moral. The protagonist was likeable; the antagonist was cruel. The antagonist would almost win and then—BAM!—the protagonist would hit his archrival on the head and escape. If only it were that simple.

  Any attempt at hitting Igor over the head would result in getting slapped around. And slapped hard. Maybe even a few cuts. The end result wouldn’t be pretty. This wasn’t a cartoon. This was real life, and Cal needed a real good idea.

  * * *

  AT SEVEN O’CLOCK, a shift change brought a fresh guard to the repair shop to watch over Hernandez’s three prisoners. Cal had seen the man at Hernandez’s compound. It was Morales.

  Morales tapped on the window. Jake looked up and Morales waved at him. Jake’s physical reaction to the sight of Morales made Cal wonder what exactly happened between the two. Jake curled up in a fetal position and started sucking his thumb. Cal tried not to imagine the worst, but something bad had happened between them. That much was evident.

  Fumbling with his keys, Morales eventually unlocked the door and slid a bag of burritos into the room along with three water bottles. He then locked the door behind hi
m and sat outside.

  Cal ripped open the bag and pulled out a burrito. He offered one to Jake, who continued to pretend like Cal didn’t exist. He decided against waking Kelly. She looked too peaceful and appeared as though she could use the extra rest. Cal scarfed down his portion and thought about his plan.

  Another hour went by before Kelly stirred from her nap. Her burrito was cold, but she didn’t seem to care. Cal waited a few minutes until she was awake before he started to share his plan with her.

  “I think it just might work,” she said.

  * * *

  IT WAS 10:30 P.M. and Cal watched Morales stumbling around the shop, clinging to a bottle of tequila. It was almost empty. Cal watched the scene unfold as he hoped it would. Morales looked at the remaining swig in the bottle and swirled it around. It wasn’t even 11 p.m. on a Saturday and he would be all out of liquor without a chance at a refill until the morning.

  The loud clanging noise startled Jake. He sat up, still half asleep, and looked traumatized. Morales began overturning tool boxes and pushing over chairs, upset about something.

  “Don’t hit me! Don’t hit me!” Jake screamed.

  Cal rushed to his chair and knelt down next to him.

  “Hey, it’s OK big guy. Nobody is going to hit you. You’re with us now. We’re going to keep you safe,” Cal said, rubbing Jake’s head to reassure him.

  Cal tucked a blanket back around Jake and told him to go back to sleep. He then moved to the couch.

  “I don’t even want to think about what this monster did to Jake,” Cal whispered.

  “Yeah. Whatever it was, it must’ve been bad for him to react like that,” Kelly said.

  “It looks like it might be time to put our plan into action.”

  Cal reached for the desk drawer where he had seen two bottles of Jose Cuervo. He pulled out one of them and tapped on the glass to get Morales’ attention. Morales ran straight for the office and began pulling out his keys. He struggled to get them in the lock. He was already well on his way to being drunk; Cal hoped to get him all the way there.