Chapter Sixty-Seven
Nathan
The van’s windows had been painted over from the inside. When I reached over to scratch open a small hole with my fingernail, the man in the front passenger seat turned around. He didn’t say anything, just watched until I leaned back in my seat and left the windows alone.
Bree huddled next to me, and I could feel her occasional shivers. She’d done great at the restaurant, pushing further and daring more than I wanted her to, but she got good information.
We now knew for certain the cartel used children as drug mules. And we were on our way to the same fate.
As we bumped along in the darkened van, I went over the interview at the restaurant. I wondered how many people said ‘no’ only to find out they had no choice. I was certain the man in the suit would have calmly adjusted his cufflinks while he threatened our families and loved ones. No one given a job offer by the cartel had ever been able to turn it down.
I was glad we got out of the restaurant with only the stubborn presence of the bodyguards to remind us we didn’t have a choice. Others weren’t so lucky, I was sure.
The van ride smoothed out, and I leaned forward to glance out the windshield. We were flying along a wide strip of concrete and fast approaching a massive warehouse. The driver went straight through an open door and parked the van in the center of a cavernous room.
“Get out,” the driver said.
Bree and I had no choice as the other bodyguard tore open the van door. His expression said he would wait but only about ten seconds. I pushed Bree toward the door even as she scrambled to hold my hand.
My grip tightened on her as the van sped away and left us standing in the enormous warehouse. It felt more like a hangar except the walls were lined with vehicles instead of planes.
“What is this place?” I asked the bodyguard.
He stepped away from me, mouth shut, and watched as another man in a dark suit approached.
It was a long walk across the wide building, and I had time to check out the array of vehicles around us. There was every kind from small economy cars to pick-up trucks and buses. One entire wall held nothing but delivery vans. Another displayed an entire row of RVs.
“I don’t like this,” Bree whispered.
“Welcome. No need to look so nervous. You have a simple assignment, and I am sure there will be no problems,” the man said.
“There’s one problem,” I said. “We’re being treated more like prisoners than employees.”
“Security precautions. Nothing more,” the man said. He waved for us to follow him.
The bodyguard continued close behind us as we approached the wall of RVs. The man in the suit walked us past them, occasionally making a note on his phone.
“Have you driven one of these before?” the man asked me.
I nodded.
He almost gave a smile, made another note, and then flagged down a young man. He ran across the wide warehouse, heard whatever the man whispered in his ear, and then took off again at a sprint.
“What’s the deal here?” I asked. “When can we go back to our motel room and get our stuff?”
The man in the suit shook his head. “Everything you need will be provided.”
“Whoa, what? You’re not letting us leave?” I stopped walking and Bree ran into me.
The man sighed. “Tonight, you will prepare and you leave first thing in the morning.”
“Prepare?” I held up both hands. “We were told this was just a simple drive. What are we supposed to prepare?”
The young man ran back across the warehouse and handed the man in the suit a thick manila envelope. His gaze flickered over Bree before he ran back to his post on the far side of the warehouse. I watched him take up his position and wondered what was behind him.
“You will need to spend the night learning your new identities and practicing your backstory. Nothing complicated, just enough details to get you across the border without any questions.” The man in the suit carefully opened the envelope and showed us new passports. “We take photographs next.”
“My name is going to be Matilda?” Bree asked.
The man cracked a smile. “Nicknames are encouraged. They make you sound more natural.”
“Great. Fine. We’ll take these and work on it back at our motel,” I said.
The man’s smile vanished. “These are valuable documents. You will study them here. Besides, you have an early morning.”
He gestured for us to follow him back down the line of RVs to the second one he had noted. When he pulled open the door and climbed inside, we had no choice but to follow him. The bodyguard stood close at the door behind us.
The RV was a couple of years old with some wear and tear. The interior was a jumble of border town postcards and souvenirs. I shifted uncomfortably when I spotted a candid photograph of a young couple amidst all the postcards. I wondered what happened to them.
“So, there are drugs hidden in here?” I asked.
The man nodded. “Inside the cabinets behind a false wall at the back. Keep the pots and pans messy, let them rattle around as you drive. It discourages border security from digging too far inside.”
I highly doubted he was telling us the whole truth about where the drugs were hidden. As we toured the tight little RV, I saw at least three other likely spots. If that vehicle made it across the border, hundreds of kilos of cocaine would hit the US black market.
Then I saw the keys laid out on the dashboard.
“Are we supposed to sleep in here tonight? Does the bathroom work?” I asked.
The man shook his head. “Come. We need to take your passport photographs.”
We were ushered across the wide warehouse to a long, narrow office along one wall. Inside, a camera and white backdrop were all set up, and a bored man with a laptop waited. He waved me over in front of the camera and took my picture without a second glance. Bree made him linger just a little bit longer.
“You will have new driver’s licenses and passports within the hour,” the man said. He nodded to the bodyguard.
The large man swept his hands over us, searching for our documents. “Nothing,” he said in a gruff voice.
“No ID?” the man in the suit asked.
I shrugged. “We weren’t sure if we were going to do something illegal or not.”
The man frowned. “Too bad. We reuse documents.”
“Good, they recycle,” Bree muttered.
The man at the laptop gave a short chuckle before swallowing hard and getting back to work.
“Never mind. In this envelope, you will also find a map and itinerary. You are expected to be at the drop-off site on time. In order to avoid extra problems, I suggest you drive straight there. Early is better,” the man said.
I glanced inside the envelope but didn’t get a chance to look deeper as the bodyguard ushered us back out of the office. Again, we crossed the wide warehouse and headed toward a set of doors I hadn’t noticed before.
A long hallway of what used to be storerooms stretched parallel along the entire length of the warehouse. The man in the suit unlocked one of the first doors and gestured for us to go inside.
He flipped on a light and gave a wan smile. “Your room for the night.”
“Hank, no,” Bree said. She plucked at my sleeve as we peeked into the room.
It was a square storage room with two low cots, a thin rug, and a rickety card table. A bare bulb glared down from the center of the ceiling.
“What’s down there?” I asked.
Farther down the hallway a man paced back and forth, obviously on guard. I reviewed my quick mental map and realized the young man I had watched out in the warehouse was also guarding that area.
The man in the dark suit ignored my question. “Take this time to memorize your new identities. You will be quizzed on it in the morning.”
The bodyguard shoved us unceremoniously inside the sparse room. Bree spun around but it was too late, the door was shut and locked.
“Hank? They locked us in,” Bree said. She wrung her hands but stuck to our cover story. “Are you sure this is worth the money?”
“You should have seen the figure on that slip of paper, baby,” I said.
I pressed my ear to the door. The bodyguard’s heavy footsteps were moving away.
Bree rubbed her hands up and down her arms to try to calm herself as I prowled around the bare room. I stopped at a vent opening and leaned down. After a few minutes of listening, I motioned for Bree to join me.
She knelt and pressed her ear close to the vent. “What do you hear?”
I shook my head. “You tell me.”
Bree listened again. Far away voices floated toward us but it was impossible to hear what they were saying. Then there was a very distinctive squeal followed by muffled laughter.
“Children,” Bree said.
I caught her hand and pulled us both up to standing. When Bree saw my expression, she popped her mouth closed and said no more.
We were locked inside a room and most likely being listened to, but there was still hope. The children we had come to save were just down the hallway.