Chapter Twenty-One
Nathan
Bree was still sitting on the motel room bed when I came back from the vending machines. She was picking the last of the nail polish off her fingernails, but stopped and tried to give me a bright smile. I felt my stomach clench.
She had no idea what a relief it was that she was still there, waiting for me. A relief and a burden. It was all my fault that she was living in crappy motel rooms on the run. Sure, her life back in Topeka, Kansas hadn't seemed like paradise, but anything had to be better than being stuck with me.
"Those chips are stale. Remember? We tried them when we checked in, and they were awful," Bree said.
I tossed the chips bags onto the motel room table but couldn't bring myself to take another step into the room. "I'll just run out and get us something for breakfast."
Bree clutched her stomach. "More fast food?"
"No, you're right. I'll look for a grocery store or something. Do you like bagels? Maybe there's a bakery in town," I said.
She studied my face for a minute before nodding. "Bagels sound good. Want me to come?"
I backed out the still-open door. "No, no. You just relax. I'll be back as soon as I've found something decent."
Bree stood up and smoothed down her wrinkled sundress. "Just give me two minutes to get changed, and I'll keep you company."
"No." The word popped out like a punch in the face, and Bree flinched. I struggled for a way to soften it. "Why don't you, um, watch the news? We really should be keeping on top of the headlines in case there's something that might connect to us."
"Yeah, okay," she said.
I watched her shuffle around the motel room bed, straightening the covers we had tangled up just minutes before. "Want me to look for strawberry jam? Isn't that your favorite?"
Bree gave me a weak smile. "Sounds good."
"See you soon."
I pulled the motel room door shut and swore at myself all the way to the car. Bree was there to help me. It was the only thing she wanted to do, and all I did in return was lie. I just didn't know how to tell her I recognized one of the gunmen. I hardly even knew if it was true myself.
I had no intention of going to the grocery store. I needed to find where they kept local archives and see if I could find that man's face again. It was a long-shot but I had to try.
I drove past a coffee shop, a bakery, and the discount grocery store before I found the small historical society. My stomach was rumbling but I promised myself I would stop on the way back and bring Bree something special. First, I had to dig into the newspaper archives. There had to be something there, some headline with a photograph, something to explain how I knew that gunman's face. If I could find it again, maybe the connection I had to those men would be clearer and I would finally know what to do.
I hadn't lied to Bree about wishing it was over. All I wanted was to be able to take her away on a real vacation.
The volunteer historian looked startled when I walked in the doors. "Can I help you?"
"Computers? I want to search the newspaper archives," I said.
The thin man gave a dry laugh. "Sorry, man. We've got computers but if it's newspaper archives you want, you've got to go through the microfilm."
"Microfilm?"
He jumped off his stool and waved me to follow him. Far in the back corner of the small museum’s book collection, he showed me a row of giant gray boxes. "These magnify the microfilm. Just twist the big knob to move back and forth. Newspapers are archived by date and location."
I glanced at the endless filing cabinets and sighed. "Thanks."
"Want any help?" The thin volunteer looked around and gave another dry laugh. "Not like there's anyone else around."
"I would but I'm not sure what I'm looking for yet," I said.
He snorted. "Well, good luck."
I watched him settle back on his stool and restart the movie he was watching on his computer. Then I turned to the filing cabinets and took my chances. The first microfilm I pulled out was the local papers from El Paso, Texas. It took a minute to thread it correctly, then I sat down and started scrolling.
Five minutes in and I realized what an impossible task I had set myself. Scanning every newspaper photograph in the hopes of seeing that man's face again was never going to work. I had to narrow down my search.
What else connected me to the gunman? Why did I think his name was Adrian?
He had asked me where the drugs were, so I started to search for newspaper headlines about cocaine. There were so many that my head started to pound.
He had an accent. Bree had heard him speaking Spanish to the other men. I got up and switched to newspapers across the border from El Paso. Ciudad Juarez was the biggest city on the Mexican side of the border. The stories about cocaine tripled in the local papers from that city.
I sat back down and ignored my rumbling stomach. It was hard not to think of Bree waiting for me back at the motel room. As I scrolled through the newspapers, my mind kept wandering back to her soft skin, the way her lips tasted.
I shook myself and tried to focus.
I had to change tactics. The next reels I grabbed were again from El Paso but I focused on missing children. If I could find anything about the little girl, Maggie, who had written that postcard, maybe I would find the connection. There was only a small blurb about a girl her age going missing and my fist clenched. Everywhere I looked was a dead end.
"Any luck?" the thin volunteer called from his stool. His movie was over and he stood up to stretch. "Sure you don't want any help?"
I rubbed my eyes and shook my head. "I'm not sure anyone can help me," I said.
The amateur historian wandered over to look at the pile of microfilms I had pulled out. "Runaways and drugs. Yeah, that's a pretty broad topic, man. Hey, did you see that movie? The one about the drug kingpin?"
"'Scarface?'"
He shook his head. "Nah, a new one. Lots of great special effects. There's this one scene where they blow up a whole section of the border. It was way cool."
I dropped my head into my hands as the volunteer described the movie scene in detail. He rummaged through the microfilm file cabinets and threaded a new one into my archaic machine. He was so into his description that he didn't think twice about leaning over me as he scrolled through the microfilm.
"A little space, please?" I asked.
"You just gotta check out the movie poster. Way cool," the thin volunteer said.
"Wait! Stop!" I knocked his hand away from the microfilm knob. "When did this movie come out?"
"About a year ago. I can't believe you haven't seen it. There were all these protests because people thought the movie inspired these actual events, instead of the other way around." The volunteer shrugged. "I guess I can see where they're coming from."
I looked closer. The drug war headlines were sensational, definitely enough to inspire a Hollywood movie, but it wasn't the article that had caught my attention.
"How do I zoom in?" I asked, pointing at the grainy newspaper photograph.
The volunteer zoomed in. "Whoa. Did I actually help you?"
"Yes, thanks." I tried to focus but had to turn around and stop him from hovering. "Mind if I concentrate now?"
"Sure, man. I'm gonna go watch that movie."
When I turned back to the photograph I had to rub my eyes again to make sure what I was seeing was real. The man I recognized was there in a surveillance photograph identifying the suspected leader of the New Mexico City Cartel. He was in the background, partially turned away, but I knew it was him.
I settled in to read everything I could about the drug cartel, focusing the best I could as the thin librarian recited lines along with the movie he was watching.
They were based in Mexico City. Despite their known drug operations, the New Mexico City Cartel had been in uninterrupted business since the seventies. The authorities had tried dozens of different angles, brought them up on hundreds of charges, but nothing stuck. They had a far reach into the United States and showed no signs of falling apart.
"They really can't stop these guys?" I asked the librarian.
"No, man. The best the DEA can hope for is that in-fighting would break 'em up, but looks like the money's too good for anyone to be unhappy," the librarian said.
I searched a half dozen more articles and read every word. The man I recognized did not reappear, and he was never named, but I was certain he was still involved.
The New Mexico City Cartel dealt primarily in heroin and cocaine. While other cartels branched out and got into trouble, it seemed this cartel focused on what it did best. The results were streamlined operations that nevertheless eluded the authorities.
I thought about the cocaine I had found in my bank security deposit box and was even more certain I was on the right track.
What I still didn't understand is how I came to be tangled up with a drug cartel. The gunman I recognized had seemed to know me, as if we’d had many dealings together. I had to sit back for a moment and take a deep breath. It was sickening to think about how far I must have sunk after leaving the base.
What was a SEAL doing with a member of a drug cartel?
"Oh, man, this is the best part!" the librarian called out.
I ignored him and kept reading. There had to be an answer there somewhere. Countless articles later and the only other thing I had learned about the New Mexico City Cartel was they were very nearly unstoppable.
The cartel was infamous for finding creative ways to smuggle drugs across the Mexican border and into the United States. There were endless articles about tunnels discovered only after thousands of kilos had poured through them. There were reports of unfortunate drug mules dying of cardiac arrest at the airport and death-defying plane landings on backroads. The cartel had used every vehicle known to man to cross the border with pounds of drugs hidden inside, only to have an accident uncover the smuggling.
The only constant was that the authorities couldn't stop them. With the ever-changing tactics, it was impossible to predict what the cartel would try next, and the DEA needed to catch them 'red-handed' to build a strong enough case.
My head was reeling. I finally stood up and stretched. That's when I noticed the time.
"Oh, my god. Have I really been here two hours?" I asked the librarian.
"Almost three," he said, now engrossed in his movie.
I thanked him as I rushed out to the parking lot. I drove back to the motel as fast as I could, only stopping to pick up two fast food meals. Not only had I lied to Bree but I had left her stuck in the motel without any idea of when I would be back.
She clearly didn't know if I was going to come back or not because when I pulled in she was seated on the curb outside our motel room. When she saw me, she stood up, went inside, and slammed the door.