Deadly Journey (5 page)

Chapter 8

False Sense of Security

I noticed the
stench at first, and then my body bouncing about. The motion reminded me of the
helplessness I had felt as a child when tumbling in a bouncy castle. Childhood
angst returned to haunt me when I was unable to scramble to my feet. I had a
vision of a group of children jumping around me, mocking my situation. Opening
my eyes, I sat up to find I was on the trailer. It smelled as though it had
recently dumped a load of cow dung. Above the sound of the engine chugging, I
could hear the noise of an aircraft engine buzzing like an annoying housefly. I
looked up in time to see a light aircraft fly low overhead. There were pipes
under the wing that gave the impression that it was a crop duster. Through the
wooden slats, I could see we had left the hedgerow behind. We were heading in
the direction of a small farmhouse.

Clouds of dust and exhaust fumes surrounded
the vehicle as it slowed. We stopped outside the farmhouse door, scattering
chickens, clucking with their wings flapping. The back of the trailer dropped
open. I came face-to-face with the wizened features of the driver. He beckoned
me forward. I shuffled on my backside to the tailgate, dangling my legs over
the side. He was twisted and frail, maybe in his late sixties, but his
appearance belied his strength. He took me over his shoulder, carried me inside
and on into a bedroom. Without ceremony, he launched me onto a bed.

‘You passed out. You’ll need fixing.’ That
was the nearest I could translate.

‘American. Do you speak English?’

‘A little.’

‘I need a telephone.’ To make sure he
understood, I formed my hand into a mock handset.

He shook his head and left the room.

A woman appeared in the doorway, walked to
the bed, and looked me up and down. It was hard to know if her wincing was from
the sight of me, or the smell. She left the room and two children entered, a
boy aged around eight and a girl around ten.

‘Hi, what are your names?’

They either didn’t understand or they were
shy. They started to snicker and the young boy sidled up to my bedside, poked
me, and stood back. He became excited and started to shout.

‘
Americano, Americano
.’

‘Out, you two,’ said the woman as she
returned with a bowl of water, a cloth and a towel.

‘You and the children speak English?’

‘Yes, I speak it well. The children have forgotten
most of it, but they understand the word “out”. We lived in Texas for a while
until they caught us, two years back, and sent us back over the border. I’ll
need to fix you up. Lucky for you I trained as a nurse. How did you get like
this?’

Telling her I was a US government drug
agent from Texas didn’t seem the sensible thing to do; it might make her forget
the nursing. I struggled to find an alternative for a while before the words to
answer her finally arrived.

‘I need to contact the police. I’m a
tourist and I’ve been robbed. I don’t have any identification. They took it
all. I was heading for the border. I...’ Pausing, realization struck at what I
was saying and I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. I, I, freaking I. The
way I was speaking sounded unnatural and each sentence I’d uttered sounded like
the lie that it was.

The woman smiled.

‘Sorry, what’s your name?’ I asked.

‘My name is Leila. We can talk later, but
first let’s get you out of these clothes and I’ll wash you, clean your wounds and
dress them. We don’t have a telephone, but my father will drive you to the
border.’

She turned her back and placed the bowl on
a beat-up old dresser with two drawers missing. The walls in the bedroom and in
the living area, as I’d noticed on the way in, were bare brick. The ceiling was
open to the trusses and roof tiles. Wires strung along the wall, connected to
dangling electrical-plug sockets. Everything I had seen screamed poverty.

Leila turned and came over to the bed. She
helped me take off my jeans and remove my T-shirt. Her silhouette brought a
vision of Mary dancing through my thoughts. Averting her gaze, she removed my
boxers and chatted away, saving me embarrassment before draping a towel over my
lower half. An anxious gut-ache gripped me; I was desperate to contact Mary to
let her know I was safe.

‘Is there a village nearby where I can get
to a telephone?’

‘No, there’s nothing between here and the
gas stations near the border.’

She washed and dabbed at the wounds,
applying antiseptic cream to my feet before bandaging them.

‘Look, write down your address and when I
return home, I’ll send you some money for my keep and the gas.’

‘It’s not necessary.’

The family’s kindness touched me.

‘How long did you live in Texas?’ I asked.

‘Two years. Ironic, isn’t it? My ancestors
lived in Texas until the Americans stole it along with the star on their flag.
Now they treat us like low-life dirt.’

The words hit me like a barb sinking into
my flesh.

She took a single cotton sheet from the
remaining drawer of the dresser and draped it over me. ‘I’ll get some of my
brother’s clothes ready for your journey. They should fit. Try and rest.’

‘Are you sure he won’t mind?’

‘Mind?’ She laughed. ‘He’s been dead four
years now.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No need.’

‘How did he pass away?’

‘Gunned down by a rival gang.’

The way she said it, it was as though it
was no big deal. She closed the door as she left, leaving me with my thoughts.
Looking around the room gave me the impression that their plight was
understandable. I began to wonder what I would have done, had I been born into
a similar position on the wrong side of the border. Would I have turned to the
safety of numbers in a gang and trafficked drugs to those who denied me
shelter? Or would I have tried to flee to America for a new life of always
looking over my shoulder? I prayed that in twenty-four hours, I would reach the
safety of the border. But not before I had taken down their name and address to
send them a big fat thank you through Western Union, to be collected at their
nearest depot.

Ten minutes had gone by when Leila brought
a pile of clothes and some boots into the bedroom.

‘Try these for size.’ She placed the items
on a chair next to the bed and left the room.

I hadn’t worn jockeys since I was a child,
but eagerly slipped them on. The T-shirt was okay, but the jeans were a little
on the short side and wide around the waist. At least they were clean. I took
the belt from my old jeans and buckled it around my waist. Easing myself from
the bed, I stood and took a few paces. The bandages were comfortable to walk
on, but I could still feel stinging in the soles of my feet. Sitting on the
edge of the bed, I pulled the socks over my feet and then tried the boots. They
were a size too big, but I would have given anything to have had them when I
first escaped. Loosely tying the laces, I stood to try them. It was better with
just the bandages, but I made it to the bedroom door and turned the handle.
Leila was sitting at the table. Dried beans covered the surface and she was
sifting through them, separating out the bad ones. She looked up and gave me a
warm smile.

‘Thanks for the clothes.’

‘No problem. I’m preparing a meal
–
you look as though you could do with something to eat. Now go and
rest.’

The beans brought to mind shopping at
Walmart with Mary and picking cans off the shelf. It made it easy to forget
beans came from plants.

Leila’s father walked in holding a chicken.
He wrung its neck, tossed it in the direction of the children, and walked
outside. Its wings were still flapping as the boy gripped it with one arm and
started to pluck the feathers with his other hand. Closing the door, I went to
sit on the bed, thanking God my kids didn’t have to resort to going native.

Hens, sounding the alarm, scattered in the
yard outside. I heard the crunch of tyres skidding on the dirt. I moved to the
window and peeked outside. Four men carrying guns jumped off the open back of a
pickup truck and charged toward the house. Another pickup came to a halt, with
more men joining the invasion. I quickly moved away from the window. My vision
danced around the room. My initial reaction was that the family had betrayed
me.

A woman screamed. My head jolted in the
direction of the sound. More screams, but this time the shrill sound of
children facing terror. The bedroom door burst open. A pistol thrust at my
face. I struck the guy’s gun arm with mine to deflect his aim. A shot rang out.
I brought my other hand with straight fingers into the soft flesh of his neck.
He dropped to his knees clutching his throat. A well-aimed kick snapped his
head backward. He fell as if his spine had deserted his body. A rifle butt
swung toward me and I ducked. I sank my fist into my attacker’s ribs with all
the force I could muster.

Someone grabbed me from behind. I gripped
his head in my hands and threw him over my shoulder. A rifle lay on the floor
and I dived for it, but someone’s leg lunged, kicking the rifle under the bed.
A blow to the back of my head brought stars to my eyes.

Though I was aware of being manhandled and
shackled, I was powerless to do anything. After they’d dragged me to my feet,
they pushed me into the living area. The old man stood with his arms
outstretched in front of Leila. She clutched the children to her and covered
their eyes. One of the intruders trained a rifle at them. The children wailed.
Blood trickled down Leila’s forehead as she comforted her children, ignoring
what was happening. Hands grabbed hold of my shoulders and forced me to sit on
a chair.

Footsteps on the veranda outside sounded
familiar. The shadow entered first and then the man. Squat stood at the door
and spat his disgust at the scene. He nodded to the guard pointing the
automatic-assault rifle at the family. The guard’s finger moved to the trigger
and he raised his rifle barrel. I lunged forward, and it took two of them to
force me back and pin me to the chair.

I screamed out long and hard. ‘No...!’

A deafening crescendo of shots rang out.
The pungent smell of gunpowder hit my nostrils. It wasn’t much different from
the drifting smell of a firecracker display on the 4
^th
of July. Only
this was no celebration. It was all over in seconds. When I opened my eyes, the
family lay in a pile on the floor. The little girl’s body still twitched, as
the half-plucked chicken had; the bird lay there beside them. Squat pulled a
pistol from his belt, walked over to her, and shot the young girl in the head.

A primeval scream escaped my lips. Pinned
to my seat, every muscle in my body tightened as I tried to stand. But I
couldn’t break free. Averting my gaze, I noticed a letter on the table
addressed to Leila. Despite the tears in eyes, I was able to commit the address
to memory.

I had brought death to their door. I should
have told them the truth.

My body fell limp and my chin hit my chest.

Squat walked directly in front of me. He
leaned forward so that I could smell his foul breath. Grabbing me by my hair,
he lifted my head.

‘Their blood is on your head, American.
Prepare yourself, because you’re going to hell.’ He glanced past me. ‘Get him
in the truck.’

Through gritted teeth, I screeched into his
face. ‘Bastards!’

Squat grinned, his lips curling to one side
as he let go of my hair. My head dropped. But for my presence and their good
nature, Leila’s family would still be alive. The guilt I experienced at having
caused their deaths took me to unimaginable depths of despair. I made an oath
to avenge their deaths, if I ever managed to make it to freedom.

Squat’s words bounced around in my mind. I
couldn’t imagine that hell would be any worse than how I felt looking at their
twisted dead bodies on the floor. Lifting my gaze and looking at the evil in
the depths of Squat’s eyes, I guessed I would soon find out.

Chapter 9

Onward Journey

I expected them
to take me back to the prison at the farm and make me pay for my escape. But
instead we headed north and then west. All the while, visions of the fate that
had befallen Miguel and Leila’s family plagued me with every bounce in the
road, and tore away at my insides. The scum had me hogtied in shackles.

After an hour’s drive, lying mostly
face-down in the back of the pickup truck and with my captors using my back as
a footstool, we went off-road. That’s if you could call what we had been
driving along a road. Ten minutes or so and we stopped. One of them dragged me
out of the back of the pickup. They had parked next to the crop duster I’d seen
earlier. The duster solved the problem as to how they had found me at Leila’s
house. Yet more guilt pained me as I remembered thinking Leila and her family
had betrayed my sanctuary.

Two motorized hang gliders were visible
through the open doors of a large building. Wherever we where, this was clearly
part of the supply chain. I guessed we had to be near the border for the hang gliders
to be near enough to drop their loads on the other side. Thinking their
ingenuity for getting contraband over the border knew no bounds, it also
worried me. They weren’t stupid. The fact that they had not blindfolded me
seemed like a bad omen, considering what fate had befallen Miguel.

Squat came up alongside me and grinned. He
handed two large canvas bags to the pilot. I caught a glimpse of the contents
as the pilot inspected them. My butt cheeks tightened and my eyes popped when I
saw what the bags held.

Squat gave me a sideways glance and
snarled, ‘They should never have bought out the hit. I hope they cut your
tongue out and feed you to the buzzards.’

His words tumbled around in my mind as I
tried to grasp the meaning other than the threat. He gave me a parting dig in
the ribs. Two of them manhandled me into the crop duster and fastened me into
the passenger seat with duct tape. I knew better than to ask where we were
going, but from what he’d said, I knew it likely involved a ransom. Not having a
blindfold still bothered me.

The thought that someone had put a hit out
on me drowned out the subject of the blindfold and nagged away at my mind.
Sure, there was the gang I had put behind bars for the drug bust recently,
costing them a loss of millions in street value. My deliberations muddied as I
thought about the many others I’d put behind bars over the years. None of it
made sense. I’d heard of gambling and drugs debts being bought out before, but
I’d had never heard of anyone buying out a hit. If I ever managed to escape and
return home, would someone restore their contract to kill me?

The answer to that question would have to
wait. My current situation and a way out of it was the priority.

XB-UVW
, I
kept repeating over in my mind until I came up with a way of remembering the
crop duster’s registration number.
X-men, Border, Ultra Violet Wings
.
Once I had a handle on it, I kept alternating it by reciting Leila’s address in
my mind, in the hope that if I ever got out of this mess, these details would
lead me back to Squat so I could make him pay for slaughtering Leila’s family.

The pilot started the engine and we set off
down the dirt runway. In no time, we were airborne and took a flight path no
more than fifty feet above ground, probably to avoid radar. The thing that
struck me was the pilot’s lack of concern for being caught and arrested. Maybe
the white powder he snorted every once in a while gave him courage. But more
than likely it was the stack of automatic rifles and guns stowed behind me and the
bags that Squat had handed him. I’d never seen so many hundred-dollar bills in
a bag before. No doubt the guy would be making a killing on his return with a
stash of cocaine in return for the goods and money, and that would make up for
the risk. More than likely, they had all the local officials in their pocket,
but I still didn’t get why a pilot couldn’t make an honest living.

I soon found out why. Besides snorting
coke, he reached under the seat and pulled out a bottle of JD. Screwing the top
off, he took the first of many long swigs he would take along the journey.

Mexican music blasted through speakers, and
annoyingly tone deaf, the pilot sang along to the beat. At no time had he
attempted to talk to me, so I thought would give it a whirl.

‘How long before we arrive?’ I shouted over
the drone of the engine and the music.

He turned and snarled. ‘No English.’

After that, I left him to it, and retreated
into my mind. Mary would be getting the kids ready for bed. What seemed like a
million scenarios passed through my mind as to what might be happening at home.
I guessed that if my kidnapping had been announced, or my colleagues had found
my shoe, they would know I had been taken. The FBI would be crawling all over
my house setting up wiretaps. Mary, I imagined, would be screwed up inside, but
putting on a brave front for the kids. We had taught the kids never to lie, but
I had the idea Mary would have to give them some kind of initial
misinformation. Then again, the story would be likely be on all the news
channels. I always said to anyone who would listen, lies will always catch you
out. I now knew the truth of that sentiment, at the tragic cost to Leila’s
family and my own guilt at their deaths.

I just hoped that my situation wouldn’t
screw with my kids’ heads and cause lasting damage.

Poor Rob
–
I
imagined he would be up to his neck in his own guilt by now at having left me
to get coffee. He would have gone wild and started banging a few of our
snitches’ heads together to come up with some answers. Someone on the street
would know what had been planned to go down. All it would take was someone who
needed a favour; in exchange for our turning a blind eye, he or she would start
singing. They always did. If it weren’t for snitches, half the damn cases we
took on would never find their way to a conclusion.

I knew we were travelling west, and after
three hours, I reckoned we couldn’t be far from the coast. The pilot fished in
his pocket, pulled out a Stanley knife and placed it in a cup holder next to
his seat. Not that I could move; I froze anyway, with cold shivers running
through my body. I looked out of the window as the aircraft banked and I could
see the coastline up close and personal. I feared he was going to throw me out
over the sea as shark bait. With my arms shackled, there was nothing much I
could do to prevent it from happening.

The aircraft straightened out, and the
pilot turned in his seat, placing a bag over my head. I thought it was a small
mercy that I wouldn’t see the drop. The engine spluttered and coughed as it
slowed down and then we hit the ground with a thud and a bounce, then rolled
onward and taxied to a stop.

The door opened. I heard slicing and
tugging at the duct tape. Hands grasped me and pulled me out of the seat. My
legs buckled under me, but strong hands kept me upright.

‘Welcome to my humble abode, Kurt.’