Healing Love: Saints Protection & Investigation (4 page)

Not used to giving control to someone else, Jobe nodded, drawing in another ragged breath. They all stood and Mackenna moved in, hugging Cam tightly. As she stepped away, Jobe grabbed his hand and then pulled him in for a hug as well. “Find her, please. Take care of her and bring her home,” Jobe choked. As Jobe pulled back, he reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a photograph. Handing the picture to Cam, he grabbed MacKenna’s hand and hurried out.

After the two of them left, Jack turned to Cam saying, “You’re the best man for the job, Cam. Not just because you’re Hispanic—but you have the knowledge and the experience to get down there and blend. But I want you to go voluntarily.”

Cam shook his head at his boss. “No worries, Jack. I got this.”

Nodding, Jack glanced at his watch. “We rendezvous at the compound in about two hours to plan. Go ahead and pack. Get your gear. And…you’d better let your parents know you’re out of contact for a bit.”

Cam watched Jack leave his house as well before looking down at the photograph. He sucked in his breath. Not knowing what he expected, he was unprepared for the dark haired, dark eyed beauty that had been smiling at the camera. The photographer had captured her just at the moment when she was about to throw her head back and laugh but was still smiling widely instead. Her eyes were lit with mirth and he found himself moving his finger over her image.

She was perfection and his finger landed on her turned up lips.
Miriam.
A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. Giving himself a mental shake, he slid the photograph into his pocket and picked up his now-cold coffee, dumping it into the sink. Then he did exactly what Jack had directed him to do.

*

By the time
Cam made it to the compound the other Saints were present. Bart clapped his hand on Cam’s shoulder and said, “Did missions like this when I was a SEAL, bro. This one’ll be tough. Swear to God, if I could go and blend in, I’d do it.”

Cam chuckled as he gazed at Bart’s surfer looks and Blaise’s Nordic appearance and replied, “Sorry, guys. Can’t see you being able to blend in.”

The men settled around the conference table, having already begun preliminary planning. Luke set up the secure video conference with Marc’s CIA contact.

“Todd? Good to see you,” Marc greeted the screen. “We’re all here and just need to get the latest you’ve got for us.”

The contact nodded and immediately asked, “Hear you’ve got a man that can get on the inside? Full blooded Hispanic?”

The camera switched onto Cam and he saw Todd’s gaze scrutinizing him. After a moment, he nodded and continued with his intel. “Good. The earthquake hit in the mid to southern part of the Gulf of California. Los Mochis, in northern Sinaloa has a huge agriculture economy. Sugarcane, cotton, rice, and the largest exporters of mangoes.” He paused and looked directly into the camera before continuing, “And marijuana as well as poppy.

“The Red Cross sent their contingencies through the airport at Los Mochis and then transported them by land to the various farms, villages, anywhere they could set up makeshift hospitals. Our intelligence indicates that several nurses were initially taken, but we’ve only had visuals of three. One was identified as Sister Genovia, an older Catholic nurse, Sharon Torson, a nurse from California, and Miriam Delaro.”

“What can you tell us about the cartel?”

“The goddamn cartels change with every death or capture. They are constantly at war with themselves and I sometimes wish we’d let them just kill each other off if there weren’t so many innocent casualties. The largest and one of the most powerful cartels, the Beltran-Leyva Cartel, splintered when a few of the Beltran-Leyva brothers were captured. Right now the area is run by the Sinaloa Cartel, often referred to as The Federation.”

Cam and the others were quickly taking notes on their tablets when Todd stopped them. “Gentlemen, let me just tell you that those of us who have been fighting the drug wars have studied this type of information for years. There’s no way I can give you everything you need. So let’s concentrate on what you’re facing.”

Jack gave a curt nod and Todd began again. “Their way of life—and it’s been this way since they were born, so it’s all they know—is blood, violence, killing, viciousness, and getting rid of anything or anyone that even remotely might stand in your way. Women are not valued. They are used for sex, drug carrying, and then killed horrifically.”

Cam rubbed his hand over his face, his stomach beginning to churn at what he might find. Looking around the table, he saw similar expressions on the rest of the men.

“But the good news is these nurses were taken because they possess skills and are valued. Chances are they’re being housed separately from the masses and well taken care of. The difficulty will be getting to them…and then getting them out.

“Cam? We’ve got some inside people in place right now. If Marc will fly you down, we can get you to the people who can get you in. You’ll be a laborer in the fields, but with so many injuries from the earthquake, they’re taking anyone. If you’re willing, we’ll get the coordinates and send the rest of our report to you right now.”

Cam nodded and the video conference ended. Silence reigned around the table. “I gotta get close enough to that hospital,” he said. “Whatever we plan, that’s got to be my initial goal.”

“This isn’t going to happen in just a couple of days, Cam,” Jack said. “But then, you spent almost two years undercover in a gang, so I reckon you know how to take things slow.”

“I got this,” he said.
But what shape will she be in when I get to her?
He reached up, fingering the St. Camillus medallion hanging at his chest.
The Patron Saint of the Red Cross. Keep her safe until I can take over the job.

*

In her apartment
in Richland, Miriam was used to the peaceful nights where her sleep was only occasionally disturbed by the neighbors below. But here, in Mexico, the noises of the night kept her awake in spite of her exhaustion.

A fan rotated from the ceiling, moving the mosquito netting around. Shadows danced in the room from the moonlight peeking in through the wooden shutters. The air was hot—stifling. She could hear the gentle snores from Sister Genovia and the tossing of Sharon.

But more than the exhaustion, backbreaking work, lack of sleep, and mediocre food was the constant fear coursing through her blood, entering every breath, and filling her nightmares.

What day is it?
Counting backward, she realized that she had been in Mexico for fifteen days. Ten, with the Red Cross in a farming hospital outside Los Mochis and the past five days with a drug cartel. The memory of her first day seemed so long ago.

I arrived at the airport, was transported through streets still strewn with rubble from the earthquake and made my way to the main hospital in Los Mochis. I worked there for three days, in triage and emergency, paired with someone who spoke Spanish.

The Spanish that I studied in high school was too far in the past to assist me now, but I quickly picked up enough words to check on the patients’ basic needs. A nearby hotel that suffered few casualties to the structure housed most of the Red Cross personal. I called my parents every day, filling them in with stories of what I was doing, what I saw of the area and how nice my accommodations were, compared to what they had feared.

On the fourth day, a number of medical personal were bused to a farming community on the north side of Los Mochis. The land outside of the city was beautiful and the effects of the destruction was minimal to the eye. Sister Genovia was among the nurses and I marveled at her stamina for a woman in her sixties. A few of the nurses were unhappy about leaving the city but most were excited to be seeing a different area of the country.

Passing by several villages, I saw crumbled brick buildings, leaving the villagers without any housing at all. Finally, we arrived at the makeshift hospital that was serving a large agricultural area. The line of potential patients was long as they waited to be seen.

Disembarking, we were hustled inside and quickly put to work. The makeshift hospital designated areas for triage, emergencies, non-emergencies and surgery. After a long day, we were shown to our tents. I was assigned to a tent holding ten women in five bunk beds. Sharon proclaimed a bottom bunk quickly and Sister Genovia was given the only other bottom bunk available. I threw my things onto the top bunk before we headed off to the chow hall.

For the next week, I rose early, worked all day and then enjoyed the company of the other Red Cross volunteers in the evenings. They came from all over and the opportunity to serve with them gave me a sense of pride. Making sure to call my parents every evening, I assured them I was fine.

The eleventh day in Mexico would be a day that would live in my mind…and fears…forever. Rising early, we made our way to the chow hall before reporting for our shift. As we walked over to the medical tent, three SUVs careened around the corner. I thought at first that they were bringing in more medical emergencies, but before I could blink, four armed men wearing fatigues jumped from the vehicles. Bandanas covered the bottom of their faces making their eyes seem blacker. But I barely noticed their faces when my focus was on the weapons pointed directly at us.

Ordered into the vehicles, we stood numb until one of the nurses turned and ran screaming back toward the chow hall. Three shots rang out in the morning and to my disbelieving eyes, the nurse pitched forward, falling flat onto the ground, her back riddled with bullets. Another nurse bent over and immediately retched as Sister Genovia grabbed her, holding the heaving woman up.

The shots reverberating through an otherwise calm morning caused other Red Cross volunteers and security to run out of their buildings. Everyone halted when faced with the firepower of the bandits.

What do they want? Drugs? Before I could react to the events taking place all around, four of the armed men ran over grabbing me, Sharon, Sister Genovia, and another women I had not met yet. The man who had ahold of my arm was surprisingly gently, but firm. Pushed and shoved over
to
the vehicle we were forced to stand facing away from the crowed. Oh my God, we’re going to die! Someone behind me threw a bandana over my eyes and tied it at the back of my head. Then my hands were tied behind my back and I could hear doors being opened. I was lifted and placed into the seat, feeling someone placed next to me. The door slammed shut and with the wails and screams from the witnesses fading into the distance, the vehicle rumbled forward.

Fifteen days had passed since she had said goodbye to her family in Richland. Lying in bed, the threat of tears pricked her eyes, but she battled them back, determined not to fall apart. She remembered her last days there at home.

The family had gathered for our Sunday mid-day meal, when I delivered the news about going to Mexico with the Red Cross. When the local RC called, I did not hesitate. Finally a chance to do something different. The hospital shifts were not boring, but for so long I had felt stuck in a rut. The idea of traveling to another country with a group of dedicated volunteers sounded like just the ticket. The hospital would keep my job available while I was gone and with some money saved up, I would take this opportunity to test myself.

Of course, the news went over horribly. Mom burst into tears while my brother, Jobe, immediately looked at me and simply declared, “No, you’re not going.” His wife, Mackenna, attempted to placate him but Jobe was determined that I wasn’t going to go. And I was equally determined to do so.

Rebecca, ever the peacemaker in the family, tried to intervene, but to no avail. Dad finally pounded his fist down on the table and startled everyone into silence. “We will not fight at this table,” he announced. He shot me a look of disapproval, but everyone remained quiet. Staring at my plate, appetite gone, I fought the urge to jump up and leave.

Several tense minutes later, dad declared the meal over and told everyone to adjourn to the living room. “Leave the plates,” he said gently to mom. “We need to take care of family first. Then you and God can wash the dishes.” Mom never wanted an automatic dishwasher, saying that for every dish she washed, she would pray for the person who had eaten off of the plate. She gave dad a small smile, knowing he understood her heart.