The Rebel of Goza Read online

  Miguel and I exit the Frying Pan’s handle, shooting down the narrow trail leading back to the tow truck.

  I steal a glance behind me. Scarface and his companion barrel towards us in their truck. The rough terrain sends their headlights bobbing like a drunk on payday.

  “Faster!” I yell. “They’re coming!”

  I focus on my breathing. Running…running…nothing exists but me and the trail.

  Behind me, the grinding of braked tires in gravel snaps me out of this reverie. The engine cuts off, and shouts rise from the darkness behind us.

  At least now it’s a footrace. Even tired, I’ll stack my endurance against that of a coke-snorting narco any day. And Miguel keeps pace with me stride-for-stride.

  A shot rings out. The round slams into the powdery soil a meter to our left, forming a moonlit dust cloud.

  Miguel and I veer off into the darkness at different angles, heading for different openings in the upslope rock formations bordering the trail.

  The first one ends after a couple of meters, but it’s pitch black—a perfect place to hide until they pass. But will they use their cellphone flashlights to look for us?

  Probably.

  I ready myself near the mouth of the crack, ready to strike if they enter.

  The sounds of footsteps and ragged breathing approach. As they near my spot, the tempo of the foot strikes slackens. They’re walking now.

  “Which one was it?” says one of them between breaths.

  “I don’t know for sure,” replies the other. “There’s wasn’t enough light. I think it was one of these here. I’ll check back down the trail. You look ahead.”

  The companion grunts his assent. The crunch of one pair of feet fades, but another pair grows louder. The noise stops for a moment. Perhaps he’s looking in a nearby crack?

  I’d run, but that would risk exposing myself to the other narco—who presumably still carries his sidearm. Better to hope they pass us by in the dark, then escape once they’ve left.

  Footsteps again…approaching my spot.

  I hug the rocky wall. With any luck—

  A noise sounds at the entrance to my hiding spot, followed by a beam of light playing on the ground mere centimeters from my feet.

  The beam comes to a stop on my torso.

  The thug snorts. “Ah, there you—”

  I strike with my coa, plunging the heavy, round blade into his abdomen, then pulling it out.

  He crumples to the ground in silent agony, feeble hands reaching to staunch the blood already flowing from his wound.

  He moans, then begins to raise his voice in a desperate call for help.

  I slam the coa downwards. It cracks as it impacts his skull.

  He falls silent…perhaps dead. There’s no time to find out. There’s still another narco out there.

  I peek around the corner of my hiding spot, back onto the trail.

  Nothing.

  Our truck lies only a few dozen yards further along the volcano, where the trail widens up enough to accommodate a car.

  Rather than wait for the second narco to find me and his injured companion, I bolt.

  The momentary break from running has given me renewed energy. I almost run past the tow truck but slide to a stop as it falls within view. Miguel and Carlos already occupy it.

  I tear to the passenger side and hop in.

  Carlos fires up the engine and rockets the vehicle forward as he accelerates out of the hiding spot.

  Up the trail, Scarface pistons his arms as he hurtles towards us, a ghostly figure in the moonlight. As the tow truck picks up speed and begins to outpace him, he levels his sidearm and fires off three rounds.

  Why did he stop? Is he out of ammo? Let’s hope so.

  A shot ricochets off the rock escarpment to our right just as we pass behind it. Looks like Scarface didn’t reload in time.

  We’re clear!

  “I know some back trails,” says Carlos with a grim expression. “We’ll make sure he doesn’t find us.”

  I nod. By the time Scarface finds his way back to his truck, we’ll be out of reach.

  “Is everybody okay?” asks Carlos as we rattle down the dirt road.

  “Yeah,” reply Miguel and I in unison.

  “What happened?” asked Miguel.

  “I saw a monkey symbol on the boxes on the back of the second truck,” I reply. “The first box was full of rifles. So Little Monkey was their name for the arms shipment Volante’s crew was buying.”

  “So Oscar…?”

  I shake my head. “He wasn’t there. He was never supposed to be there.”

  “And now we have only tomorrow to rescue him,” says Carlos. “Two nights from now is the drug pickup. After that, they’ll have no reason to keep him alive.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Carlos stays off the dirt road that led us to the volcano. Better to stay alive, even if that means a longer drive, than encounter furious narcos here in the lonely desert.

  We bounce along narrow trails with our headlights off. Miguel resumes his protection of my cranium from the jarring effect of our unpredictable driving conditions.

  Despite the safari-like drive, my mind churns. Did our appearance tip off Volante that we’re trying to rescue Oscar? Maybe not. After all, each set of narcos thought they were being double-crossed by the other. The other gang shooting Volante’s man proves that.

  But if the cartels cool down enough to talk, will they discover that a third party—us—was present? And if so, would they assume another cartel is trying to raid them for all the goods, or will Volante manage to tie our activities back to Oscar?

  I shake my head. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter how much Volante knows. No matter what, I have to attempt a rescue, regardless of the inferences the kidnapper has made.

  At last, we reach the end of our dirt-road travels. Carlos pulls onto highway 150, heading east. After the past few hours’ maniacal driving, the sudden tranquility of flat roads and normal traffic is startling.

  For a minute, we ride in silence, each wrapped in our own thoughts.

  I realize I’m still sitting in Miguel’s lap with his arms wrapped around me. I turn as far as possible to address him. “I’m going to sit in the middle now.”

  His arms relax, and I slide to the center section. It’s still a tight squeeze but surely more comfortable for him.

  He speaks in a near whisper. “Did you ever do that before?”

  “What? Kill someone?”

  “Yeah.”

  I shake my head. “No, of course not.” A pause. “It’s funny, though…I wouldn’t have thought I could. But when someone threatens your life, especially a thug like that, your reflexes kick in. Besides, he would’ve killed me if he’d had the chance.”

  “That’s for sure,” says Carlos without taking his eyes off the road. “Narcos are nothing if not ruthless.”

  “Which means we’ve got to be as ruthless as they are,” I reply. “It’s our only hope of getting my brother back.”

  “Speaking of that,” says Miguel, “what do you want to do now?”

  “I say we go back to plan A,” I reply.

  “Meaning rescue him from your family’s old distillery?”

  “Yes. Until we saw Lily’s phone, we figured that’s where he’s being held. He’s probably been there all along. Now we need to come up with a plan to get him out of there.”

  CHAPTER 30

  Marcos Volante drapes a leg over the edge of the table in the main room in the old distillery building. He scans the room with satisfaction.

  His men have finished preparing the massive drug shipment to be picked up in a couple of days. They’ve been hard at work: assembling wooden crates, filling the containers’ lower third with cocaine and weed, installing false bottoms on top of the contraband, and filling the remaining space with whole corn. If police inspect the crates, they’ll find only cattle feed.

  This type of operation—readying drugs for transport through the more heavily p
atrolled northern states—was the reason Volante set up shop in this remote town. But now that the girl has spotted them, he’ll have to find another location once this load of product ships out.

  Of course, he could always kill the girl’s family and keep his operation in this old distillery. But staying in the vicinity of your mass murders is bad business—too much risk that some enthusiastic cop Volante has neglected to pay off will come after the operation.

  No…better to kill the family, the only witnesses to his presence here, and then move elsewhere. Ramirez is already scouting for a new location.

  In the meantime, his men have grown listless without the activity of the last few days to keep them occupied. Not to worry. Guarding this multi-million dollar shipment will keep all of them busy until his “farm” trucks arrive in two days to pick up all the crates.

  A shout and the confusion of multiple conversations ring out from the main entrance.

  Diaz enters the room, holding a bloody towel to his neck.

  Volante rises to his feet. “What happened?”

  “They ambushed us, Granjero. Hid someone off in the darkness. Right after they asked if we had the money, they tried to sneak someone up on us. We had a gunfight.” He uses his free hand to motion to his neck.

  “Munoz?”

  “Dead.”

  Volante shakes his head in frustration—another asset he’ll have to replace. “Did you pick off any of them?”

  “I don’t think so, but it was hard to tell in the dark. I might have, but I drove away as soon as I could so they couldn’t take the money.”

  “Good work. You’ll get the ten thousand hazardous-duty pay I promised, plus another ten for the injury.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Volante nods. These men are all mercenaries at heart. They’d sell their soul if the price was right. But when they know serious money can be earned, they demonstrate as much loyalty as anyone with more lofty motives.

  He addresses Diaz but speaks loud enough for everyone in the room to hear. “The extra weapons would have been nice, but we have more than enough here to guard this shipment. And now that we know we can’t trust those Sinaloa bastards, we must guard it with extra care.”

  “Granjero, does the Sinaloa Cartel know about this shipment?” asks a voice from the back of the room.

  “They’re not supposed to. No one should know but us. But you know how word gets out. Or they may figure out why we wanted the extra gear.” He turns towards the middle of the room and raises his voice. “I expect every man to arm himself and be ready to kick ass if they come anywhere near here.”

  Heads nod around the room. The men pick out an assortment of rifles and sidearms until they’re bristling with weapons.

  Volante smiles. Even a field mouse wouldn’t last sixty seconds trying to approach this crew.

  CHAPTER 31

  On the road back to Capilla de Guadalupe, I text Papi but receive no reply.

  “Can we swing by my house?” I ask Carlos.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he replies. “Not with a cartel squad on the far end of your property.”

  “I wouldn’t ask, except I can’t get ahold of my father. He left a note saying he was going to work on something to get Oscar back. I know he’ll want to be a part of our effort if he knows about it.”

  The corners of Carlos’ mouth turn down. “I’m doing this against my better judgment.”

  “Thanks, amigo.”

  After entering the town an hour later, we turn onto the lane leading to my house. Moonlight casts a pale glow on the solitary road and the neat rows of agave plants spreading into the distance on either side of it.

  Carlos pulls his tow truck in front of my house. He keeps the engine running, ready to bolt in case any narcos are waiting in ambush.

  I exit the vehicle and study the pale surroundings. No sign of anyone.

  Making as little noise as possible, I approach my house, ease open the front door, and creep through the unlit rooms.

  Why does my breathing sound so loud? The only other noise is the methodical tick tock of an old palm-tree clock mounted on the kitchen wall.

  On tiptoe, I finish my tour of the house.

  Nothing.

  No Papi…but thankfully, no narcos, either. I check the dining room table, but there are no notes from Papi.

  I return to the truck and share the news.

  “Maybe you can try texting him again,” suggests Miguel.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re not going to stay here, are you?” asks Carlos.

  “No way. I just came to check on my dad.”

  “Good.” He steps on the gas and spins the wheel, accelerating his truck back up the lane—and looking rather relieved to be doing so.

  As we bump along, I send a half-dozen messages to Papi but receive an “undelivered” notice on all of them. When I dial his cellphone, it rolls over to his voice mail after the first ring. Has he moved to one of the areas without service? Or has something more ominous happened?

  I groan. One problem at a time: first rescue Oscar, then concentrate on locating Papi.

  “Now what?” asks Miguel.

  “Whatever we’re going to do, it has to be tomorrow,” I say. “But before we make specific plans, I want to check out Lily’s phone one more time. Maybe there’s something else on it we missed when we locked onto her message about Little Monkey.”

  Five minutes later, we arrive back at Carlos’ garage. We climb out of the cab, exhausted yet fully awake. Adrenaline will do that.

  Back in Carlos’ office, I sit at the corner of his desk and clear a spot among a pile of grease-stained invoices. Setting Lily’s phone in the space, I scour it for any more information, something that she might have wanted to share with me besides the Little Monkey purchase.

  Twenty minutes of searching reveals nothing.

  I lean back in the chair. “There’s nothing else on here.”

  Miguel shrugs. “It was worth a try.”

  “Maybe Lily thought the evening of the weapons’ sale would be the ideal time to rescue Oscar,” I say. “After all, two of Volante’s thugs left on that errand, meaning there were two less guarding him.” I sigh. “Now it’s too late to take advantage of that. But there is a good part.”

  “What’s that?”

  “One of those thugs isn’t coming back.”

  “Ha! True.”

  Carlos doesn’t react. Instead, he’s squinting like he does whenever he’s concentrating on something.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “The cellphone gives me an idea. You know my brother Ezekiel works for Telcel, right?”

  Miguel and I both nod. A few years back, Carlos told us how his brother scored him a good deal on his cellphone data plan with Telcel, Mexico’s biggest wireless provider.

  “He a tech—works on the towers. I was thinking…maybe he could see how many signals are coming from the western side of your family’s property, where the old distillery is located. That would tell us how many narcos are in there, more or less.”

  Miguel raises an eyebrow. “Cool idea, but could he could get info that specific?”

  “I’m not sure. But it won’t hurt to check.” He draws his cellphone out of his pocket and places the call, then lowers himself into the soiled cloth chair behind his desk.

  When Ezekiel answers, they chat for a minute or two, but Carlos doesn’t take long to broach the reason for the call. “Brother, if I have a favor to ask…no, my data plan is fine. It’s a different favor—a more important one. Look, I can’t tell you the details. I promised I’d keep them secret. But there’s some…people…on a friend’s property. We’re trying to find out exactly how many people are there…No, we can’t just go ask. I was wondering…could you use the pings from cellphone towers to figure that out?”

  As he listens to the reply, his eyebrows draw together in concern.

  “What is it?” I interject.

  Carlos swivels the phone
away from his mouth. “He says he’d have to triangulate with multiple towers for that level of detail.” His expression darkens. “He also says that’s not something his job would normally call for. It might look strange to his supervisor.”

  “Can he say he’s running some kind of equipment test?” I ask.

  Carlos returns to his phone. I can’t hear everything he says, but I do make out, “Yes, it’s important. Vitally important…Yes, tonight…I know, I owe you.”

  He ends the call and turns back to face us. “He thinks it’ll work, if his boss doesn’t put a stop to it. He’ll call back once he has something.”

  “Did he say how long that would take?”

  “Not too long. He has the early morning shift, so he just got to work. And his boss isn’t there yet, so now’s the best time to do the search.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s nice to have luck favor us for once. “Okay, good. We know there’s a lot of narcos there. I saw at least a dozen when they were trying to chase me down. So we may as well start figuring out how to get him out of there.”

  Miguel rubs his chin. “Any ideas?”

  “No, not yet.” I turn to Carlos. “Can you give me a lift back to my abuelo’s house? There’s something I need to pick up from there, something that will help us get started.”

  CHAPTER 32

  The rush of rescuing Oscar has kept my mind focused on that task, but now that we’re heading to Abuelo’s house, my heart is too heavy for words. He and I were always close—in many ways, closer than I am with Papi.

  I shake my head, trying to grasp the concept of thinking of Abuelo as someone from the past. I can’t wrap my mind around the fact that he’s gone. I know it intellectually, but the knowledge hasn’t yet penetrated my heart. I’m too numb for that. Only the first hesitant drops of a torrential rainstorm—a thunderstorm of grief—have fallen.

  “You okay?” asks Miguel.

  “Yeah, it’s just…my abuelo’s body is still in there. I didn’t have time to move him when I went rushing back home to see if Papi and Oscar were all right.”

  “You want to stay in the truck? Tell me what you’re looking for, and I can get it.”