Border Crossings: A Catherine James Thriller (14 page)

The very evening she tried to run way Miss Lydia had put a lot of effort into getting Yesenia in bed with another man.  The horn that had sounded belonged to a Honda Civic driven by a young Hispanic man who couldn’t afford the three hundred dollars Miss Lydia was demanding for the pure Yesenia.  After that came an old man with bushy sideburns and gray hair popping out of his shirt like a yeti.  Miss Lydia coaxed him into choosing Yesenia and this time lowered the price to two hundred fifty.  She wanted that girl whipped into shape and was willing to bargain to do it.  But when they were alone in the room together Yesenia couldn’t stop crying.  She pleaded with him, and though he couldn’t understand her, he got the gist of the problem and couldn’t go through with it.  He felt so sad for Yesenia that he lost his ambitions to have any girl that night, demanded his money back, and wanted to know just what kind of place Miss Lydia was running.  “That girl acts like she’s being forced to work.  Just what’s going on out here, anyway?  Is that girl here of her own free will?”

“Oh, of course, of course
, she’s just been having a rough time, lately.  I’ll make sure to have a word with her.”

“Well, I’m tempted to call the police on out here.”

Miss Lydia’s eyes narrowed.  “I assure you that isn’t necessary, sir.  And besides, you wouldn’t want that sort of trouble, now would you?  What would your family say if they knew you were here?”  She looked at the ring on his finger.  “I’m sure your wife wouldn’t approve.  And the police would wonder what you were doing here yourself, now wouldn’t they?”

The man stammered, “Well, uh, well, something just don’t seem right is all.”

Her friendly smile reappeared, “Don’t worry.  That girl is just trying to start trouble for everyone, especially you.  I caught her stealing from someone earlier today and now she’s making more mischief.  Her crocodile tears are just a good act, I can promise you.”

“Well, all right.  Okay, then,” said the man, who now couldn’t wait to get out of there.  The idea of having to explain to family and friends why he was at a brothel was enough to scare him good and plenty.  “I guess you’re right.  Hell, I don’t even know what she was talking about.  It’s best if I just mind my business and be on my way.”

She patted his arm in that solicitous way she often did with customers, “Oh, it’s fine, dear, fine.  How could you know?  She’s such a trickster, that one.  Don’t you give it another thought.  I’m just sorry she tried to play on your good intentions.  I’m embarrassed, really.  Most of my girls are such nice girls.”

After she smoothed over the man’s concerns and showed him the gate, Miss Lydia dropped her grandmother’s facade and unleashed her true fury at Yesenia’s insolence.  She’d had enough of this new girl.  She told Hector to let Imelda out of the hot box and lock Yesenia inside for now while she thought on what to do.  “I should put a few scars on that nice little face of hers,” she told her son.

“I could fix her,” offered Jose.  The moment he’d seen Yesenia he had started thinking of things he’d like to do to her.

“Maybe,” said Miss Lydia.  “But I should be able to get top dollar for a pretty girl like that unused.”

“Except she won’t cooperate,” he reminded her.  “She’s like a horse.  Someone needs to break her before others can ride her.”

She nodded agreeably.  “Broken nice and good,” she told him.  Then her wicked smile played across her face.  “I think I know a way to get her in line and make a few more dollars while I’m at it.  I think I know just the customer for our little trouble maker.”  She smiled at
Jose.  “That crazy,
pinche
mechanic hasn’t been out for a visit in a while.  Maybe he’d be a good one to break the girl.  I’m sure he’d be happy to help.”

Jose smiled, too.  He was disappointed he wouldn’t get to be the one to break Yesenia, but the thought of what would
soon befall her filled him with a sadistic satisfaction.  “I’m sure he would.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before,” she laughed, and went inside her home to make a phone call.  The
mechanic was usually a problem client of hers.  He’d given her a number to reach him when she got a new girl, but given his propensity for violence she had never called him.  But now, that same trait might come in handy.  And she could make a few dollars out of it as well.

Yesenia had sat alone in the hot box for many hours.  As night had fallen, it wasn’t the oven that she imaged it would be during the day, and though it was uncomfortable and just as smelly as Evelyn had said, in an odd sense she felt secure for the first time since she’d arrived.  She sat in the darkness with her legs pulled up to her chest as she had done when riding in the truck from McAllen.  She was just nodding off to sleep when the door opened.  She looked up to see Miss Lydia standing next to Jose and a man she’d never seen before.  He stood with no shirt on, his arms and chest covered in tattoos, and fidgeted from side to side in an unnatural way.  He ran his hands through his short, sandy blond hair and looked her over in a way that Yesenia liked not at all before he said to Miss Lydia excitedly, “Yeah, yeah, I want some.  I’ll take me some of that and fix her up right.  How much?”

Fear rose up in Yesenia’s chest.  Miss Lydia saw it on her face and smiled.  “Let’s go talk,” she told the man, still grinning wickedly at Yesenia.  Jose slammed the door closed. 
Not again
, she thought.  She rose up and pressed herself against the metal door, but it had no leeway.  She’d already tested it before, but now she made a frantic effort to open it.  She had to get away.  She knew what Miss Lydia and the new man were going to talk about.  The way he had looked at her made her skin crawl; something told her she wouldn’t be talking her way out of it this time.  He was like Miss Lydia, she thought.  They both enjoyed other people’s misery.

She beat against the metal door and yelled for help, but no answer came.  Then, after 15 minutes or so, the door opened again.  The man smiled at her and behind him, so did Miss Lydia.  “
Now, you know the rules," she told the man, handing him a condom.  "She has a room in the pink house.”

He took it with a smile and
unbuckled his belt while turning to Yesenia, “No, we’re gonna do it right here, ain’t we, girl?  Yeah, we’re going to have us some fun.”

“Don’t mess up her pretty little face,” Miss Lydia warned him.

“Awww, we ain’t gonna do that, are we, girl?  We’re just gonna play a little tiny bit.”  He bobbed left to right with the most horrid smile Yesenia had ever seen.

“You’d better make sure,” she told the man.  “She needs breaking in
, but if you ruin my girl my boys will make you pay.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he told her.  “Go on, now.  I paid.  I get to play now.”  He took a few steps towards Yesenia and she backed into to the darkness of the metal container.

“You two play nice now,” Miss Lydia told them, with one last look to Yesenia as if to say,
let’s see how you like this
.  Then she turned and waved Jose back to the house as they left the man to do his worst.

“What if she manages to run away again?” asked Jose, concerned since they’d left Yesenia’s cage door open.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Miss Lydia responded.

“
Por favor
,” Yesenia begged the man.  “
No.  Por favor, no
.”  But he just smiled.

Yesenia fought with everything she had, from punching and kicking to biting and scratching, but the man had his way anyway.

“Whoo!” he whooped when it was over.  “Now that’s what I’m talking about!  Yeah, I can’t wait to play with you again, girl!”

All the rage and fight that had been in her went down deep into a hidden place inside of her.  Not gone, only pushed down deep.  Yesenia angrily wiped away the tears, forcing her face to become rigid.  She wasn’t going to give Miss Lydia the satisfaction of succeeding in beating her into submission.  She took it all and put it in the well deep in her belly, promising herself that she’d bring it back out when the time was right.

As the man left, Jose and Miss Lydia came back to the hot box.  “Are you going to behave now?” Miss Lydia asked.  “Or do I need to get you some more like him.  I can get as many as you like.”  Yesenia wiped away a last tear, her expression as stone.  “So we understand each other?”

“Yes,” Yesenia told her.  “We understand each other.”

But Miss Lydia frowned.  She looked into Yesenia’s eyes and where she had expected to see a broken and submissive gaze, she thought she saw a hint of something else, something she found troubling.  Behind the curtains of the expressionless eyes, she thought she saw a hint of iron, burning red-hot with a kindled rage.  “You better,” she warned Yesenia with a wag of her finger, “or I can find worse things for you.”

In a remote area of Colombian rainforest, three men crept quickly through the thick undergrowth.  Their faces were painted to match their surroundings and each wore a gillie suit, an outer layer of fabric like a poncho, but filled with lacings in which local vegetation is tied so that the wearer looks like a bush when standing still.

The point man suddenly froze, ducked down, and held up his arm, the other two instantly stopped and ducked as well.  They listened quietly, but no sound out of the ordinary could be heard.  Still, the point man looked about cautiously.  He gestured to the other two that they were going to flank right, but just as they rose to move again, his chest was instantly covered by an explosion of orange goo.  The others swung their guns around, but it was too late.  Instantly, they, too, were covered in goo.

“You’re all dead,” said a voice in Spanish.  And as if from nowhere, a man suddenly appeared not fifteen feet in front of them.  He pulled off his gillie suit to reveal his face, covered in grease paint.

“I looked for your tracks,” said one of the orange-painted soldiers.  “There were none.”

“That’s because I look where I step,” said the man as he approached.  “And I’m wearing these.”  He held up a leg and the men saw he was wearing very thin leather boots, something like moccasins, which had been dyed black and had no tread.  They were full of little holes on the top where air could ventilate.  “That’s our next lesson,” said the man.  “You have to get rid of those clunky boots.  I could have shot you blindfolded with the racket you were making in those things.  Not to mention how easy it was to track you.  Look behind you!”

The men looked, but didn’t see much.  “Here,” explained the man.  He stepped behind them and pointed to the ground where a slight indentation was.  “See this?  A decent tracker can not only follow you with this, but he’ll know right away you’re wearing combat boots because of the heel depth.  You’ve not only been discovered, but you’ve also been made.  The cartel would follow you back to your blind and put a grenade right up your ass.  Not to mention those boots will give you jungle rot that’ll eat the skin right off your feet if you’re humping it for more than a day or two, which you will be.  And Torres!”  He got up and walked to the point man, “What the hell is this?”  He pointed to a group of fronds tied into the gillie suit.

“It’s fern,” said the man.

“Look around you,” he scolded.  He pointed to a fern growing nearby, “What’s different about that fern and what you’ve got sticking out your ass, here?”  The man looked but said nothing.  The other continued by letting his paintball gun fall by the strap to his side and cupping his hands together.  “Ferns grow like hair, up and out in a curved shape. You’ve got a vertical line here that looks completely unnatural.  I’d spot that instantly.  And if I would, someone else would, too.”

“I thought it would look right when I hit the dirt,” said the man.

“You look like a peacock trying to get laid.  The second you get a shot off, the rest of the enemy is going to spot this ridiculous looking row of fern vegetation and blow your head off.”  He tore it off the gillie suit.  “Unacceptable,” he told Torres.  “Okay, that’s enough for now,” he said to all three.  “Let’s head back to camp.  You guys can get a few hours sleep, but at
22:00 hours we’re doing some more night training, so make sure you have your night vision goggles.  And Torres, I want you to redo this gillie suit before we head out again.  I don’t want to see any vertical lines on this thing.  You’re not trying to disappear into a cornfield.”

“Yes, sir,” said Torres.

They trekked a quick mile back to camp, a well-furnished set of temporary buildings just inside the forest.  More than a hundred soldiers were being trained here, all in small groups, learning everything from bomb making techniques to sniper killing, to search-and-destroy missions.  It was a school for covert operations and Matt was the hired substitute teacher.

Once inside his tent, Matt noticed his satellite phone was blinking, indicating a missed call.  He hit the button and recognized the number.  He pulled a Gatorade out of a cooler, peeled off his moccasin boots, then picked up the phone and dialed.  An operator answered the phone.

“Titansteel.”

“Hey, it’s Matt.  You guys call?”

“Yes.  You had a call from one Catherine James.  She said it was urgent and left a number for you to reach her.”

Catherine James. 
He hadn’t heard that name in a while. 
Wonder what’s got her calling me after all this time. 
It’d been years since last they talked, and he hadn’t been exactly pleasant.  He never thought he’d hear from her again.  In fact, he thought she made it pretty clear he wouldn’t.  That didn’t matter, though.  He’d promised to always be there if she needed anything, and he’d meant it.  Besides, if she was calling him instead of the other way around, she must really be in a fix.  He took the number, hung up, and then dialed.  He recognized the international prefix. 
Wonder why she’s in Mexico?

“Catherine?”

She was working on a third Jack Daniels.  It wasn’t the smartest thing to do, she knew . . . getting drunk in the hotel room knowing armed assailants may very well find out where she was and that she could end up in another gunfight while inebriated.  It didn’t seem likely, though.  They were probably laying low now that it was all over the news.  Still, the Glock was on the table next to her, freshly loaded.  “Hi, Matt.  How are you?”

“Oh, not too bad.  The World Peace boys have me out and about teaching some kids their ABC’s, but what the hell?  Two weeks’ vacation and the pay is okay, so I can’t complain.”  The World Peace Organization was a little running joke between him and Catherine.  It was their pet name for the miscellaneous companies he’d worked for over the years.  Matt was a modern day mercenary.  They both knew it.  It was one of the reasons she’d left him so many years ago, though it was one incident in particular that had finalized the split.

“And where’s here?” she asked.

“South of you,” he told her.  “Let’s just say that.”

Catherine knew enough to put a reasonable picture together.  He wasn’t in the Middle East.  He was in South America, probably being paid to train local anti-cartel soldiers in their fight against drugs.  Ironic, in a way, considering it was probably the same sort of people she was dealing with in Cancun. 
Reagan’s war rages on,
she thought, nostalgically.

“I’m surprised you’re not someplace with a little more sand,” she told him.

“No, not me.  I did a round or two over there but that I.E.D shit was enough to send me packing.  I saw a hummer go up in front of my face and that was enough for me.”  Catherine heard there was more to tell in his voice, but that was probably a story for another day.  Maybe another life, she didn’t know.  He used to tell her all his stories, but that didn’t work out so well.  “What are you up to?” he asked her.  “How’s babysitting the oilers?”

“Entertaining as ever,” she said.  “So you’re still willing to work down south, huh?  I’m surprised after what happened.”

He felt a knot in his stomach. 
Didn’t take her long to bring that up. 
”Aw, you know how it goes.  I try not to live in the past,” he said defensively. 
I shouldn’t have been drinking for this call,
Catherine told herself.  Matt continued, “I cover my ass these days.  I make sure I have a plan B.  I’m still grateful for what you did, though, Catherine.  I think you know that.”

“I’m sorry,” she told him.  “My mind is all twisted up.  I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s fine,” he told her.  “You know I’m sorry about it.  We can’t go back, though, right?”  He kicked his boots under his bed.  “Why are you calling me, Catherine?”  It wasn’t an ugly question, just honest.

“Matt, I’ve got some trouble.”

“Uh, oh,” said Matt.  “Wolf snatch another sheep off the ranch?”  Several years ago, when one of the Americans working in Belize was kidnapped, Catherine had been called in to consult on the ransom negotiations and liability risks.  The company that hired her also hired another company to assist . . . one with a more sinister name at the time.  That’s how she met Matt.  They’d been fortunate on that one.  The oil company had insurance which paid the ransom, and the worker had been released.  A small transmitter was in with the money, and Matt had led a team that tracked down the kidnappers.  They killed two in a brief firefight before the rest surrendered.  Whether it was the dramatic circumstances of their meeting or a lingering, adolescent attraction towards bad boys, Catherine and Matt soon began an intense romance.  Something happened later down the road that effectively ended their relationship, yet bound them together forever at the same time in a different sort of way.

“Have you heard anything about the missing girl in Cancun?”  Catherine asked him.

“Yeah, I heard something about it.  Don’t tell me you’re caught up in that mess.”

“She was the daughter of a close friend of mine,” said Catherine.

Matt put his Gatorade down.  “Hell.  I’m sorry to hear that, Catherine.”

“I’m here in Cancun,” she told him, “but things are getting out of hand.  Someone tried to kill me today.  I was wondering if there was any way . . . “

“Someone tried to kill you?” he asked, his tone low and ominous.

“Yes.  With a machine gun no less.”  Matt remained silent a moment.  “Are you impressed?” she asked, trying to inject humor where none was to be found.

“I’ll finish here tomorrow morning,” he said.  “Do you want to meet me tomorrow evening?”

Catherine breathed a sigh of relief and chastised herself for ever having a doubt.  “Yeah, that would be wonderful, Matt.
  I’m heading to Houston soon with Taylor Woodall’s family, but I’m looking after a boy here and can’t leave him alone.”

“He’s not yours is he?” he asked, half joking.  It was entirely possible after five years.

“No.  To be honest he was the real target today.  He’s a witness and someone is doing their best to kill the poor kid.”

Matt listened as she tried to explain what had happened.  “You weren’t kidding,” he told her.  “You are in a mess.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, “believe, me, I know. “

They made their arrangements to meet.  Catherine was definitely relieved, but also a little frightened at what it would mean to see Matt again.  “Thank you, Matt.”

“I meant what I said,” he told her.  “I’m always here.”

“I know.”  The intervening pause was sorely uncomfortable for her.  “I’ll call.”

The next morning Matt made a phone call of his own.  He used his work connections and hired a sub-contractor he knew about who had a twin-engine private aircraft available.

“Did you have a good stay?” asked the pilot.

“I did.”

“Oh, heading for a little vacation?” asked the pilot, reviewing the flight plan.

“Something like that.”  Next to him Matt placed two bags, one a backpack with two weeks’ of clothes, consisting primarily of camouflage.  He’d have to buy some civilian clothes when he got there.  The other was an army duffle bag filled with weapons that would have set off the alarms in customs like a Fourth of July extravaganza.  Luckily, he wasn’t going to have to go through customs.  The sub-contractor who leased out the plane had a bonus package.  It wasn’t cheap to upgrade, but Matt had it put on the company’s tab.  They’d be pissed as hell when they got the bill, but he figured he’d earned them more than enough to cover it with all the hours he’d been putting in.

The plane was headed for a private landing strip with a government clearance.  He’d have to be careful, though.  There weren’t any permits for the things he was carrying and once he drove off that strip he was on his own.  He had an M-14 assault rifle, two 9mm’s, one Glock .380, the same model Catherine carried except his had a silencer, his thin boots, and a small black knife with no hilt, only a slender unibody that edged out on one end into a razor-sharp blade.  It was the same knife he kept by his bed at nights . . . just in case. 
Someone tried to kill her,
he thought to himself.  And he took the knife from his bag and rubbed its edge. 
Does that bother you, Matt? 
A voice somewhere inside asked. 
Even after all these years? 
The answer was a resounding yes. 
Old feelings die hard,
said another part of his conscience. 
And so will whoever tried to hurt Catherine if I get my hands on them.