Derailed (37 page)

I studied each face. Who was my mule? Who was the man who carried hundreds of thousands of dollars in cocaine or meth or heroin? The dozens of mug shots and photos I'd studied of cartel members flicked through my mind, creating a morphing composite
of a heavy-faced, stockily built Hispanic man with short, unkempt black hair and wary eyes, mustache almost always, sometimes a short-cropped, jawline beard.

Suddenly, Estelle's question came to mind: “
You sure it'll be a man?
”

No . . . no, I wasn't sure. I needed to keep my mind open.

I started watching the women too.

And then I saw her . . . the woman who lived across the street—the singer, Grace Meredith. She was walking up to Carl, holding out her ticket!

I watched as Carl handed the tickets back to
Grace Meredith and an attractive young black woman standing with her—probably Grace's assistant. To my relief, he pointed the two women on down the train to another car. The women set off, each pulling a large and a small piece of luggage while juggling other items like a couple of porters. Why hadn't they hired a Red Cap?

I released the breath I'd been holding. At least they weren't getting on my car . . . but they were on this same train! How could that be? I'd forgotten about Grace's West Coast tour. It must be over, and they were headed back to Chicago.

I couldn't hide in my room. I had a job to do, and it meant sweeping the whole train until I found the mule and the drugs. Surely Grace Meredith would spot me and break my cover. My flat hat and shades and blind man act wouldn't be enough to prevent recognition.

At the very least, I had to know where they were riding. Maybe I could avoid her. I jumped up. “Come on, Corky. You need one more walk.” I grabbed the handle of her harness.

Out in the hall, a passenger was standing in the vestibule wrestling with his luggage, so I feigned not being able to see as I felt my way along the wall and stopped in the open doorway. Carl checked another passenger's ticket. “Coaches are down that way, ma'am.”

Stepping onto the platform beside him, I looked blankly over his shoulder just in time to see Grace Meredith and her friend step aboard the sleeper, two cars down.
Whew! Thank you, Jesus
, I sighed.

“Oh, Mr. Bentley, is everything okay?”

“Yeah. But . . . I was just wondering whether I could give my dog one last walk before we pull out.”

“Well, the relief area's not very close.” He looked around. “But I suppose I could take her over to those open tracks if she just has to pee, but . . .”

I almost snorted. Carl was trying to help, but he obviously didn't have much experience with service dogs. “When's the first rest stop?” I asked.

“Uh . . . the first scheduled break's Flagstaff, Arizona, but that's not until four thirty in the morning.”

I'd seen what I'd come out to see. “Don't worry about it, Carl. We're prepared.” I leaned closer, intentionally awkward. “I brought pee pads. We'll be fine.” I turned and followed Corky's lead aboard the train.

Back in my compartment, I closed the door and paced back and forth. Then I sat down and called Gilson.

“Hey, Harry. How's it goin'? You got him yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Grand jury's convening as we speak. Should have this wrapped up in about twenty minutes.”

“Funny. What's happening?”

“A bit of a complication. There's a woman on this train who knows me.”

“She made you yet?”

“No. Hasn't seen me, but I've seen her. It's my neighbor from across the street back on the block. She's a traveling singer on her way home from a concert tour, I think.”

He swore, then remained quiet a moment. “Guess you'll have to find a way to fill her in on what you're doing and swear her to secrecy. Can you trust her?”

“I s'pose. But I don't like complications.”

“Harry, there's always complications. You know that.”

“But I don't like 'em showin' up this early.”

“Suck it up, man. When's the train leave?”

I checked my watch and looked out the window. “We're startin' to move right now.”

“Okay. Just get the bad guy, and keep me informed.”

Within minutes we were creeping along the bank of the Los Angeles River. The channel looked like a below-grade expressway with a water slick in the bottom and gang graffiti plastered along the concrete banks. Too bad trains had to enter and exit cities through their ugliest corridors. Except for rural towns, almost all trains passed through depressing slums, abandoned factories, and cluttered freight yards before they got to a station. And while those classic old stations might be impressive, they didn't erase the unpleasant memories of what you went through to get to them.

I unsnapped Corky's handle and gave her a scratch, then punched Estelle's number into my phone. “We're on our way, babe. But do you remember when the woman from across the street's supposed to get home from her singing tour?”

“Grace? Sometime this week, I think. Not sure she told me the exact day.”

“Well, she's on this train along with her assistant.”

“Really? Oh, Harry, that's great. You'll have someone to talk to. I've been thinkin' how lonely it must be for you out on a job like this where you aren't havin' meetings or goin' to conferences like most people who have to travel on their jobs.”

“Not so great, Estelle. I'm workin' undercover, remember. Can't risk her giving me away and blowin' the whole case.”

“Oh, she wouldn't do that.”

“Not intentionally. But you know how some people are. They just can't keep from talkin' when something unusual is going on. That's why I called you. You've gotten to know her better than I. You think she can keep her mouth shut about something?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line. “I'm sure she can, Harry. She's had more practice keeping a secret than any one person should've.”

Huh. Wondered what she meant by that. “Well, that's good. Still, I hate to bring her into it. But I'll probably have to. Pray for us. I'm gonna need it.”

“Of course, Harry.” There was a moment of silence, and I was about to give Estelle my love and say good-bye when she started to pray. “Father God, we come to you right now, asking for wisdom for Harry and discretion for Grace . . .”

My wife continued praying fervently that all would go according to plan and that we'd remain healthy while mingling with so many people in a small space and eating food that might not agree with us. Finally, she said, “In the mighty name of Jesus, amen.” I had to smile. That was so like Estelle, speaking to the Lord without any formal hesitation, reminding me the Lord was just that close.

I thanked Estelle while secretly thinking “remaining healthy” might involve far more than she realized. Busting the Sinaloa cartel was far more serious than trying to scare a few college students straight or nabbing a kid with a suitcase full of grass. The Sinaloa cartel had filled mass graves in Mexico with their enemies.

And I was about to make myself one of them.

The sun had set, silhouetting the palm trees and hills against the iridescent blues, pinks, and oranges of a cloudless sky, when the dining steward's voice came over the PA inviting those holding seven o'clock reservations to come to the dining car.

I snapped Corky's handle back on her harness. “Okay, girl, here we go.” She jumped up at the word
go
, tail wagging.

This was my first time staying in the lower-level accessible bedroom. It made sense, not only because of the length of the trip and the chance for me to have a few moments when I didn't have to act blind, but because there was a good chance such a high-level mule would travel first class. Once car attendants got to know their passengers, it wouldn't have been easy for me to roam through their sleeping cars unless I too was in first class. I had no intention of breaking my cover, not even to Amtrak staff to explain my mission. But first class created its own challenges. The compartments had doors that closed and curtains that pulled.

When I got to car four thirty-three, the one I'd seen Grace Meredith enter, I proceeded carefully. I didn't want to face her until I was ready, but I wanted to know what compartment she was in. The little roomettes seemed too small for two unrelated people to travel in comfortably, so I focused on the five bedrooms. There was a family bedroom on the lower level—on the other end of the car from the accessible bedroom—but it had four beds.

The door to Room E was closed and the curtain pulled sufficiently so I couldn't see in. I listened. No sounds from within.

Room D was open and empty. I checked behind me to be sure no one was coming and stepped in. No luggage, no personal items on the sink, and the pillows and Amtrak schedules on the seats seemed undisturbed.

The curtain over the door window to Room C was open enough for me to see the legs of a heavy man elevated on the footrest of his seat. His trousers were badly wrinkled, and the heels to his shoes worn down at an angle.

I slowed to listen to faint music from Room B. Grace was a musician, perhaps . . . Then the sound of dialog and a laugh track confirmed that someone inside was watching a movie. Sounded like a kids' movie. I looked down at Corky. She gazed back, wagging her tail, as if to say,
You said
go,
this isn't go, so when are we going?

One more room. I was almost there, when the door slid open and a middle-aged white couple came out and looked at me, an embarrassed expression spreading over their faces. “Hello. Do you want past?”

“No, that's okay. You go ahead.”

I waited for a few moments while they went on toward the dining car.

Three rooms eliminated. But I still wasn't sure whether Grace and her friend were in Room E or Room B. I kept going. The pneumatic door whooshed open, and I stepped from the third sleeping car across the clattering, windy connecting section, pressing the plate that opened the door to the dining car. Waiting just in front of me was the couple from Room A. The woman
looked back anxiously at Corky, but I stared straight ahead as if I hadn't noticed.

Within a few moments, the dining steward beckoned for the couple to proceed and be seated at a table a third of the way down the car. Then he summoned me with a wave and turned to walk on past the galley area toward the other end of the car.

I was looking forward to this meal. Amtrak's food was good, and one of the most enjoyable parts of a train journey was meeting new people with whom you shared a table. So far no one had objected to Corky sitting under the table on past trips, but there were always a few awkward moments while they figured out how to talk to a blind person. Awkward or not, I was eager for a little conversation, not having spoken to anyone except by phone for three days.

But the steward had only beckoned, so I held my place until he turned and realized I wasn't following him, and then he saw Corky standing by me. He finally figured out my shades weren't merely because I was trying to be cool. Coming back, he spoke in muted tones. “If you'll follow me, sir, I have a seat for you at the other end of the car. Feel free to grab the backs of the seats to steady yourself as you go.”

I followed, trying not to appear too confident of where we were going. But we had no sooner passed the galley area in the center of the car, when a tentative voice called out from the first table on the left, “Mr. Bentley?” and then with more urgency, “Mr. Bentley, is that you?”

Grace Meredith was sitting in that first booth with her back to the galley divider. She'd only seen me as I passed. I kept walking without acknowledging her. Several feet beyond, the steward said, “Your table is here on the right, sir. I'll be back in a moment to go over the menu with you.”

“Uh . . .” I stopped in the aisle. “I want to go on through to the lounge car. Don't need a table right now.”

“I'm so sorry. I thought you were here for dinner. Go right ahead.” He stepped aside, leaning a little into the empty booth to give me room to pass.

A
whoosh
and another
whoosh
of the sliding doors, and I was safe. It was tempting to look back through the door windows to see what Grace was doing, but I couldn't risk it.

Sitting down in one of the lounge chairs, Corky at my side, I went over what had just happened as my heart rate returned to normal. That was close, but not something I could've foreseen. And I had learned something valuable: Grace Meredith was in Room E.

My stomach growled with hunger. So much
for a good meal in the dining car. I made my way down the winding stairs to the café in the lower level of the lounge car. It wasn't easy going up and down those stairs with a guide dog. They just weren't wide enough for side by side. But we'd worked it out so she'd lead going up and follow coming down while I held on to the railing.