CHAPTER 38

CAL AWOKE TO THE SOUND of a garage door rolling up and the shouting of men’s voices. His neck was stiff and his back sore from sleeping on the concrete floor. He moved slowly but quickened the pace when one of Hernandez’s men shoved the point of an assault rifle into his back.

“Move, amigo!” the man barked.

Cal got up and shuffled in the direction the man with the gun was prodding him. Another man blindfolded Cal before shoving him into the waiting van. Cal couldn’t be sure what time it was, but what did it matter? He was on someone else’s schedule right now, doing whatever they told him to do. Maybe he would get out of this alive, maybe he wouldn’t. And while something like time was irrelevant in his situation, just knowing it brought back some sense of normalcy.

“What time is it?” Cal asked, hoping someone in the van would answer him.

Silence.

“Does anyone know what time it is?” he asked again.

Nothing.

Maybe it’s the language barrier. He tried it in Spanish. “Que hora es?”

“Es hora de que te calles,” came the response. It was followed by a whack to his head with the butt of a rifle. Not exactly the answer Cal was hoping for, but it didn’t hurt too much to ask.

Cal couldn’t see through the blindfold, but he felt like he was seated in the back of the van. It was the same one Hernandez’s men had brought him here in. Hernandez customized the van, making it perfect for operations such as these. Long seats ran around the inside perimeter, replacing the bench seats. The floorboard didn’t feel slick; the metal had been covered by a spongey substance. Probably to absorb all the blood, Cal thought.

After a few more minutes of men shouting and screaming instructions in Spanish, Cal heard the garage door crash down before the van door slammed shut. The van lurched forward, speeding off in an unknown direction.

Cal had no idea what to expect, but he hoped they wouldn’t dump his body off a cliff. This was not the way he wanted to end it all, a footnote on the inside page of a newspaper or buried on a website somewhere. He wanted his life to matter.

* * *

SOLTERBECK STEPPED OUT OF the helicopter at the site Hernandez gave him. He nursed his scalding cup of coffee. The morning light peeked over the horizon for the first time that day. Instead of being here, Solterbeck would have preferred to be asleep in his own bed. But this situation dictated he have a second plan and a third plan. The location was remote without multiple ways in or out—for most people. However, with access to plenty of FBI resources on this case, he made sure numerous options existed. Solterbeck needed Cal out of there alive. It would be good for his career and good press for the agency, a win-win situation that everyone could feel good about.

The coordinates Solterbeck received were at the top of a bluff. A winding dirt road led to a precise location as the only manageable way in or out by car. The surrounding area was extra sandy with large boulders. Navigating a vehicle through that area would present a challenge to even the best of drivers. However, it was the bluff’s unique shape that formed almost a peninsula, making it perfect for a swap. Hernandez’s men would take the position closest to the exit while Solterbeck would have to wait. It was a type of extra insurance. The nearby ridge overlooking the bluff also gave Hernandez the opportunity to position long-range snipers to make sure everything went smoothly. This concerned Solterbeck, but he knew the location would be far from ideal from his perspective.

Solterbeck jumped onto the helicopter and left after 20 minutes of scouting the area. He would be back in less than three hours for the swap. He had a few phone calls to make.

* * *

THE VAN CARRYING CAL bumped along toward its destination. He still had no idea when he would arrive or what would happen after he got there. He just knew they weren’t getting there soon enough. While Cal wouldn’t consider himself fluent in Spanish, he knew enough so he could pass the time by listening to the conversation buzzing around the van. The men guarding Cal didn’t seem to think he could understand much of what they were saying. Their tongues wagged loose and free.

Cal gathered a few important details. First, Hernandez wasn’t there nor would he be coming. Secondly, Hernandez needed some type of insurance. Cal wasn’t sure what that meant or what it was referring to, but he had a good idea that they weren’t talking about the kind you can buy to protect your home, life or vehicle.

Suddenly, the terrain switched from pavement to dirt. The potholes, however, jolted the van with the same frequency. But wherever they were, it wasn’t near Juarez any more—or on well-traveled stretch of the highway.

The van turned sharply left, flinging Cal to the right. One of the men shoved Cal back to his original seat. More potholes and sand. A minute later, the van skidded to a stop. Hernandez’s men hustled Cal to the opening of the van before removing his blindfold. The door slid open and Cal squinted at the morning sun beaming down.

Cal needed a few moments for his eyes to fully adjust. The men forced Cal out of the van. Cal staggered forward. He was standing on the edge of a cliff.