CHAPTER 40

DIAZ STEPPED IN FRONT OF CAL. He was the only thing between Cal and a long fall to the bottom of a ravine.

“Hey, let’s not be so hasty,” Cal said. “Maybe I could be of some benefit to you and your boss.”

Diaz laughed. “You think Hernandez is the boss?” he asked.

Cal said nothing. That’s what he had been led to believe. Was someone else really in charge? Could it be Diaz?

“Hernandez is a hired man, a pawn doing the dirty work of someone else. He’s foolish. He only does things for money. But sometimes, he gets lucky. While he’s off making sure we get paid, I do the dirty work.”

“Look, I can just walk away and we can forget this all happened,” Cal protested.

“No, we can’t,” Diaz said.

He then grabbed Cal’s shoulder and marched him around the corner of the van so he could see what was really happening.

Three black SUVs faced Cal’s direction. He noticed that his van wasn’t the only one in the entourage. There were four others. It looked as if the whole Hernandez clan had joined them, expecting some sort of shootout. Cal noticed a man near the other SUVs was wearing a bullet proof vest and an FBI hat.

Before Cal could figure out what was happening, Diaz explained.

“We already have a plan for you, Mr. Murphy. We are trading you for Hector Gonzalez, Hernandez’s best, how do you say it, ‘fix-it’ man.”

Diaz then picked up his phone and began dialing Hernandez. He didn’t exchange any pleasantries—strictly business.

* * *

SOLTERBECK ANSWERED HIS PHONE. It was Hernandez.

“The terms have changed,” Hernandez announced. “We will trade Cal Murphy for Hector Gonzalez. No one else.”

“What’s the matter? Can’t keep your men sober enough to guard a woman and a six-year-old boy?” Solterbeck asked.

“We can always rescind our offer, perhaps establish different terms.”

“Well, we got what we came for. If you decide to keep Cal hostage, we’re not going to spend many resources fighting it. He’s pretty much worthless to us—and worthless to you if we aren’t willing to give you anything for him. So talk tough with me. Show me your machismo. I don’t care. You either take it or leave it. This deal is going away forever if you don’t take it.”

Hernandez was quiet.

“We still on?” Solterbeck asked.

“Yes. Show us the prisoner.”

Solterbeck motioned to his men to show Hector Gonzalez to Hernadez’s men. They removed a sack over his head and waited. Solterbeck could see a trio of men using binoculars to confirm that it was indeed Hector. After a few moments of silence, Solterbeck heard a voice speak.

“OK, we’ll show you Mr. Murphy.”

In a similar fashion, Solterbeck’s personnel were positioned around the area. They attempted to confirm Cal’s identity. Once they agreed it was him, they nodded affirmingly at Solterbeck.

“Let’s make the switch,” Solterbeck said. “Let’s send them out at the same time.”

* * *

WHEN HERNANDEZ WASN’T AROUND, Diaz took charge. He carried out his boss’s wishes with effortless efficiency. Boss wanted a man dead? Diaz took care of it. Boss wanted someone tortured for information? Diaz leapt at the opportunity. Hernandez’s level of trust with Diaz approached blood-relative level. And this morning, Hernandez needed his top soldier to be more loyal than ever.

Diaz grabbed a fistful of Cal’s shirt and shoved him toward the federal agents waiting for the exchange to occur.

“Just keep walking, gringo,” Diaz said.

Diaz watched Cal walk toward the FBI agents positioned about 75 yards away. Diaz also watched Hector begin walking toward him. The swap was going as planned.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The rifle shots echoed in the canyon below before Diaz realized what happened. Hector collapsed to the ground.

A gunfight erupted between Hernandez’s men and the FBI.

Diaz yelled at Cal. “Stay down or I’ll take you out myself!”

Then Diaz crawled army style side-by-side with his prized hostage until they reached the van.

* * *

CAL WAS NOT ACCUSTOMED to such chaos. Action in the newsroom on election night or after covering a marquee sporting event created a hive of activity. But it was forgettable compared to this. Whizzing bullets. Double-crossing criminals. Dying people. Cal watched deadly ammunition bore into the dusty ground all around him. He wanted to burrow in after them and hide until this blood bath ended. Sooner or later one of those bullets was going to find him—and then what? Cal tried not to think about what it would feel like to get shot, but he knew it couldn’t be a pleasant experience. I don’t want to die!

The best thing Cal had going for him was that he was Diaz’s only collateral, the only way he could make a deal and get out of this situation. But someone pulled the trigger too early. Someone shot Diaz’s defenseless friend. Someone ruined Cal’s morning.

The shoot out lasted no more than two minutes, but it felt longer to Cal. He lay on the ground for a few moments, paralyzed by fear. Then Diaz shoved him into the van. Cal curled up in the fetal position and took advantage of the steel-plated van’s armored exterior.

As soon as the gunfire stopped, four men loaded into the van and it sped away without another shot fired. Cal didn’t care what was happening as long as everyone stopped shooting. He eventually mustered the courage to peek outside the van and saw the FBI’s tactical team watching the van leave without firing a shot. They let Diaz and his crew escape? The van bumped along the dirt road for about five minutes, making a handful of turns.

Suddenly, the van skidded before slamming into a pair of SUVs, stopping. Cal tumbled near the front of the van and looked through the front windshield to see a half dozen men begin to spray the van with bullets using automatic weapons. He scrambled behind the driver’s seat and hugged the floorboard. The windshield shattered as the assailants riddled the van. Cal looked toward the back of the van and watched his captors heads and chests explode in a bloody mess before they could even fire a shot in the right direction. Dead bodies slumped all around him.

Cal didn’t move. He didn’t want anyone to check the bodies and discover him still alive. Who knows what they might do to him? He didn’t breathe. Not until he heard the voices of a few men shouting in Spanish, car doors slamming, and the tires kicking up dust.

Then Cal freaked.

“Oh, my God! Oh, my God! I’m still alive!”

Cal patted down his chest and thighs, looking for a bullet wound. Maybe he would have felt a bullet rip through his skin or maybe not. At the moment, his adrenaline coarsed so fiercely through his body he felt like he could’ve accomplished any unfathomable feat. His search for a bullet proved futile. He was alive, unscathed.

Instinctively, Cal grabbed a handgun off one of the dead guards. He needed to get out of the van and get some place safe. Who knew if the attackers were coming back? Maybe they wanted some trophies or needed a head to hang from the overpass.

Cal tucked the gun behind his back and crept up toward the front. He needed to see if there was anyone nearby. There wasn’t. He exited through the sliding door and crouched down as he walked. The prisoner had been shot from long range and who knew if someone still had a scope on the van. If there was ever a time to be cautious, this was it.

As Cal peered around the corner of the van, he saw nothing familiar. Just more vast Mexico wasteland. More dusty desert. More canyon in the distance. A lone tree on the horizon and two roads leading in opposite direction to nowhere. Cal decided to start walking in the direction the van was pointed. It was obviously the way out. His mind felt jumbled from the chaos. Just walk.

Cal ambled along the lonely road. He would have preferred to get off the road, perhaps walk in the ditch or disappear in the nearby woods. He didn’t want to be seen in the open. But there was nowhere to hide. Vast nothingness. If this was his day to die, only a cruel God would let him survive everything he had experienced in the past day or so only to be killed while walking along a dirt road. But maybe his part was done. Maybe the priest was right and God had used Cal—and now Cal’s time was up, his good deed done. But before Cal could plumb the depths of his own soul and contemplate his mortality and place in this world, he heard the roar of several car engines.

Cal whirled around to see three black SUV’s speeding toward him, causing a small dust storm behind them. Instead of running, Cal chose to stand firm. Maybe the SUVs could give him a ride.

Then Cal recognized the SUVs. He exhaled in relief. It was the FBI.