CHAPTER 42

CAL CHECKED HIS WATCH as he waited for the FBI plane. It was noon, five and a half hours to kickoff. Figuring in the 90-minute flight to Houston and the estimated two hours it would take him to get to his hotel and get cleaned up, Cal figured he might make it to the game with an hour to spare. Maybe it would be enough time to wander onto the field during warm-ups and say hello to Noah. Maybe.

The events of the past two days shook Cal. He started to think about the way he could’ve died—gunshot to the head, run off the road and down into a canyon, beaten to death, thrown off a cliff, gunned down by masked assailants. But none of those things happened. Somehow, he fended off the knocks of the grim reaper. He refused to answer, denying the grave its pleasure. And while Cal’s desire to witness the Super Bowl felt superficial in the light of everything that happened, he needed to feel normal again, like this was just some bad dream. He needed to talk to Kelly.

“Can I borrow your phone?” Cal asked Solterbeck.

Solterbeck handed Cal his phone without saying a word.

Cal dialed Kelly’s number.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Kelly, it’s me. I wanted to let you know I’m OK.”

“Oh, Cal. I didn’t know what was going to happen to you. Someone from the FBI called me earlier and told me you were OK. I’ve been dying to talk to you.”

“Let’s try to use some other metaphor, OK?”

Kelly laughed. “Sorry. I know it’s a bit sensitive right now.”

“You’re telling me.”

“So what really happened after Jake and I escaped?”

“Well, I didn’t. Hernandez tried to trade me for one of his assassins with the FBI.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. I wish I was.”

“So that’s how you got free?”

“Sort of. The FBI agreed to exchange me for the assassin, but then everything went wrong.”

“What happened?”

“According to the FBI, some rival cartel’s sniper shot the assassin during the exchange. One of Herandez’s men pulled me back and started a gunfight with the FBI. Then Hernandez’s men thought the FBI was trying to pull one over on them, I guess. So Hernandez’s men decided to keep me since I was their leverage, but a few miles down the road the rival cartel ambushed us. They killed everyone but me.”

“Whoa! Why do you think they let you live?”

“I think it’s because they thought I was dead. I pretended to be dead when they looked inside the van and they drove off. Eventually, the FBI picked me up.”

“That’s messed up, but I’m so glad you’re OK, Cal.”

“Me, too. It’s great just to hear your voice. What did you do after you escaped with Jake?”

“Well, I called that number you made me memorize and I got someone at the FBI to pick us up.”

“What was Jake like?”

“Scared. He hardly said a word. But I could tell he felt safe.”

“You did a good thing, Kelly. Making sure that kid got home to his mom and dad safely—he’ll remember you for the rest of his life.”

“I’m not the only one he’ll remember.”

“Yeah, well, we can only hope it doesn’t damage the kid psychologically for the rest of his life.”

“No kidding.”

“So, are you still going to the game?”

“I wouldn’t miss it. You going to make it back in time?”

“I hope so. I’ve got to get cleaned up at the hotel, but I plan to be there before it kicks off.”

“Be safe, Cal, and I’m glad you’re OK.”

“Thanks. You too. I’ll call you later tonight.”

Cal hung up. He glanced at the television, already two hours into the six-hour pregame coverage of the Super Bowl. How long does it take to breakdown one football game? Cal thought.

Airing on the television was a feature about the quarterbacks and a comparison between the two. Cal always thought comparing quarterbacks was the dumbest statistic ever reported by sports writers and sports broacasters. They are never even on the field at the same time! It was like trying to determine who was better: an English teacher or a History teacher. They both taught different subjects and would naturally go about their teaching differently—just like quarterbacks facing different opponents would go about their business differently. But every red-blooded American sports fan likes to compare things and rank who is better. Cal hated this practice since even the use of statistics are subjectively employed in determining who is the best.

In the comparison story, Noah looked calm and relaxed on the screen. This had to be filmed before this week. Noah laughed as he recalled a story from playing youth football as a ten year old that started his legend in Beaumont, Texas. He threw a pass that was batted into the air, which he caught and then ran 50 yards for a touchdown. Throwing a touchdown pass to himself paled in comparison to the success he had in college at the University of Texas. He led the Longhorns to a national title, willing the team to victory in a championship game that went into triple overtime. The music in the background sounded heroic. It was the story of Noah’s football accomplishments—and his crowning achievement was within his grasp.

Then the story shifted to Miami’s star quarterback, Hunter Newton. Undersized and underappreciated his whole life, Newton didn’t get any of the chances afforded to Noah. No big college scholarship offers. Only Murray State offered him a scholarship. He took it and made the most of it. Six years later, he had the Dolphins in the Super Bowl. The piece cast Newton as a player who never got any credit for his team’s good fortunes. In college, Murray State had two running backs rush for over a thousand yards. Newton just handed off to them. The reporter interviewed Newton’s dad as well, as he told stories of how no one ever thought his son was good enough. But Newton always proved them wrong. Once Newton made the Dolphins’ roster, he thought all the criticism would go away—but it didn’t. No one ever seemed to give the guy credit.

Cal smiled. The feature story pitted two sides against each other in classic sports journalism style: good vs. evil. Entitled quarterback vs. gritty, hard-working quarterback. But Cal knew the truth. Noah was the reason the Seahawks were in the Super Bowl. The Dolphins were there because of their defense, not Newton. Everybody knew it. But the feature story tried to make you think there was some hidden drama. Nobody who knew anything about football would buy it.

He stopped mulling over the piece he had just watched when he heard his name called.

“Cal … Cal!” Solterbeck said.

Solterbeck handed Cal his bag.

“Cal, I can’t thank you enough for all you did. I’m really sorry everything went down like it did. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“I know,” said Cal, taking his bag. “But everything worked out, right?”

“Thankfully, it did. Let me know if you want any official FBI comments for that award-winning article you’re going to write.”

“Will do. And thanks for getting me back for the game.”

“Well, unfortunately, there have been some delays. The plane won’t get here for another three hours.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. Nothing I can do about it at this point.”

Cal sighed and then huffed. You’d think after all I did, someone could get me to the game!

He slumped in his chair, forcing himself to watch more meaningless pre-game Super Bowl coverage.