9

 

Popayan, Columbia

As Alejandro Mercado strolled through the fields toward the makeshift lab, he ran his fingers over luscious coca leaves, enjoying the feeling of power rushing through his veins. The rainy season had begun, creating an ideal atmosphere for many acres of thirsty crops.

With his carefully planned infrastructure working to his advantage, as soon as he found the woman, no one, not even the Americans would be able to stop him. He would earn the money to pay his debt to Serrano, and have enough left over to build his own army. A satisfied smile played across his lips.

His people knew to expect his arrival, but as Alejandro approached the lab, he ordered his men to surround the area. He hadn’t built his empire by taking unnecessary risks, and he wasn’t going to start today.

As he stepped beneath the canopy of vegetation camouflaging the lab, his excitement mounted. It had been too long since he’d seen his operations first hand. Carlos had taken up much of his time lately. Raising his son was a worthy cause, but time consuming nonetheless.

Shouts came from underneath the tented area. About thirty workers paused in their duties, and then upon recognizing his face, got back to work with diligence. Alejandro strode through the small area, inspecting the rustic, yet efficient operation.

When he found the pile of end product, he let the white powdery substance sift between thick fingers. He sampled it. A hush fell over the workers, as if they held breaths. One quivering young boy stood next to him.

Pleased with the purity, Alejandro squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Bueno.”

The group began to breathe again, and the boy smiled, showing crooked teeth. Although a bit older, he looked as innocent as Carlos. “What is your name? How old are you?” Alejandro demanded.

“Pedro.” The boy straightened his shoulders. “I just turned twelve.”

Alejandro eyed the boy who was young enough to circumvent suspicion when transporting the drug, yet old enough to understand the consequences of failure. “You’ll make a good mule.”

The boy’s smile faded.

“You’ll earn four times the pesos for your family. You’ll get to see Mexico and Puerto Rico. Perhaps even America.”

A gleam of hope entered his young eyes.

“Come with us.” Alejandro signaled one of his men to take the boy. A woman began to protest, probably the boy’s mother, but he gave her one hard look and she tucked under her chin and quieted.

Satisfied with his discovery, Alejandro finished his visit and gathered his men. As they hiked to the awaiting SUVs, sweat beaded along his temples and trickled down his neck. He made sure Pedro settled into a vehicle with the others and then climbed into his personal SUV. He instructed his driver to start the engine, and cool air conditioning surrounded him. Even with the relief, his mood spiraled downward as his thoughts turned toward what awaited him at home.

“Let’s go.”

The driver shifted into gear, and they began their lengthy return trip. Once in range, he checked his cell phone for messages. None. His nephews had yet to call with an identity of the American woman. He fisted his hands as his impatience grew. Time was running out for those two. He’d turn them into mules along with Pedro if he thought they wouldn’t mess it up. Although, if they did get caught smuggling, they would no longer be his problem.

Alejandro stored away the idea for future consideration.

His phone sounded and he answered, half expecting to hear Santiago’s voice.

“I have an important client you must meet within three days.” Serrano’s grating tone came through.

Alejandro’s blood drained to his toes, and he cleared his throat. “Where?” Please don’t let it be in the States.

“New York City.”

A wave of dizziness washed over him. “Sir, I don’t think—”

“Is there a problem?”

Alejandro recognized Serrano’s underlying threat. “No. No problem,” he lied.

The woman was a problem. If she decided to talk to the authorities, he wouldn’t make it into the country without being detained.

Serrano sucked in a breath, probably inhaling one of his imported cigars. After he exhaled, he continued. “Good. The rest I’ll tell you after you get there.” He paused. “This deal must go through. You owe me.”

Alejandro’s palms grew sticky. “Of course.” He had promised Serrano a huge payday, and although he despised bowing down to this tyrant, failure was not an option. “I’ll be there.”

He disconnected. The stakes had risen. He could no longer afford to wait on Santiago and Rafael. He had ties in multiple countries to dignitaries, politicians, and all levels of rankings inside domestic and foreign governments. But, who should he contact?

He recalled the incident the woman had witnessed. He’d been over the scene many times in his head, but he’d never come up with an acceptable answer as to why an American woman would be traipsing through the Columbian rainforest alone. How had she stumbled upon one of the most remote villages outside of Cartagena? Unless…

She’d followed someone. But, who?

Aside from himself, his men and the traitor he’d disposed of, there were no others there that day. Then, he remembered. His most successful mule had come to pick up a shipment. The man had more luck getting drugs across the border than any he’d ever known. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t luck after all.

Alejandro sat straighter, picked up his cell phone and dialed a number as a plan began forming in his mind. If this man had anything to hide, he had ways of finding out.

“Hello?” A familiar male voice answered.

“I want to see you. Be at my hacienda by seven o’clock tonight.”

“I’m already on my way.”

“Very good. Oh, and Jonas? Make sure no one follows you this time.”