Antonio Garza sat at the kitchen table helping Julio with his homework. School was starting earlier in the year and Garza was adamant about Julio’s education. He wanted the boy to grow up and live a clean life, without the stress and terror his father had to endure. The dirty dinner plates were still beside them on the table.
“Papa,” Julio said, writing in his notebook. “Donde esta mi madre?”
“En Ingles, mi hijo.”
“Por que?”
“Because,” Garza said, looking around to assure their solitude, “we may not always live in Mexico.”
“Why?” the boy asked.
“Well,” Garza said, “one day we may decide to live far away from here where English is the main language and it would be important for you to be able to speak with your neighbors.”
The boy’s eyes brightened. “You mean we could have neighbors? Like Pablo and Salvador? We could live next door to them?”
Garza smiled, ruffling up his son’s hair. “Maybe,” he said.
A thought seemed to cross Julio’s mind and his face became somber. “Is that where Mama is?”
Garza had waited as long as possible for this conversation, but needed to wait just a little longer. “Maybe,” Garza said, keeping the lie alive.
“When?” Julio asked, anxious to know his fate.
“I don’t know, hijo. Maybe soon.”
Through the upstairs kitchen window a pair of headlights could be seen traveling up the dirt road toward the complex. The road was three miles of pure desert landscape with no shelter along the way. It was the only way in and the only way out.
Following his father’s gaze, Julio began to gather his homework.
“Yes, Papa,” Julio said without being told a thing. “You have a business meeting, I know.”
Garza sighed. He took his son in his arms and said, “I do everything for you, Julio. Do you understand?”
Julio looked up into his father’s eyes. “No, Papa.”
Garza pulled him into his chest and smiled. “Someday you will, hijo. Someday.”
The boy left the room and Garza headed downstairs, passing three soldiers on the way. The last one was bigger than the rest and didn’t carry an assault rifle around his shoulder. When Garza saw him, he slowed his stride down the final couple of steps.
“Visitor, Jefe,” Victor Sanchez said.
“Yes, I know,” Garza said. “Bring him to the basement.”
“As you wish.”
Garza grabbed Victor’s arm. “Make sure you check him thoroughly, eh?”
Victor nodded.
Garza crossed the tiled foyer, down a wide corridor to an open room where five of his soldiers sat around a card table, playing Mexican Poker. One wall was lined with large surveillance monitors, two of which were infrared cameras scanning the perimeter of the facility.
Garza pointed to the wall. “Is anyone paying attention?”
They all looked at their boss with startled expressions and three of them spoke at once. Their voices overlapped, but two of them gestured toward a soldier at the table with no cards in front of him. It took Garza a moment to realize they were telling him that one person sits out each hand to watch the monitors.
Garza waved the back of his hand, then headed down a second set of stairs. The basement was bare cement walls with no pictures or decorations of any kind. There were dim spotlights recessed in the ceiling and a large screen television fronted by a leather sofa and wooden coffee table. It was a place for Garza to relax and watch baseball games at night. He’d grown to love the sport and became a big Los Angeles Dodger fan. There were a couple of recliners on either side of the sofa, but Garza always preferred to stretch out on the couch and rest his feet on the coffee table.
Garza chose the basement for his meeting because it was out of eavesdropping distance from the rest of the building. Once the door was shut it offered complete solitude. There was a bar at the far end of the room and Garza felt the need for a drink.
He poured himself a shot of mescal, then threw his head back and downed it in one gulp. The door at the top of the stairs opened and Victor Sanchez came down the steps followed by a man wearing a white Polo shirt, chinos and topsiders with no socks. He had a neatly trimmed beard and a large briefcase. The man looked like a tourist, but for the aged eyes. Two piercing tunnels of intensity which had Garza checking with Victor and getting the nod that the man was unarmed.
The man approached with his hand extended. “Mr. Garza. I’m Sadeem.”
Garza gave Sadeem, or whatever his real name was, an extra firm handshake, then pointed to one of the recliners. “Have a seat.”
The man sat and put the briefcase between his legs. Victor took a few steps back to stand guard, but Garza motioned him out of the room and Victor hesitantly complied.
Garza knew some negotiating techniques from the many books he’d read and when he sat down in the opposite recliner, he crossed his legs and kept his mouth shut. According to his books, the first person who broke the silence was the weaker of the two.
But when Sadeem finally spoke, it was with a Mid-Eastern accent that Garza couldn’t quite determine. It was either the accent or those cold vacant eyes which made Garza’s book knowledge seem irrelevant.
“You have quite a reputation, Mr. Garza,” the man said with a sly grin, which passed as his smile.
“Yes, I do,” Garza said.
Sadeem positioned the briefcase onto the coffee table and fell back into his chair. Garza couldn’t help but gaze at the case.
“The shipment will be ready in two days,” the man said. “Will you be ready?”
This was meant to be antagonizing, but somehow it came out as a threat to Garza’s ears.
“Do you question my abilities?” Garza responded.
“You have a tunnel?” Sadeem asked. “Is that how you guarantee the transfer?”
Now Garza was certain this was some test. The man glanced around the room as if searching for a security camera.
“You begin this relationship with an insult?” Garza said. “Is that correct?”
The man’s demeanor changed. He seemed more of a businessman than an interrogator. He reached with both hands and unlatched the briefcase, then opened it up and turned it toward Garza.
The first thought that went through Garza’s mind was, there’s too much there. He’d seen stacks of hundreds which added up to a quarter million or even a half million, but this was way more than expected.
As if Sadeem could read Garza’s mind, he said, “Five million.”
Garza tilted his head. No one overpays by four million dollars unless they want something extra. Something more than expected. Something dangerous.
“Now do you understand why I ask so many questions?” the man said.
“I understand that you want more than we agreed upon.”
“No,” Sadeem said firmly. “We want nothing more than what you said you could provide. Safe passage to the United States.”
The basement was completely still as the two men stared each other down.
Garza rubbed the back of his neck and it came to him. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner?
“This shipment,” Garza said. “It is not drugs, is it?”
Sadeem shook his head. “It’s the reason I ask whether you are using a tunnel. There are certain. . uh, requirements the shipment needs in order to remain stable. The temperature outside is too hot. This load should not be left outdoors for long periods of time.”
Now Garza understood the payment. “Precisely how dangerous is this shipment?”
“In its current form it is completely harmless. However, should the container be opened, there is no guarantee.”
Garza was ready for another shot of mescal. He was also ready to send this man and his briefcase and his smug attitude on his way. But there were five million reasons why he didn’t. The man seemed to understand this and he became even more comfortable in his recliner.
“Recently, you have invited the interest of some American law enforcement officials,” Sadeem said. “Is that a wise decision?”
Garza could feel his blood pressure rise. He wasn’t used to having his decisions questioned and it didn’t sit well with him. He wondered why the man was so at ease in Garza’s lair, swollen with soldiers geared to protect him.
Garza came to his feet and felt the man’s eyes follow him as he began a slow pace behind the recliner. “You spoke about my reputation,” Garza said. “Did it occur to you that I might have provoked this attention on purpose?”
“No,” Sadeem said. “That hadn’t crossed my mind.”
“Then please allow me to do my job.” Garza pointed to the briefcase. “Obviously, someone thinks very highly of my abilities.”
The man nodded. Garza had made his point. Sadeem was obviously a courier and no more. People of importance had hired him to make the delivery and he appeared to be overstepping his boundaries.
“Okay.” Sadeem stood and slowly made his way to Garza. “I have enough information. You will meet our men precisely when we have agreed. Yes?”
Garza looked at the man’s outstretched hand. One last gesture before he could take custody of his largest payday ever. Deep inside he didn’t trust this man, yet he couldn’t place strict evidence on his suspicions. Over Sadeem’s shoulder sat the open briefcase, the five million taunting him. Garza wondered whether it was designed to be positioned that way on purpose, or whether it was pure greed which had him firmly shaking Sadeem’s hand.
“Yes,” Garza. “We will be ready.”