“Hey,” she said sharply, though her eyes were still playful. “I’ll have you know I helped initiate a bust in Culiacán that resulted in thirteen million worth of drugs and cash being seized.”
“That was you?” I asked. “Oh, your parents must be so proud.”
She glared at me. “Your English needs some work. You’re not very good at sarcasm.”
I finished up my drink and followed her through the hotel lobby and out to a waiting white SUV with tinted windows. I felt a bit like a lamb being led to the slaughter. I hoped they knew there was a lion underneath all my wool.
I climbed in the back, beside her, and was quickly introduced to her team before the vehicle roared off. There was the driver, Diego, a traitor to my country, obviously, and Greg, a gruff silver-haired dope in his early fifties who didn’t say much but obviously had a problem with the fact that Berrellez was sharing the operation with him. He only spoke up when he needed to take control.
While we chugged along the highway heading north to Culiacán, I was filled in on their plan. Naturally, I wasn’t given very much to go on. Though I was thanked and told that the intel that Juanito provided was the final puzzle piece that helped them pinpoint where they thought Salvador might be, they gave me no background into how closely they had been watching him, how much they already knew, and how they got all their previous information.
I suppose they could have been doing the exact same thing to me, although I was a smaller fish to fry. Technically I wasn’t wanted in the states anymore for anything, but I had a giant rap sheet in Mexico. My government did nothing to enforce it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the DEA tried to take things into their own hands. They’d say capturing Javier Bernal would make America a safer place.
Fucking morons.
But Salvador, Salvador was wanted for a few things in the USA. Cocaine trafficking charges and the murders of several DEA officers and officials were just some things that the DEA wanted to hang him for. The rest of his charges would come via the Mexican Attorney General. I had no doubt that the DEA and the PGR were working together on this, using Mexican soldiers who had no ties to the cartels.
Of course, it was always so hard to tell what side people were on here.
“Did you know that the character of Sinaloa is that of an angel and a devil?” I said to Berrellez as we started getting closer to the city, our vehicle beginning to snare up with traffic. “It was lawless and violent, even before the poppies started growing.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, Javier,” she said, not taking her gaze from the window. “It’s a wonder you aren’t from here.”
“I merely live nearby. Besides, I’m all devil, no angel.”
She raised a brow and looked at me with that perpetual smirk. “Is that right? Tell me again about the woman you are doing this for…”
I pressed my lips together, not wanting to share more about Luisa than I had to. If they weren’t going to be so forthcoming with me, I wouldn’t with them.
“She’s an innocent woman who got taken in against her will,” I finally said.
“She looked happy in her wedding photos,” she noted.
“She wasn’t,” I said, my tone flinty. “And you know that whatever Salvador wants, Salvador gets.”
“Sounds a bit like Javier Bernal.”
“Well, we shall see then, won’t we?”
“It’s just strange you’ve taken an interest in his wife. I have a hard time believing you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”
“Then keep believing that. But once you see her and you look in her eyes, you’ll know. And you’ll know there was no point in even having this conversation.”
“What if she’s already dead?” Greg asked from the front seat.
I shot him my most violent look. “If she’s already dead, there’s no difference. Her eyes will look the same.”
It was something I was trying my hardest not to think about. As much as I thought about Luisa, as much as I pictured her beautiful face, her fiery spirit, her pure heart, the way she felt like home when I was inside her, I didn’t think about the way she was now. I couldn’t even let myself imagine the horrors she must have been going through with Salvador.
For the second time, I felt total shame for carving my name into her back. That would bring her so much pain, much more than the pain I had given her. I hoped she wouldn’t be too broken, when and if I found her. I hoped she’d still find that fight inside of her, that courage. I also hoped she wouldn’t let her selflessness kill her, especially not for someone like me, who didn’t deserve an ounce of it.
I wished I had the guts to realize what she had meant to me, back when I could have changed things. Now it was probably too late.
After a while, we came across our first checkpoint. Considering our vehicle and the fact that Greg, a white man, was in the passenger seat, I was certain we were going to be busted by Salvador’s men.
But the masked gunman only waved us through.
“That was easy,” I commented, twisting in my seat to watch them stop the car behind us.
“They’re on our side,” Berrellez said smugly.
“And what side is that?”
“Mexico’s. They’re your army.”
“And Salvador’s checkpoints?” I asked, waving at the distance in front of us. I knew there would be a few more and they wouldn’t be on “our” side.
“Just trust us,” she said.
Yeah fucking right.
But I had no choice. Soon we were pulling off the highway and down a dusty road that seemed to head into nothing but farm fields, rows of eggplant and tomatoes as far as the eye could see. Finally the fields tapered off and we ascended up into a forest, the road starting to wind.
“Where the hell are we going?” I asked. There was a niggling feeling in my gut that perhaps they were planning to off me.
They didn’t answer. That didn’t help.
Eventually, however, we came to a stop in a wide, mowed field beside a rather large barn. The field was occupied by at least seven black helicopters. Dozens of armed officers with the words DEA emblazoned on their backs were milling around. All of them were wearing goggles and helmets, covered head to toe in protective gear and holding matte black automatic rifles.
“Wow,” I commented. “Very professional looking bunch.”
“It’s the DEA, what did you expect?” she asked, opening her door.
I shrugged. “I thought it stood for Drink Every Afternoon.”
She eyed me with impatience. “Come on, get out.”
I did so, stepping on to the grass with ease and felt every single pair of goggles turn in my direction. Here I was, Public Enemy Number Two, and completely surrounded. I was tempted to give them all a little wave but figured some hotshot would probably mistake it as a threat and blow my hand off.
“Now I’m going to go change,” she said. “Want a gun? They’re brand new carbine AR-15s.”
I pursed my lips. “Nah. Seems a bit impersonal, don’t you agree?”
She stared at me for a few beats. “How about protection?”
I grinned at her. “I don’t use protection. Dulls the senses.”
“For your body,” she said in annoyance.
“I’ve got a vest underneath and a few pistols. I’ll be fine.”
“Your funeral,” she said before she turned and headed toward the barn.
It wasn’t long before she came back looking like a man. Every part of her was covered up in the DEA’s armor, the long AR-15 held proudly in her hands. She smiled at me. “Well, I just spoke to the PGR. They have another five helicopters at their location, and they’re about to set off. Are you ready?”
“To be thrown out of a helicopter? Not particularly.”
She jerked her head toward a helicopter that was just starting up, its blades slowly whirring around. “Let’s go.”