Sean thanked God he was cuffed. His mother’s memory was close to being disrespected as Martinez pushed him to the edge.
Suarez looked with some disdain at his female colleague before turning back to Sean. “What vehicle were they in?” he asked.
“A white E series, license number…”
“Uncuff him,” ordered Suarez, interrupting Sean.
“But the license? You’ll need it to alert the Mexicans,” argued Sean as his hands were released.
“You’re not from around here, Mr…?”
“Fox, Sean Fox,” replied Sean automatically. “ But what’s that got to do with a kidnapped child, what if it were your child?”
Suarez waved his colleagues away and taking Sean by the arm, led him back to his car. Directing him to take a seat behind the wheel.
“It has everything to do with that kidnapped child. That van you were following is a Los Zetas van.”
The blank expression on Sean’s face told Suarez he really wasn’t from the area, or anywhere near at all.
“All we can do for that boy is pray that the Zetas get whatever it is they want!”
Sean was incensed. The guy was a law enforcement officer and he had just told Sean he was going to do nothing about a kidnapped American boy. He tried to exit the car.
Suarez pushed back against Sean’s door and placed his other hand on his pistol. The message was clear. The conversation was over. Sean had outstayed his welcome. Sean looked into Suarez’ eyes and, much to his surprise, saw nothing but fear.
“Are you going to lift this barrier?” asked Sean, resigning himself to the fact that nobody was going to help and it was down to him.
“I’m sorry, Sir, you’ll have to turn back. This is for commercial vehicles only,” replied Suarez deadpan.
“You are fucking kidding me?” Sean stared into Suarez’ eyes. Again the look in his eyes was not a man being stubborn about the rules; the guy was genuinely terrified.
“I’m saving both our lives!” replied Suarez sincerely, before walking back to his office.
Sean waited a few seconds to see if they were just playing with him but the barrier stayed down. He was not getting through. He thought about the boy now almost certainly miles from the border, deep in Nuevo Laredo, the Mexican side of Laredo. A metropolitan area that spanned the two countries, Laredo/Nuevo Laredo was home to almost a million people. That was unfortunately the extent of Sean’s knowledge and that had been garnered from the local map left in the rental car. He really wasn’t from around there and had no idea what Los Zetas was. In fact, in the last ten/fifteen years, he wasn’t even really from America; eighty to ninety percent of the time, he had been on other continents.
Shot at, tasered, cuffed and witness to a kidnap. Not even his worst days in Afghanistan had been as dangerous as what had just happened. He wasn’t even taking account of the detention at the airport, DNA test and transcontinental flight. All because he didn’t go to the beach.
He started the car, selected reverse and did what he should have done to begin with, find out what exactly he was up against. Gung ho had failed miserably. First though, he needed to make a call and for that, he needed a phone. A plain simple phone.
Chapter 11
Sean replaced the handset and listened as his dimes fell and echoed inside the empty metal box. Nobody used public phones anymore and it was the only one for miles. He would have been quicker buying a cell but he didn’t know he’d take so long to find a phone, one that worked. The dimes were lost forever, as was the boy as far as the Mexicans were concerned. The operator had half heartedly taken the details but Sean knew it was a waste of time and money. He inserted a few more quarters and dialed the operator again, this time asking for the local FBI office. He had to do something and had a feeling the local police would be as useless as the border officers and Mexicans.
“I’d like to report a kidnapping,” he offered before the FBI agent could offer any preamble.
“Of course, Sir,” came the extremely professional response. At last, he was getting somewhere. “Can you please give me the details.”
Sean spent the next few minutes relaying exactly what had happened. The agent occasionally stopped him to check particular details but otherwise let him flow, right up until the border incident.
“Sorry, Sir, did you say the van with the boy entered Mexico?”
“Yes!” exclaimed Sean. He could sense a change in tone and his anger began to well.
“I’m not…”
“Don’t even consider saying it,” threatened Sean, pre-empting the 'not a lot we can do’ scenario.
The agent sensed the futility in trying to stall Sean. So instead, came from another angle. “Perhaps we should visit the mother, get some more detail?” offered the agent in a conciliatory gesture.
Sean had avoided giving the mother’s address during his description; he didn’t know why. When pushed, he had simply said he didn’t know the address as he was from out of town, but he could take the agent to the location. As the agent offered to visit the mother, Sean hung up; it just felt like the right thing to do. Something was telling him he was the boy’s only hope. That wasn’t exactly true, pretty much everything was telling him he was the boy’s only hope.
Sean lifted the handset again and began to dial Vincent’s number. His final and simple message for Sean had been “If you change your mind, call me.” And it really was that simple. If Sean wanted to get back in, call. If he didn’t, don’t. He could call Vincent and have a small army to help within the hour but it would cost him his freedom. Sean began to dial. A boy’s life was at stake but then so was Sean’s. He’d felt more alive in the last eighteen months than the previous twenty years. Sean stopped dialing. He had just single handedly retrieved two American executives from the hands of the most feared terrorist group in the world, in the most lawless and dangerous country on earth. He could certainly get a boy back from a few crazy Mexicans. It was worth a shot before surrendering his soul to the man. He replaced the card in his wallet and dialed a different number. The only difference between Afghanistan and Laredo was that in Afghanistan, Sean had a shit load of weapons. Next stop was a gun store and according to the operator, there was one less than a mile from where he was standing.
Sean thanked God for the second amendment as he entered Kirkpatrick’s Guns amp; Ammo store. Texas had a particular love of the amendment and there wasn’t much he couldn’t walk out of the store with straight away. Sean quickly selected an H amp;K Mark 23, his preferred handgun while in the DIA and a USC. It was the civilian version of his UMP sub machine gun. Including ammo, scope and a knife, the bill came to almost $4,000 dollars.
He handed over his credit card and driver’s license and waited as the assistant ran them through the computer. It didn’t take long for a look of disappointment to register on the assistant’s face. What was going to earn him a rather nice commission had just been foiled by the incredibly lax gun laws of Texas. Laws that quite simply allowed anyone over 18 to own a gun had beaten the officially dead Sean Fox.
The assistant turned the computer to allow Sean to see 'Refused’ stamped across the screen.
“I’ve been here five years and that’s my first refusal!” he added, rather unhelpfully.
“You can see me standing here, it’s an error,” offered Sean, half-heartedly. Black had warned him that it might take a few days for his survival to work through the system.
The assistant shrugged; he was as frustrated as Sean was, having just spent twenty minutes earning two hundred bucks commission that he’d now never see.
“So what can I buy?” asked Sean resignedly.
“Everything but the guns!” offered the assistant hopefully, handing back the credit card and license.