“Then ask him to let you out to take a bath. I’ll pretend to sleep. As soon as he opens the door, I’ll grab him and put the needle to his neck.” He picked up one of the covered syringes and placed it against his jugular to demonstrate.
She recoiled in horror. “I don’t want to help you hurt anyone.”
He dropped his hand, frustrated. “What do you suggest? Asking nicely to be released?”
“Isn’t that what you just did?”
His irritation mounted. He didn’t like the fact that she’d heard him beg. His mind flashed back to a memory of her begging him not to take her anywhere. He didn’t like that, either. He tossed aside the syringe and smothered the image of her tearful face. Then he put his conscience in a chokehold, applying pressure until there was nothing left.
Chapter 8
It was one of the most stressful, uncomfortable nights of Ian’s life.
And he’d had a lot of bad nights.
Sleepless nights in that rathole apartment during his undercover assignment, waiting for some crackheads to bust in and rob him. Exhausting nights on the line, rucking a heavy pack and tracking movement with infrared. Terrified nights in his bedroom closet, praying his mother’s friends wouldn’t find him.
He didn’t know how the other passengers did it. They seemed so relaxed and nonchalant about being on top of a massive, deadly piece of machinery. Some were sleeping. The guy across from him had secured his belt to the metal grate and started snoring.
Maria was silent beside him. She’d learned that their riding companions were from Guatemala. They spoke very little Spanish and no English, but they were all better prepared for the trip than Ian and Maria. Most had jackets of some kind or several layers of shirts. One man had wrapped himself in a burlap blanket and a square of tarp. They had food and water. They passed around bits of jerky and chatted among themselves, laughing quietly in the dark.
Ian didn’t appreciate their good humor, or the fact that they’d seemed amused by his near fall. They thought he was a stupid American, riding the train for kicks. He’d been ridiculed by Latino boys throughout his childhood, so he was familiar with their macho attitudes. They hadn’t respected him until he’d learned to fight.
By the time he’d reached high school, he was quick to throw a punch and fluent in Spanish. Then he got into trouble with the same boys for chatting up their sisters and girlfriends.
The Guatemalans hadn’t bothered them or acted threatening in any way. A few of them snuck glances at Maria, but they were just looking. They wouldn’t make a move on her with Ian there. Even though they outnumbered him eleven to one, and they were strong men, this country wasn’t their turf.
They were the illegal immigrants in Mexico, subject to beatings and deportations by officials. They were targets for roving gangs. Ian had heard that bandits from MS-13 roamed the train stops. They forced passengers to pay a travel fee, or flat-out robbed them. They terrorized women.
Men like that would do more than look at Maria. Ian had a Sig 9mm in his pack that he wasn’t supposed to use. His current status as a temporary attaché didn’t give him the full power of an international law officer, and U.S. agents weren’t allowed to carry weapons on Mexican soil anyway. That was just a technicality, but he didn’t want to draw his gun. He wasn’t eager to get into a gunfight on top of a moving train.
Gunfights were not fun. Gunshot wounds were no picnic, either. He shifted his injured leg again, searching for a position that eased the ache. Maria was shivering, so he put his arm around her to share body heat. The temperature dropped as they gained elevation, clacking through a fog-shrouded forest. As the tallest man on the railcar, perhaps the tallest passenger on all the railcars, he was the most vulnerable to taking a wallop from an overhanging branch.
When the men in the front called out a warning, Maria gripped his arm and he ducked his head. The branch seemed to appear out of nowhere, passing close enough to ruffle his hair. His skin broke out in goosebumps.
After that, he hunched his shoulders and stayed low. He didn’t get hit by foreign objects or robbed by gang members, but in the wee hours of the morning, it started to rain.
Of course it did.
Everyone had a tarp or plastic trash bags to shield them from the elements. The man next to Ian and Maria scooted closer, offering his shelter. It was a nice gesture that Ian didn’t want to accept, but Maria nodded cheerfully. Then Ian had to rub shoulders with a stranger who smelled like wet wool and achiote.
Dawn broke and the rain slowed to a drizzle. They traveled through a series of small towns before arriving at the next cargo station in San Juan del Río. There were no customs officials waiting to arrest them, but the passengers climbed down in a hurry. It had been a long ride with no bathroom. Ian descended the ladder and followed Maria into the woods on the other side of the tracks. She squatted behind a bush. He unzipped his pants and watered the tree right next to her.
It wasn’t dignified, but it was better than pissing over the side of a moving train. When he was finished, he shook off and tucked in. She tugged her pants up, cheeks flushed. He realized that this might be their last moment alone together. Instead of a romantic memory, he’d have this to remember her by. An awkward pee in the woods.
His phone rang in his pocket, interrupting that thought. It was LaGuardia.
“Where the fuck are you?”
“San Juan del Río.”
“Really? That’s convenient.”
“How so?”
“We just learned that Sarai has a relative on her mother’s side named Anita Flores. She lives in that town, and supposedly arranges trips to the U.S. for a hefty fee.”
“What’s the address?”
“I’ll text it to you. Why are you there, anyway?”
“The train passed by, so I climbed aboard.”
LaGuardia made a noise of disbelief, as if Ian was even crazier than he’d figured. But he didn’t criticize, because Ian happened to be in the right place at the right time. LaGuardia hung up and sent the address, along with instructions to check out the residence.