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Authors: Declan Conner
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low. Escaping and
returning to my loved ones seemed more of an outside chance than ever. But why
and what had brought me to this situation was beyond anything I could work out.
The guy stared at me again, this time as if
trying to guess what I was thinking. A disgraced Mexican politician, he had
been hounded out of office for corruption and was suspected of having a
connection to Panama’s former President Noriega and his money-laundering and
drug-running operations.
Always on the move, he had evaded justice
over the years. But that was no surprise, given that the majority of the
population he presided over considered him a hero of the impoverished. So many
depended on a paycheque from him to put food on the table, or to supplement their
public sector pay, or were fearful for their lives, that someone betraying him
was a long shot at best. His politics might sound magnanimous to the population
at large, but he was fast becoming the biggest threat to the established order.
He lowered his gaze, flicking through more
pages of what I assumed was my personnel record.
I would have given anything to turn the
tables on him and sit in his place. To slap cuffs on him would have given me
pleasure. Department estimates were that his operation brought in more than
thirty percent of the gross domestic product for his state. The Mexican army
seemed to be reluctant to move against him. But then the top brass probably had
one eye on the future. He employed ex-Special Forces soldiers and top brass at
retirement, particularly those who had been born in his area of influence. His
army and corrupt influence gave the mere mention of his name the air of his
invincibility. Capturing him would more than likely result in a medal. Resting
my elbows on the table, I shook my head.
Defying belief, here he was, no more than a
few feet from me and I was powerless to act. Francesco Perez Alonso, better
known as “ El Presidente ”, head of the Perez cartel.
Looking at him, it was hard to believe that
the United States government would be cowed by his influence. Word was, the
boys at the top were afraid he was planning to fund his old political party, or
maybe a brand-new one, and he would take over the country as a dictator.
Where or why I figured in his plans, I
couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t as if I were a top executive in drug enforcement.
All I knew was that for now, I owed him my life for buying out the hit. It left
me certain that I had to spend my every waking hour coming up with a plan to
escape.
He rummaged in the open bag and pulled out
a wallet that looked suspiciously like mine. Inspecting the contents he took
out a photo and slid it across to me.
‘Your wife and children, I assume? Keep it,
we have a copy.’
The nape of my neck felt an icy blast. Not
only did he have my service record and address, but also a photo of my family.
Acid started to burn away at the lining of my stomach at the thought they might
be stalking and considering harm to my family. Instinct told me to start asking
questions like a good agent, but logic told me it was better to act dumb, and
hopefully the silence would get him to open up.
He held up my wedding ring.
‘I’m so pleased we have this. It saves
sending them a piece of your anatomy as proof we are holding you. All we need
now is a swab of your DNA to go with the ransom note, together with a speech
from you on camera.’
He picked up a hand bell and rang it
several times. One of his security guards opened the door and in walked the
young maid carrying a small specimen bottle. She was wearing gossamer kitchen
gloves.
The maid came up to me and smiled as she
took a swab from the sample bottle. There was no need for instructions. I
opened my mouth and she tickled the inside of my cheek with the swab and then
replaced it in the bottle.
Perez put on a pair of latex gloves in the
manner of a surgeon preparing for an operation. He glanced at me with a smirk
as if to show me how intelligent he was at
returning to my loved ones seemed more of an outside chance than ever. But why
and what had brought me to this situation was beyond anything I could work out.
The guy stared at me again, this time as if
trying to guess what I was thinking. A disgraced Mexican politician, he had
been hounded out of office for corruption and was suspected of having a
connection to Panama’s former President Noriega and his money-laundering and
drug-running operations.
Always on the move, he had evaded justice
over the years. But that was no surprise, given that the majority of the
population he presided over considered him a hero of the impoverished. So many
depended on a paycheque from him to put food on the table, or to supplement their
public sector pay, or were fearful for their lives, that someone betraying him
was a long shot at best. His politics might sound magnanimous to the population
at large, but he was fast becoming the biggest threat to the established order.
He lowered his gaze, flicking through more
pages of what I assumed was my personnel record.
I would have given anything to turn the
tables on him and sit in his place. To slap cuffs on him would have given me
pleasure. Department estimates were that his operation brought in more than
thirty percent of the gross domestic product for his state. The Mexican army
seemed to be reluctant to move against him. But then the top brass probably had
one eye on the future. He employed ex-Special Forces soldiers and top brass at
retirement, particularly those who had been born in his area of influence. His
army and corrupt influence gave the mere mention of his name the air of his
invincibility. Capturing him would more than likely result in a medal. Resting
my elbows on the table, I shook my head.
Defying belief, here he was, no more than a
few feet from me and I was powerless to act. Francesco Perez Alonso, better
known as “ El Presidente ”, head of the Perez cartel.
Looking at him, it was hard to believe that
the United States government would be cowed by his influence. Word was, the
boys at the top were afraid he was planning to fund his old political party, or
maybe a brand-new one, and he would take over the country as a dictator.
Where or why I figured in his plans, I
couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t as if I were a top executive in drug enforcement.
All I knew was that for now, I owed him my life for buying out the hit. It left
me certain that I had to spend my every waking hour coming up with a plan to
escape.
He rummaged in the open bag and pulled out
a wallet that looked suspiciously like mine. Inspecting the contents he took
out a photo and slid it across to me.
‘Your wife and children, I assume? Keep it,
we have a copy.’
The nape of my neck felt an icy blast. Not
only did he have my service record and address, but also a photo of my family.
Acid started to burn away at the lining of my stomach at the thought they might
be stalking and considering harm to my family. Instinct told me to start asking
questions like a good agent, but logic told me it was better to act dumb, and
hopefully the silence would get him to open up.
He held up my wedding ring.
‘I’m so pleased we have this. It saves
sending them a piece of your anatomy as proof we are holding you. All we need
now is a swab of your DNA to go with the ransom note, together with a speech
from you on camera.’
He picked up a hand bell and rang it
several times. One of his security guards opened the door and in walked the
young maid carrying a small specimen bottle. She was wearing gossamer kitchen
gloves.
The maid came up to me and smiled as she
took a swab from the sample bottle. There was no need for instructions. I
opened my mouth and she tickled the inside of my cheek with the swab and then
replaced it in the bottle.
Perez put on a pair of latex gloves in the
manner of a surgeon preparing for an operation. He glanced at me with a smirk
as if to show me how intelligent he was at
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