Cartel (6 page)

Emilio watched my face carefully, as I clutched my stomach and fought the urge to throw up. I really didn’t want to be sick. I was pretty sure the pellets wouldn’t make their way up as easily as they’d gone down, not that they went down very easily. Still, I could imagine them getting stuck, banked up in my throat, bursting, killing me. No, I definitely did
not
want that.

‘That’s enough,’ he said, pulling the plate back to his side of the table. He handed me a passport and the stack of papers he’d been fidgeting with. ‘Memorise these details. You will be flying with my associate today. I expect you to stay quiet and act normally. Accept a meal on the flight, but do not eat anything. Sip water, but not a lot. When you get to the other end, further instructions will await you.’

My head spun as I looked at the photo in the passport. The girl looked nothing like me. ‘How is anyone going to believe this is me? The guards at the airport will laugh in my face.’

Emilio shrugged. ‘I own the guards. I own the airport. I own everyone. This is merely for show. It would look odd if you walked right through without a passport,
cholita
.’

I opened my mouth to protest. Murphy strode in right on cue, tossing a full plastic shopping bag at me. I glanced down into the bag to see a jumble of reds and blacks, gaudy lace and polyester.

Great. He was going to dress me up like a hooker. That didn’t bode well.

‘The girl did good,’ Murphy said, seeming genuinely impressed with the almost-empty plate on the table.

‘Just like sucking dick, right?’ I said to him. ‘Looks like it’d come naturally to you.’

He flashed me a wicked grin. ‘Your words, not mine,’ he said, laughing.

He sobered immediately as Emilio cleared his throat.

‘How many, boss?’

‘Nineteen,’ Emilio answered. ‘One for every year of her pathetic little life. Right,
cholita
?’

I chose not to respond.

‘Right,’ Murphy said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Let’s go on vacation, little lady.’

I rolled my eyes, and he laughed.

The travel arrangements were nauseating — more nauseating than the fact that I had nineteen plastic-wrapped pellets full of pure cocaine powder in my stomach. According to my passport, I was Maria Reyes, wife of Danny Reyes, also known as Murphy. We were checked in express and I was acutely aware of the heat Murphy was packing underneath his gaudy Hawaiian shirt. I was mortified at the outfit he’d picked for me — a black skin-tight dress that hugged me in all the right (or wrong) places with a plunging neckline that stopped barely above my navel. That was only a slight exaggeration. He ever so graciously let me pack a grey zip-up hoodie in my carry-on bag (again, purchased by him, tacky and cheap) and I hugged that jacket tightly around myself as we took to the skies.

It didn’t erase the cold terror that was growing in the pit of my stomach, though. With each moment that passed, as we got closer to our destination, thoughts of what Murphy might do to me once we were on land and alone plagued me. I talked a brave talk, and I snapped back at these men in conversation, but I already knew Murphy was bigger than me, stronger than me, and if he wanted to pin me down and force himself on me, I’d be pretty fucking useless to stop him without some kind of a weapon.

Oh, how I longed for a weapon.

The plane ride was bumpy at first, as we flew through storm clouds that were common in the tropics. I was used to flying back and forth from my stateside college a few times a year, but I still hated flying. Hated not being in control. This time, however, I lifted up the window shade and watched jagged streaks of lightning spark between clouds, thinking I was safer up here than I would be once we landed. After the pilot managed to divert the plane from the bad weather, we levelled out and the air hostesses started rolling food trolleys down both aisles.

‘No thank you,’ I said sharply as the air hostess tried to hand me a tray. She was distracted and continued to push it in my face, so I pushed it back towards her. ‘I’m not hungry,’ I said, louder this time.

The air hostess looked affronted, and was about to withdraw the foil-wrapped tray when a hand shot across mine and grabbed hold of it.

‘She’s watching her weight,’ Murphy said to the air hostess, charming her with his fake smile and candy-sweet tone. ‘I keep telling her she’s beautiful just the way she is, but she keeps on with these silly diets.’ He shook his head for effect and took the tray from the air hostess.

The air hostess moved on and I felt a hand grip the back of my neck.

I tried to wrench my head away, but Murphy was surprisingly strong. With his other hand, he unlatched my tray table and let it fall into my lap, pushing my meal in front of me.

I recoiled as he brought his mouth close to my ear. ‘Take the foil off,’ he said, his nails digging into the soft skin on my neck. ‘Move the food around, put some in your mouth, and spit it back into your napkin.’

He pulled at my neck, forcing me to meet his gaze.

‘No,’ I replied. I knew I should just do what he said, but I’d always been the stubborn, hot-headed girl who hated being told what to do. This was all I had — a small chance to defy him, to defy someone. A tiny choice that I could make in a reality where I was no longer in control of
anything.

His jaw tightened. ‘You know air marshals carry guns, don’t you, Ana?’ he threatened.

I returned my gaze to the TV screen in front of me and feigned indifference.

‘Go fuck yourself in the ass with your gun,’ I hissed.

He leaned back and away, as far as he could, which wasn’t very far in the cramped confines of economy. ‘You’re not afraid of me, are you?’

Of course I’m afraid of you.
I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my face as I pushed my food to the side. ‘Nope,’ I said boldly.

Murphy took the meal from my tray and held it in his hand.

‘You should go to the bathroom while you have a chance,’ he said pointedly.

I was confused. ‘Emilio said —’

‘It’s a nine-hour flight,’ Murphy said in a low voice. ‘If someone noticed you hadn’t used the bathroom once in that whole time they would think it very strange.’

I saw the opportunity for a few minutes alone and latched my tray table up. Murphy sat to the side, letting me pass. I slid past him, trying my best not to touch against him any more than I had to. I might have told him I wasn’t afraid of him, but truthfully, I was terrified.

I was just good at hiding that from him. I’d always had an excellent poker face.

Must have gotten that from my mother.

I hurried down the narrow aisle without looking back. I wished Este was here with me and suddenly I was overwhelmed with visions of him. It was getting harder and harder to push my terror down, to stop myself from having a complete meltdown. I’d told myself that I was only allowed to break down and sob when I was alone. The closest bathroom stall was vacant and I stepped in, closing the door with a small sigh of relief. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and immediately wished I hadn’t; I looked awful. Rather than covering up the black circles under my eyes, Murphy’s dodgy concealer job had actually intensified my exhausted appearance. My eyes were bloodshot, and cheap mascara clumped my black eyelashes together in haphazard sections.

I turned the tap on, cupping water and bringing it to my mouth. Small sips, Emilio had said. I let myself swallow a little water and spat the rest down the sink with great reluctance. As I straightened again, I stuck my tongue out. It no longer looked pink and smooth; instead, it had angry red indentations scalloped around the edges. I’d been clenching my teeth so tightly since the moment I had seen Emilio’s men in the alley, it was a wonder my teeth hadn’t started to crack under the pressure.

My head began to spin as the events of the last day came crashing back into me again.

I closed the toilet seat lid and sat down, dissolving into hot, salty tears before my ass had even hit the seat. What the hell was happening? In less than twenty-four hours I’d gone from college student, girlfriend and daughter to a drug mule and a fucking hostage 35,000 feet in the air.

I thought for the first time about what this meant for my baby boy. My Luis.

In my mind, my fingers traced his perfect rosebud lips and dark eyelashes as he stared back at me with my mother’s eyes, a brighter blue than my own.

I started to sob loudly, pressing my hands over my mouth to try and suppress the noise.

I almost had a heart attack when a loud rap sounded at the door. ‘I won’t be long!’ I called to whoever was out there, jumping to my feet. The knocking continued. ‘Go away!’ I yelled.

Suddenly, the door burst open and the tiny space was filled with
him.

‘I thought you might do this,’ he said, slamming the door shut behind him so I was trapped.

I jerked backwards just as Murphy’s hand closed around a handful of my hair. I let him pull me towards him, not enjoying the prospect of losing part of my scalp in an aeroplane toilet.

‘Get out!’ I protested loudly.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘You’ve been in here long enough, sweetheart.’

‘I’ll scream,’ I threatened, glancing at the door behind him. ‘I’ll scream so loud, people will think I’m being murdered. The hostesses will help me.’

‘Who do you think let me in here?’ he taunted, his bright blue eyes wild with excitement and anger. ‘I’m a fucking air marshal, sweetheart. Remember?’

‘Fuck you,’ I spat, pushing his chest with my hands.

That
pissed him off. He clenched his jaw, then reached out and slammed my head into the wall. I was too distracted by the pain in my temple to stop him from wrapping his arm around my throat. His chokehold was tight, leaving only a tiny opening in my windpipe to sip at the air.

The room spun. ‘I can’t breathe,’ I rasped, clawing at his arm. In the mirror, I saw the crazy look in his eyes and my stomach lurched. His nostrils flared as he breathed heavily, one arm around my neck, the opposite hand pulling my hair, forcing me to meet his gaze in the mirror. And what I saw there terrified me beyond belief. This man could actually kill me right now, in this toilet stall on a fucking aeroplane.

‘I think you misunderstand the situation you’re in,’ he said through gritted teeth. Black dots started to swim in my vision.
Don’t pass out.
If I passed out, who knew what he would do to me. The thought of what he was capable of made me shudder.

‘I’m in charge here, do you understand? If I decide you’re a risk, I will shoot you in your pretty little face before you can argue with me about it. And all of this will have been for nothing. I’ll go back to Colombia and I’ll kill every single person you’ve ever met.’

His eyes flashed as he delivered the final sentence.

‘Including your son.’

I’d gone limp in his chokehold, but the mention of Luis sent me into a frenzied struggle. I kicked at the counter in front of me, driving us back into the wall behind Murphy. He was jolted enough that his hold on me loosened minutely, and I took the chance to tilt my head down and open my mouth, biting as hard as I could into the meaty bit of skin below his wrist.

‘Bitch!’ he yelled, pulling his arm away. I whirled around and lashed out with my fist, getting him in the nose with a satisfying crunch and a burst of blood. I thanked my lucky stars that I’d chosen to swing with my left hand, the black onyx ring my grandmother had given me entirely responsible for the damage to Murphy’s face.

My hand throbbed from the impact. I shook it, trying to ease the pain a little, and stared at my knuckles. The skin had split and was bleeding over my index finger.

Without warning, a hand wrapped around my face, pushing me back into the mirror. The back of my head hit it with a dull thunk, and something cold pressed into my forehead.

A gun.

I scrambled to get a hold on the counter behind me, looking up past the gun between my eyes at an enraged Murphy. He looked as bad as I felt, or possibly worse, wiping his bloodied nose with the back of his hand as he stared me down. I cowered, silently willing his finger away from the trigger.

‘You can’t shoot a gun on a plane,’ I whispered, closing my eyes. Fresh tears tracked their way down my cheeks and dripped onto my chest.

‘Yes, I can,’ he murmured. ‘I know just where to shoot you so there’s no exit wound.’

He was an air marshal. Of course he knew how to shoot a gun on a plane without risking the rest of the passengers by puncturing the hull with a mis-aimed trajectory.

‘Open your eyes,’ he demanded.

I did, but I immediately regretted it. In his free hand he held the crumpled picture of a sweet baby boy, the picture I’d taken from my locket and hidden in the rubbish bin.

Blank face.
Blank
face. I tried to convey confusion. ‘What is that? Is that a baby?’ I shifted my eyes to his face. He wasn’t buying.

‘Oh, Mariana,’ he hissed, pressing the gun into my forehead so hard I cried out. ‘I know all your secrets, sweetheart, and all your lies. Luis, right?’

He knew his name. If he knew his name, he knew everything.

‘
No
,’ I moaned, feeling my face shift into sorrow and terror as I reached out for the photo. He snatched it away and shook his head.

‘Mine now,’ he said, pocketing the photo.

‘He’s not my son,’ I lied.

Murphy sneered. ‘Of course he is. Little Luis. You think I didn’t do my research last night after you went to sleep,
Annie
? I have access to every single thing about you. Hospital records, adoption papers …’

FUCK!

I took a shuddering breath inwards. ‘Did you tell Emilio?’ I asked in a small voice.

‘No. But I will. Unless you start fucking
behaving
.’

Oh, God
. ‘What do you want?’ I asked in a voice that sounded far calmer than the fear and rage swirling within me.

‘Nothing, yet. For now, do as you’re told. If I tell you to visit the bathroom, visit the fucking bathroom. If I tell you to take the food tray?
Take. The. Fucking. Food. Tray.
If I tell you to do
anything
—’ he paused for effect, pressing the gun deeper into the flesh between my eyes, ‘— you
do
it.’ His eyes flared wider, and I flinched.

I nodded, letting my shoulders sag under the weight of my defeat.

‘Good girl,’ he said, letting the gun fall and patting me on the head, as if I were a goddamn dog. He lifted my chin so we were eye to eye. ‘You’re brave, I’ll give you that. You’re not like the other girls. But in this world, you’re going to have to start being smarter, or somebody is going to snuff you out.’

The rest of the flight ground on so slowly, I started to feel like I was going insane; that maybe I had actually been shot in the bathroom stall, and this was hell, and I was stuck here forever.

But eventually, after a stopover in Mexico City and another five hours of hellish turbulence, we arrived at San Diego airport. I had remained largely mute for the rest of the first flight and the second flight, only responding if questioned by Murphy or a flight attendant. Inside me, nineteen capsules full of cocaine churned along with my rising panic. Murphy knew. He knew about my son, and he was using the knowledge of Luis’s existence against me.

He had found my Achilles heel.

The power he held over me, in a crinkled-up photograph from the locket around my neck, meant he could ask me to do almost anything, and I’d have to do as he wished.

At San Diego airport we walked past a sign, ‘Welcome to the United States of America’, and my heart contracted painfully as I remembered my conversation with Este only the night before, moments before he was shot. How he had been so sure we would make it together. Start a new life, away from my father and the cartel.

It made me wish I’d died with him.

I walked as slowly as I could through customs, but they didn’t give me a second glance. I dragged my feet as we made our way to the parking lot, lagging well behind Murphy. He seemed confident that I wouldn’t run — he barely turned around to check I was still behind him. But eventually we arrived at a sleek black BMW, and I was ordered inside while Murphy packed the luggage in the trunk.