CL Hart -From A Distance Page 8

  "I told you this morning, you're free to do as you please." Kenzie climbed from the car and then leaned in through the window. "You may want to try back there." She jerked her thumb back toward the main road.

  Turning in the direction indicated, Cori started walking. Climbing onto the hood of the car, Kenzie leaned back against the windshield and closed her eyes for the first time in days. She wondered whether she would ever see Cori again.

  Chapter 6

  The morning started with fog and a light drizzle. It kept the judge inside for most of the day. That was okay with him. He had enough paperwork to work through to keep him busy for a month.

  He closed the curtain and turned back to the boxes of files stacked up around his library. It was actually his office, but he thought it sounded better to call it a library. Frustration and anger etched his careworn face as he sighed loudly. He had been searching all night and most of the day, but so far he had not come up with anything. However, if he couldn't find Kenzie, then maybe-

  The phone warbled and its intrusion startled him. "Hello?" The voice on the other end of the phone surprised him, but then he realized it probably should not have. "What did you find out?" He listened intently, nodding and taking notes but saying little.

  "But is it possible?" He listened some more. "No, don't get them involved. We need to find another way."

  There was a long pause, then the judge jumped to his feet in anger. "I don't care! Might I remind you who you're talking to?" He pounded his desk. "Find out...now!"

  Unaware that thousands of miles away the judge was looking for her, Kenzie was lying atop the hood of the car, fighting off fatigue, when she spotted Cori in the distance. Taking a long drink from the water bottle next to her, Kenzie waited for her to get closer.

  "Did you find what you were looking for?"

  "Yeah, finally," Cori said as she made her way through the long grass, past a pile of discarded kitchen sinks. Kenzie offered her the bottle of water and Cori took it. She unscrewed the cap and took a long, greedy drink.

  "Who were you trying to reach?"

  The questioned surprised Cori as she almost choked on her swallow of water. Kenzie knew Cori had gone to look for a phone, not a bathroom, but she wasn't sure until she saw Cori's response.

  "My mother. With everything that's been going on, I wanted to be sure she was okay."

  A young Mexican boy about seven or eight years of age appeared out of nowhere by the pile of sinks. Kenzie saw him but kept her attention on Cori. "And?"

  The young boy's appearance captured Cori's interest and she ignored Kenzie's question. "Hi, there," she said, smiling brightly.

  "Hello, senorita." He smiled at Cori. "You American, from USA?"

  Cori looked to Kenzie and the young boy mistook the response. "You Canadian, si?" He looked from one to the other. "From Vancouver...Toronto?"

  "Vancouver," Kenzie answered quickly. She opted for the West Coast, knowing it was far more likely than the East Coast.

  "Ah...I like Canadians." His smile was seemingly honest, but the women were wary. Young children worked hard for their money, finagling anything at any time in hopes of making a few coins to take home to their family. This barefoot and bare-chested young man was no different. "What you want? I can get. Jose, number one go-getter."

  "Thanks, but I don't think so," Cori said, returning his infectious smile.

  Kenzie watched as he looked over the cute little woman with the honey-colored hair, showing concern over her bruised face. "Anything you need," he offered, but Cori gently shook her head.

  Jose then turned his charm on Kenzie as she sat on the car. "You want your hair done like Bo Derek? For you, cheap, almost free."

  Cori chuckled. "Don't waste your time. She has no idea who Bo Derek is, never mind what her hair looks like." Kenzie shot her an icy glare but with the dark glasses on, Cori couldn't be certain.

  "You want silver, I can get you silver. Blankets? Cowboy hat?" He looked hopefully at the two women. "You want, Jose go get."

  Kenzie kept her attention on the harbor. "No thanks, Jose," she answered in an impassive voice.

  "We're actually waiting for the ferry," Cori said politely, her smile quickly fading as she must have felt Kenzie's eyes boring into her.

  Jose was smart. He had to be to survive on the streets. Sensing some tension between the women, he hoped he could resolve whatever their issue was and maybe make a peso in the process. He turned toward the ocean to see what they were looking at. "You wait for the ferry from where?"

  Kenzie was hesitant to answer him, but his knowledge of Mazatlan might be of some use. "La Paz," she said.

  "That ferry not here for a long time. You have long wait. You have someone on that ferry? You want something while you wait. Cerveceria? Soda? I can get you Coca Cola."

  Realizing the woman on the hood of the car was the one he needed to deal with, Jose moved closer to Kenzie, continuing his best sales pitch. "You wait, senorita, you need good Mexican blanket. My cousin makes good Mexican blanket, the best in Mazatlan. Jose get you one, cheap. For you, almost free."

  Kenzie turned her attention to young Jose. "What time does the ferry get in, Mr. Number One Go-getter?"

  Jose smiled and stood his ground under her scrutiny. "The ferry from La Paz gets in seven, sometimes eight." He shrugged his shoulders and bobbed his head. "Could be nine." His smile got bigger. "Sometimes even ten."

  Kenzie watched him, his body language, his eyes, his movements. "I'm not paying you to find out when the ferry gets in."

  "No, no senorita." He waved his hands as he spoke. "Jose not looking for money. The ferry," he smiled broadly, "she runs on Mexican time. Sometimes she comes in at seven, sometimes not. Sometimes eight, sometimes-"

  "Yeah, yeah. I get the picture."

  "You wait for marido masculino or nouio masculino, boyfriend?"

  Kenzie watched the young boy in amusement. He seemed so anxious to please, that she wondered whether he could be of some assistance. "We're not waiting for someone. We're waiting to take the ferry back to La Paz. Do you know anything about the ferry?"

  "Si, senorita, but you will have a mucho long wait. The ferry does not leave tonight. It does not leave Mazatlan until tomorrow afternoon."

  "What?" Kenzie sat up and pulled off her sunglasses. This was not good news. The last thing she wanted to do was to sit and wait. The longer they were in one place, the greater the chance that someone would catch up to them.

  "Si, mahana." He nodded and smiled at Cori. "Tomorrow, three o'clock, right on time. And you have a permit, si?"

  Kenzie noticed Cori looking at her to see if this was news to her as well.

  "What kind of permit?" Kenzie asked.

  "Senorita, you will need a permit for your car." He gestured at Cori's ravaged Honda.

  Sliding off the hood of the car, Kenzie went and stood in front of Jose. If she intimidated him, he didn't let it show. "Explain."

  "You have to have a permit to take a car on the ferry, a permit for you and your car. You show car's paperwork, your visitor papers, and your ID, and you go." Cori's shoulders sagged. "And you have to pay in plastic, ah...credit card, not pesos."

  "You're sure about this?" Kenzie turned to face the harbor. They'd come so far to catch a ferry they couldn't get on. "Credit card only?"

  "Si, senorita. Jose knows. You ask, you want, Jose knows."

  "Son of a bitch," Kenzie said through gritted teeth as she kicked at the tall grass. She walked away in anger and frustration. She stopped at the end of the desolate lot, hands on her hips as she pondered their situation. Her head was pounding, her body was aching, and the last thing she wanted to do was to add two or three days drive to their trip. Besides, driving straight north from Mazatlan would have them deep into the interior of Mexico, far away from other tourists, and they definitely didn't have the money for that. They would stick out like the targets they were. Weighing their options, she returned to the others.

  When she arrived she
heard Cori ask, "Is there any other way to La Paz, or over to the Baja?"

  "No, senorita. Sorry. That ferry is the only way."

  Kenzie knew Jose was telling the truth just by the look on his face. "What about fishing boats?"

  "No. They aren't allowed to land except for here." He pointed to the harbor.

  Kenzie followed his finger and her eyes stopped on the loading docks where there were stacks of shipping containers. "What about those?"

  Jose looked at Kenzie and then to what she was pointing at. "Those ones go on the ferry," he answered.

  "So, the ferry takes people and cargo?"

  "Si, senorita, except for Carga Negra - Black Cargo."

  "What's Black Cargo?" Cori asked.

  "Twice a week the ferry takes black cargo: gas, dynamite, butane, cattle - things like that."

  "Really?" Kenzie's mind was working and she chewed at the corner of her lip as her eyes stared off into the distance. A small smile spread across her face as she turned to Cori. "This could work, but we have to find the right cargo with the right owner. Jose, do you know anyone who ships over to La Paz?"

  "Jose knows everyone." He thumped his chest proudly.

  "Somehow, that's what I figured Mr. Number One Go-getter." Kenzie looked at Cori. "How about someone who ships livestock?"

  "Si," he answered with a quizzical look.

  Kenzie turned to Cori. "We're going to have to sell your car."

  The ferries used to travel between La Paz and Mazatlan were Danish-built crafts from the 1970s. Some were designed for passengers and had modern conveniences such as restaurants, bars, and staterooms, but the cargo ships were designed for cargo only. They were large, cumbersome, and very slow moving, transporting upwards of one hundred trucks across the Gulf of California. The crossing system itself was quite complicated, even to many locals, never mind what the tourists thought. The daily departures were something one could not set one's watch by, nor could a predetermined arrival time be expected, which gave Kenzie some small measure of comfort.

  True to his word, Jose knew someone shipping cattle over to La Paz, his uncle, and Kenzie rewarded him handsomely for the introduction. Using most of what little money they got for Cori's car, they convinced Jose's uncle to hide them in a plywood box camouflaged with hay within a trailer of moving and mooing cattle. When Kenzie climbed into the four-foot by eight-foot box at the bulkhead of the cattle trailer, she suspected she and Cori were not the first passengers Jose's uncle had smuggled across the Gulf. The hiding spot was assembled too quickly for it to be a one-time thing. In Kenzie's mind, it was money well spent. As long as the cattle didn't need to be unloaded for an industrious inspector, they should have an easy, if not comfortable, passage across the Gulf of California.

  Once the human cargo was in place, the bulky beasts were moved into the cattle trailer, filling the large space to its maximum capacity before the double doors were slammed closed. Cori and Kenzie would not be getting out until they had crossed the Gulf and were delivered to a farm outside of La Paz, on the peninsula of the Baja. It was going to be a long, hot, stuffy journey.

  "Are you sure this is going to work?" Cori whispered to Kenzie as the trailer came to a stop outside the inspection booth at the ferry terminal.

  Kenzie held her finger against Cori's mouth to silence the talkative young woman.

  Cori closed her mouth. My life is in danger and I'm hiding in a trailer with a bunch of cows - and a professional killer, Cori thought as she unintentionally held her breath as they waited. They could hear voices outside but the guard at the inspection booth waved them through without a second look. The truck and trailer rolled slowly onto the deck of the ferry, swaying and creaking until it came to a stop. Lifting the lid of the box, Kenzie peered beyond the cows to see they were one of the last vehicles boarding the ferry. They were on edge the entire time, as they and their cargo of cows were loaded onto the deck. Big diesel motors lumbered their cargo into place and then, one by one, their motors shut down. The only sound left was the vibrating hum of the massive motors below the deck of the ferry. It seemed to take forever before the waters churned and the ferry began to pull out of Mazatlan. The activity on the lower decks slowly ceased and they were alone with the rest of the cargo. The movement of the large boat rocked them gently as the ship and its lading groaned and moaned. The animals that were initially restless, soon settled in for their journey across the open sea.

  "You should get some rest, it's going to be a long crossing," Kenzie said as she wiped away the sweat from her face with her forearm.

  "Yeah, maybe if I go to sleep, I can wake up from this nightmare. I was sure someone was going to see us, Kenzie."

  "Well, they didn't. Just close your eyes and listen to the boat. You'll be asleep in no time."

  "What about you? You haven't slept either."

  "I will." Kenzie lifted the lid of the box again and stood up. Hidden from view inside the trailer, she looked through the slats, feeling the cool ocean breeze on her face. "I'll get some sleep once we're further out. I won't feel safe until I know the harbor is behind us."

  As best she could, Cori snuggled into the coarse, itchy straw inside the box.

  With Cori quiet and Mazatlan fading into the distance, Kenzie hoped to get some much-needed rest. She knew it would be hard to sleep with all the unanswered questions stirring in her mind. Once they got to La Paz, what then? They no longer had transportation and they had very little money left over from the sale of Cori's car. Would it be enough to buy a ride north? And then what? Maybe it would be better if she just disappeared. It wouldn't be difficult, considering she no longer existed. Once they got back to San Diego, she had enough money to tide her over for a while, at least until she decided what to do.

  She sat down and reluctantly pulled the lid back on the box, sealing away the cool breeze. Lying back in the hay, she closed her eyes against the storm of questions pounding away.

  Chapter 7

  Surrounded by the rush of cars heading homeward, the Bentley Continental Flying Spur sped along the turnpike. Its windshield wipers slapped hard against the driving rain as the driver maneuvered the heavy car through the thick traffic. The luxury class vehicle had a few after market accessories, including bulletproof glass and a rally G3 suspension, but the lone passenger in the back seat could easily afford all of that and more without a second thought.

  It had been a long, stressful day, filled with questions for which Winston Palmer had no answers, and that irritated him. With his power and position, he was used to asking the questions. He was beyond having to answer to anyone.

  He unsnapped his leather briefcase and pulled out a thick envelope with, MAQUINAR - PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL, boldly written in red. He flipped it over and unwound the string that fastened the envelope. Several color photos slid into his lap. He picked one up and studied the face staring back at him. It was obvious the woman in the photo had no idea the picture was being taken. He turned the photograph over and glanced at the name, date, and location printed neatly on the back. With a slight grunt, he gathered up the pictures and thrust them back into the file. Picking up one of the file folders, he flipped his way through the papers, but there was nothing new for him to see. Winston Palmer knew her file, and he knew her story. Slapping the file folder shut, he glared out at the passing rain-soaked scenery. His irritation simmered to the surface when the phone built into the birds-eye maple console interrupted his thoughts. He shoved the file into the envelope, then threw it into his open briefcase and slammed it shut.

  "What?" He made no attempt to curtail his anger and frustration.

  "We have a problem," the voice said.

  Derek, the young Asian driver of the Bentley, glanced in the rearview mirror at his employer's pursed lips. Their eyes locked, and Derek quickly turned his attention back to the road.

  Palmer pushed a button and a soundproof privacy window began to slide upward, separating him from his driver. He waited for the window to be in place befo
re he spoke again. "I'm aware we have a problem. What I don't understand is why we still have a problem!" He reached for his pipe.

  "Vasquez is dead, Senator."

  His hand stopped in midair as he listened to the silence on the, phone. "I'm sorry," Palmer said, voice dripping with disdain. "That is my problem because... Oh wait, it's not. I really don't give a damn." He wearily rubbed a hand over his face. It had been a long night and an even worse day. "What you're really telling me is that the job is not done. Correct?"

  "Correct."

  "So now she knows we're after her...and that changes things." Palmer thought for a moment as he looked out the window. Not necessarily. "Has she contacted anyone?"

  "As far as I know, no one."

  "What do you mean, 'as far as you know'?"

  "As far as I know." The voice on the phone faltered. "We have to be careful here, Senator. We can't just go in guns blazing. There would be too many people, too many witnesses. Every moron has a digital camera these days, and I don't care to see our faces sprawled across CNN."

  "Then eliminate the witnesses."

  "It's not that easy."

  "Make it that easy. Just put a fucking bullet in her head!" Palmer ordered.

  The voice on the other end of the phone was silent for a moment. He had more information to convey, but was reluctant to be forthcoming with it. He never backed down from a confrontation or shirked from his responsibilities, but this situation was different. "That's the other problem. We're not exactly sure where she is."

  "What the hell? What do you mean, not exactly?"

  "She's somewhere in the Gulf of California, on a boat."

  "Jesus Christ, Colonel! What kind of operation are you running?" Palmer dropped the phone to his chest and shook his head. It was supposed to have been such a simple job. He sighed loudly and counted to ten before returning the phone to his ear. "What kind of boat?" he asked deliberately, trying to control his anger.

  "We think she might be on the ferry that runs between Mazatlan and La Paz, or maybe even a private boat or something."

  "Something?" Palmer rubbed at his chin and then ran the edge of his pipe over his teeth, making an irritating clicking sound. Counting to ten silently in his head was not curtailing his temper.