Trevor drove through the streets of Cancun, staying just out of sight of the Chevy S-10. The truck finally stopped behind a bar and he drove on by. The journalist waited long enough for the driver to go inside then he pulled up to the front and parked his Honda rental.
The three journalists had arrived before John and rented cars to follow him. They’d been waiting when he and his intern had walked out of the terminal and met the Mexican. None of them recognized that guy, but they’d look him up later.
Susan and Jim had taken one car while Trevor had gotten another . This way they wouldn’t be as obvious. They’d trailed the Volkswagen to the warehouse, then back to town. When the Volkswagen left the Coronado they’d waited, then followed the tan Ford.
All three were good journalists and knew how to trail a lead. Trevor had watched as the intern made contact with the S-10. He followed it on a hunch while Susan followed John and his intern.
Oscar couldn’t discuss the intern or why he’d sent her along. Trevor knew Media Content — and other news outlets— cooperated with the U.S. government. Favors were given and called in. He knew John didn’t have any Mexican contacts. That made this her contact. And the bar the truck sat behind gave him an idea of what was going on. And what to do about it.
Mexico was in the middle of a nasty drug war. The United States had a very vested interest in keeping that war from spilling across the border. Certain politicians exaggerated the level of cross-border violence. But only because they didn’t know the truth.
For the Mexican drug traffickers the United States was the market. And a place to snuff out competition. Increasingly they were taking their drug hits north of the border. And all too often innocent—and sometimes not so innocent— U.S. citizens got pulled in.
Trevor got out and walked past the young people clustered around the door. Despite the early hour the joint was busy. He walked to the bar and ordered a beer. A few minutes later two muscular Mexicans joined him on either side. He turned to one.
“I need to talk to the man in charge.”
The guy studied him. Trevor produced his ID and went on. “I know about a threat to you from the Americans.”
The guy left but was back soon and led Trevor to an office in the back. A mustachioed and tattooed man sat behind a big desk. Two thugs leaned on the wall behind him. Once the door closed behind him all three were staring at the journalist.
“What threat are you talking about?”
“A mole. Someone passing information to the DEA.”
The man’s eye narrowed. “Who?”
“Not so fast. I want a guarantee you won‘t kill me.”
The man waved his hand dismissively. “Done, now tell me who.”
“I don’t know the person but I know their truck.”
The guy considered. “And what do you want in return, gringo?”
Trevor smiled. “Well, I also know the person the mole is in contact with. They’re in Cancun right now and I’ve got my people following them.”
The boss leaned forward. Now he was interested. “Go on.”
Trevor sat down and lit a cigarette. He looked the man in the eyes. “I want you to catch the two. I don’t care what you do with the woman who’s the contact but I want you to kill the man who‘s with her.”
The boss shrugged. “Done. That’s it?”
“This man, you and he don’t get along do you?”
Trevor grinned as he pulled out his cell phone. “That’s putting it mildly.” He dialed Susan. “Hey sweetheart. I’ve got a friend here I need you to give directions to wherever you are. They’ll take care of our little problem.”
He hand the phone across to the boss, who passed it to one of the thugs. The man left the room as Susan told him where the car with John Parker in it was. The boss stood and looked down at Trevor.
“Now, let’s go see this vehicle.”
He led the boss and remaining guard down to a back hall and out the side door. He spotted the truck right away. The door closed behind them as Trevor pointed out the S-10 pickup.
Suddenly four figures wearing balacavas on their heads came around the corner with silenced submachine guns leveled at the three. The three weren’t stupid. They put their hands behind their heads and were pushed against the S-10. Two of the assailants zip tied their hands behind their backs and frisked them. As they pulled sacks over their heads a black Chevy van with red trim pulled up. The sliding door opened and all seven got inside.
The van pulled away leaving a man in a battered fedora, brown leather jacket and loose khakis standing in the middle of the street, his hands in his pockets. He looked around. Everything was back to normal.
He walked around the corner of the bar ignoring the toughs out front. As his reach in his pockets for the keys to Trevor’s Honda a holster with a huge revolver was visible on his belt. As Dr. Cruz pulled onto the road he made a call on his cell phone.
“Its done. Go ahead.”