The Cartel (36 page)

“Problem? It is more than a problem. Our people are losing jobs, even losing their lives, because a few wealthy hoodlums are using Guatemala as a landing strip for their drug trade, which extends into Miami and South Carolina.”

“I see.”

“Whatever I say to you is confidential?”

“Of course. I am bound by the Church and by God to tell no one of our conversation—if that is what you wish.”

“That’s exactly what I wish.”

“All right, you have my word.”

“I am working with the Drug Enforcement Agency with the United States government. We need your help.”

“What? But how?” Miguel’s fingers tightened around the cross.

“We know of the relationship you’ve had with the Rodriguez and Espinoza families.”

“Yes, but that relationship no longer exists.”

“We also know that. Are you aware that Antonio Espinoza and Javier Rodriguez are using their affiliation with the PRI party and other legitimate fronts to deal in huge amounts of drugs?”

“I had an idea that might be true, yes.”

“At first, we were talking about marijuana, but now we’re looking at large sums of cocaine. It is men like these who live in great luxury, while bringing Central and South America down to new depths of poverty and degradation. They must be stopped.”

“How can I help?”

“Speak out.”

“I’m only a priest in a tiny church in the jungles here. I don’t see what I can do.”

“You know both families. I believe we can derive a lot of information from you. Not only that, but people trust you. I’ve seen what you’ve done with the people here in such a short time, after what happened with the priest before you. These people were disillusioned. They thought God had failed them, turned against them. But in a matter of weeks, you’ve changed that. We’ve been looking for someone like you—someone respectful, courageous, intelligent, and likable. The DEA will fund your lectures, which will begin with the smaller towns and cities of Central and South America, and then eventually reach the larger cities. The last thing we want is to see Javier Rodriguez in office again. Espinoza and Rodriguez are smart. They know exactly how to steal, hide, and cheat.”

Miguel nodded his head.

“Can your conscience allow you to let good, God fearing people go on dying due to their corruption?”

Miguel also had the feeling that more than his conscience would get the better of him. The fact that his life would be on the line was something to consider. Although the DEA and those who worked for them were considered righteous, Miguel had heard stories about the Guatemalan militia and their infamous torture sessions—stories that frightened him. Taking his time before he made his decision, he rose and walked to the window, and stood looking out at the huts and shacks of the community he served.

Turning to Julio, he said, “I’ll do it.”

“Good. I knew we could count on you. The campaign will begin with tomorrow’s mass.”

“Excuse me?”

“Beginning tomorrow, you will be waging a war with two of the largest crime families in our part of the world. What better way than to begin in your own backyard? I expect that the Bible has something to say about the evils of corruption, Father.”

“Yes, the Bible has plenty to say on that topic, but I need to follow the missal.”

“I am sure the missal for tomorrow’s mass will contain something that you can translate into your homily that will discuss corruption.”

Miguel slowly nodded. “I will study and see what I can do.”

“Good. I suggest you study it carefully. I’ve noticed that many in this country seem to listen when God speaks.”

“Yes,” Miguel replied.

“Good day, Father. I’ll see you at Mass. Afterwards I’ll give you a proposed schedule we’ve worked out for you. Then, I must leave for some time. I have other plans to set into motion. I will be in touch, as well as one of my partners.”

Miguel watched the man leave his church, pondering his proposition and the fact that he had accepted it. How could he attempt to tear down a family who’d given him so much opportunity? Then he remembered Javier’s words ordering him to leave Bella alone and get out of their lives, the returned letters, and Bella’s distraught words asking why he hadn’t written. He remembered his mother and the nagging thought that her death didn’t appear to upset his step-father the way he thought it might have, and it nagged at him that there was a possibility that Javier may have given orders for his mother to be killed. Miguel was resolved. He knew that a higher purpose dictated what he had to do. He’d have to expose Bella’s father as the man he truly was. He didn’t know if he could do that to her, but he also knew that his life now belonged to God—and God wanted him to seek justice for a weary nation.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Lydia planned her revenge in a single room above a bar in Calí, a place designed for tourists. She worked as a waitress there, using her tips to pay for her room that had become her fortress. She took precautions and time daily to disguise herself for fear of anyone from her past recognizing her. She thought about changing locales to plan for her revenge, but her mind constantly raced with thoughts of her daughters and all the years lost to her, and her need to be close to them, even without them knowing, won out now over her safety.

Yet, she also kept constant in her mind that if anyone involved with Antonio and his business were to find out she was alive, she’d be killed quickly, and so, she had remained closeted in her hideaway. Although she’d wanted desperately to see her daughters while she was in Italy, her logic overcame her impulsiveness and convinced her to wait until the time was right. And that was exactly what she was doing. She knew that in the game she was playing, timing was everything.

*****

“What is between you and Isabella?” Felicia whined to Pedro.

“What?” he asked, distracted as he stared out the window of their hotel room. He needed to get away from everything, so he’d rented the room for the night. Javier and Antonio had asked Alejandro to stay on at the house for a week after the party, in order for him to get to know their operation. It sickened Pedro to have to be a witness to the infatuation growing between Bella and Alex.

“You heard me. You’d think you were her father, the way you’ve been stewing over her and this Alex kid. Or worse, you’d think you were her lover.”

He turned around and raised his arm to slap her.

“Go ahead. Hit me. You know I like it rough.”

He lowered his hand, instead fingering her erect nipples through her low-cut, black blouse. She smiled back at him, her cat like eyes narrowing into slits of desire. Pedro pulled her blouse open and ravaged her breasts with his mouth. Felicia leaned back onto the bed, enjoying every bit of Pedro’s furious sexual performance.

When they were finished, Pedro thought he’d feel better, but he didn’t. If anything, he felt more dissatisfied than ever as he rolled over and looked down at Felicia next to him. She was great in bed, but as far as ever being the mother of his children, no way. He knew he could never love her as he loved Bella.

*****

Adrenaline charged through Rosa’s veins. The art dealer in France whom Bella had found for her finally returned her call, telling her that he liked her work and wished to represent her.

“We would like to have you do a show here in Paris and one in New York. Are you ready?” Marc Honoré asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Do you have a number of pieces that could be shown?”

“Yes,” Rosa replied, thinking of all the paintings she had stored in her art room that her father had built for her, not long after her mother’s death.

“Excellent. I would like you to ship them to me. I will pick out the best of them, and we will then complete the other arrangements.”

“Thank you so much.”

“No, thank
you
. I believe you are going to do wonderful things with your art.”

She hung up the phone and ran upstairs, excited. She bumped into Emilio along the way. How she dreaded these days he was in their house. It became like a chamber of darkness—a prison where her every move had to be planned in order to avoid him and his intimidating tactics. But as she looked into his eyes today, there was nothing he could do or say to spoil the elation she felt. It was as if her chains were disintegrating, and she might actually escape the dreadful hell in which he had imprisoned her for so long.

“Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“None of your business,” she spat as she tried to get around him.

He grabbed her arm and squeezed it tightly. “I think it is.”

She attempted to yank her arm out of his grasp, sending a burning sensation through it. “No, it isn’t. And if you don’t let go of me, you sick pervert, I’ll scream my head off and tell my father everything you’ve already done to me.”

He slowly let go of her. He applauded. “My, my, you give such a good performance, you little whore. Go tell your father. He’ll never believe you. You’re nothing but a whore, like your mother was.”

Rosa kept on walking, not giving him the satisfaction of any reply. He called her a whore a few more times, until a maid appeared down the hall and he turned to leave. Ha! For the first time his incessant bullying hadn’t brought tears to her eyes. No longer did she need to fear this devil that disguised himself in the form of a man. She was filled with the power of her own success.

*****

“What kind of business are you in with my father and Antonio?" Bella asked while Alex rolled her toward the stalls on their daily outing. They’d spent quite a bit of time together over the past few months, as Alex flew down to Mexico for business on a frequent basis and their friendship was growing.

"Oh, we do some exporting into the States with the coffee and agricultural products. I’m also working in conjunction with the PRI party, helping your father get elected to the presidency. It looks as though I may be moving here to Mexico soon to further help your father." Alex wasn't sure how much she knew about her father's business, but he certainly didn't want her knowing that he was nothing more than a drug dealer.

"Really? What other kinds of agricultural products do you export other than the coffee?"

"You know a little of this, a little of that."

"No, I
don't
know. Why don't you tell me?"

Bella was beautiful, but she was intelligent as well. Most women would've left it alone, but not this one. She didn't miss a beat.

"A variety of agricultural crops. Tomatoes, oranges, bananas, peppers, those types of products.”

"Really? I was unaware that my father had any crops. I thought I knew all about his business."

"Apparently you don’t.”

"I guess you’re right, but…"

Alex had to put an end to her unexpected interrogation. He came around front of her chair and planted an untimely kiss right on her lips.

Taken by surprise, she resisted at first, then relaxed and kissed him back. When they finally pulled away, they were both speechless.

After a few moments of silence, she said, “You did that to shut me up, didn't you?"

"I did it because I wanted to."

"That may be true, but it also got me to stop asking you questions."

"I don't feel right, talking about my business with your father to you. I don't think he'd care too much for that.”

"Maybe not, but sooner or later I'll find out why you’re such a mystery."

Alex hoped that she never would.

The next day, Alex set out again on his walk with Bella. Only this time, he had a different agenda in mind. She laughed as he pretended they were a racecar team, popping wheelies and driving the chair as fast as his legs would carry the two of them.

“Slow down,” Bella squealed.

“Slow down? You want me to slow down?”

“Yes,” she giggled.

“Err.” He came to a screeching stop and walked around to the front of the chair. “Am I moving too fast for you,
Señorita
Rodriguez?”

“Yes,” she answered, trying to catch her breath—which she’d lost more from laughing than from the ride itself.

“Do you trust me, Bella?”

“Yes.” She brushed her hair back behind her shoulders.

“Do you trust yourself?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Answer me.” He crossed his arms and leaned back on his heels.

“I don’t know. I guess I do.”

“Good. Take my hand and stand up.”

“Alex.”

“All you have to do is believe in yourself.”

“But the doctors…”

“Those doctors don’t know your spirit very well. Trust me and trust yourself. I wouldn’t let you fall. I’ve talked to your therapist and she says that you’re very strong and getting stronger every day. Here, I’ll wheel you over there to the grass.” He pointed to the lawn, surrounded by roses, mums, and dandelions. In the center stood a water fountain with a statue by Giambologna.