News Blues (17 page)

“How much for the Kate Spade?” I blurted. I could feel Jamie’s disapproving gaze settle on me.

“Maddy, I thought you said we had to resist our shopping urges, ” he reminded me.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but do you know how rare it is to find a good Kate Spade knockoff with a sewn on label?”

He raised an eyebrow. “In fact, I believe you specifically told me that I needed to stop you if you suddenly had an overwhelming
urge to buy a purse.”

I groaned. “I meant an everyday purse. Not a Kate Spade with a sewn on label. You don’t understand—these purses come around
once in a blue moon.”

“You also said to remind you that you already had nine Kate Spade knockoffs already.” He shook his head. “What do you do with
nine purses?”

“You know in the time it took to have this discussion I could have bought the purse, ” I whined.

Miguel placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “I put a purse aside for you,
chica
, ” he consoled. “But really, we must get moving to our destination. The guard who knew my brother, he is off duty at midnight.
After that, it will be too dangerous to take you inside.”

I reluctantly acquiesced, sure that the purse was going to be long gone by the time I got back. But what could I do?

Miguel pulled down a metal barrier over the shop window and locked it at the bottom with a padlock. Then, he motioned for
us to follow him. We walked behind the store to a tiny, beat up car. We clambered inside. Jamie allowed me shotgun, and he
took the rear. Miguel turned the key in the ignition, and off we went.

Two hours later, I was ready to throw up. The Mexican roads were windy and bumpy, and Miguel’s car had very little shock absorption.
Not to mention it had no AC and the radio blared gay Spanish tunes that only added to my nausea. To make matters worse, Miguel
felt prompted to sing along. And let’s just say,
American
Idol
finalist he was not. The things I did to get a good story . . .

Finally, when I thought we would literally die from heat (and ear) exhaustion, Miguel pulled over to the side of the road
and killed the engine. “Here we are, ” he said. “It’s right over that ridge.”

His statement made my pulse kick up about ten notches, drum with both anticipation and fear. This was not standing on a cliff,
looking down at a distant building that we wouldn’t be going near. This was actually penetrating a drug cartel facility in
a foreign country where we could be shot and killed and no one would even know where to look for us. In fact, come to think
of it, we hadn’t even told anyone where we had gone. Pretty dumb.

When we didn’t come back, there’d probably be a nationwide search. Dogs, flashlights, dredging rivers. Our faces would forever
be enshrined on milk cartons. But no one would ever discover the truth—that we were complete morons who’d decided busting
a drug cartel on our night off would be a positive career move.

Coyotes howled in the distance as we exited the car. Miguel pulled out a flashlight from behind the driver’s-side seat, turning
it on and flicking the light into the sky three times. “I am announcing that we are here to my amigo, ” he informed us. “Since
the tunnel is only operational during the day, there is just one guard on duty at night. His job is to pay off the police
if they come snooping.” He laughed. “But in Mexico, they come for the money only. They do not care what goes on behind closed
doors.”

“So, your friend’s going to give us a tour?” Jamie asked Miguel. “And he’ll let us videotape it all?”

“Si.”
Miguel nodded. “Alejandro will let you get all the video you need. To avenge his friend, my brother, God have mercy on his
soul.” Miguel crossed himself. “Now, let us go.”

Nice. The murdered-brother story. Just the reminder I needed to get my heart rate skyrocketing again. I reminded myself that
the people who did that job were not there. They were in their beds, sleeping soundly with no idea there was an American news
crew invading their drug tunnel.

Jamie reached into the backseat and pulled out his camera. He’d brought the smaller, digital DVC-Pro—better quality than the
hidden camera but less bulky than the full-sized beta cam.
Easier to run with if we we’re
chased,
he had said, and suddenly stories about killer household products that didn’t really kill didn’t really seem all that bad.

We walked about fifty yards down the rocky dirt road to a large dig site. The moon hung full and large in the desert sky,
illuminating the landscape with a burnt yellow glow.

There was no oil refinery pretense on this side of the border. Just a bunch of rusty old digging equipment and a large ramshackle
warehouse standing tall in the center. Miguel motioned for us to follow him to the building. Once at the door, he knocked
three times.

The door opened and a skinny man with a straggly black mustache, dressed in a guard uniform, greeted Miguel with a big bear
hug. Mexican men, unlike their homophobic American counterparts, I’d learned, were not afraid of hugging each other.

“Hola, Miguel. Coma estas?”

“Ah, muy bueno, Alejandro. Habla Englais? Para los
Americanos, por favor.”
He gestured to Jamie and me.

Alejandro turned to greet us. “How are you doing?” he asked, switching to accented English.

“Not bad, ” I said. Yup, seeing as I was still conscious and not passed out from fear, I considered myself doing all right.
I shook his hand. “I’m Maddy Madison, the producer. This is my photographer Jamie. Thanks for doing this.”

“You are welcomed. Peter, he was like a brother. When they murdered him, I longed for my revenge, ” he explained. “This way
I can have it, but keep my own head on my shoulders. Sure, I will lose my job if they shut down the tunnel, but there are
other jobs. Jobs that will allow me to work with a clean conscience. Perhaps Miguel here will hire me to run his shop.” He
slapped Miguel on the back, then motioned for us to step inside. We entered a dark building with only a few lanterns scattered
for light. Luckily the camera had a night-vision option or else we’d be in trouble.

“There is no electricity, ” Alejandro explained. “Only a generator, which makes such a noise I dare not turn it on at night.”

He shone a flashlight into the darkness, revealing a large tunnel cut into the ground, angled in such a way that a truck could
drive through. I drew in a deep breath. This was it.

“Follow me, ” Alejandro said.

Jamie lifted the camera to his shoulder and flicked on the night-vision option. Now, looking through the viewfinder had the
same effect as night-vision goggles—which would give the video he shot a crystal clear, though greenish glow.

We descended into the tunnel. It was just tall enough for a van to drive through without the roof scraping the dirt ceiling.
Every few feet wooden beams and wire mesh supported the infrastructure, much like a mineshaft. The tunnel descended for about
a hundred feet, then flattened out.

“The tunnel is nearly a mile long, ” Alejandro told me, stopping and leaning against one of the dirt walls. “There have been
other border tunnels built in the past. Very primitive—carved out with hand tools. Only one person could crawl through to
the other side and they were so close to the border that they were easy targets for border guards to spot. Many have been
busted.” He gestured to the tunnel before us. “No one has ever created a tunnel this big before. Now they can import more,
crossing with trucks instead of on foot. They smuggle Ecstasy, pot, and cocaine. You name it, they will smuggle it.”

“The tunnels are also used to smuggle human cargo, ” Miguel added. “Those willing to pay a price to go to America.”

It made sense. Every day there were news stories about illegal immigrants risking life and limb to cross through the desert
to get to the promised land of America. But the harsh, arid climate made the trip nearly impossible and many died. A tunnel
such as this where you could ride instead of walk would seem a first-class ticket to freedom.

After Jamie got enough video of the tunnel, Alejandro suggested we go back above ground. There was an office, he said, where
they kept the master plans. He could do an interview explaining what he knew about the cartel’s actions, as long as we didn’t
shoot his face and digitally disguised his voice on the finished product.

We went into the small office and Alejandro unrolled a map. Jamie videotaped while he explained. “This is where the drugs
enter, ” he said for the camera, “and the trucks come out here, on the American side. There, they will be transferred to other
vehicles and distributed for American sale.”

“And who’s behind this?” I asked.

“The cartel operating out of this tunnel is run by the infamous Lopez family, ” Alejandro explained.

I scratched my head. “I thought Ronaldo Lopez was busted a few years ago. Isn’t he still in jail or something?” I remembered
the News 9 report. “They said the cartel had been broken up.”

“
Si
, you are right,
senorita
.” Alejandro nodded. “Ronaldo Lopez is serving twenty years. But his son Felix has taken over the business. And he has even
higher ambitions than his
padre
.”

“In that packet of documents I sent you, ” Miguel interrupted, “from my brother. There are pictures of Felix on the scene
the day the tunnel first opened. They told him he should never come to the actual site—to be implicated like that—but he is
bold and likes to take risks. On that day my brother took secret photos of Felix with his camera phone.”

“Yes, I saw those pictures, ” I said, wondering if Miguel’s brother had remembered to turn off the clicking sound on his camera
phone before he took them. Maybe not, considering how he’d ended up.

“He took the photos thinking he could bribe the Lopez family and get a share of the business. Instead of accepting his proposal,
they simply killed him.” Miguel shook his head. “He was young and foolish, my brother.”

“I’m sorry, ” I said, bowing my head in respect. I’d have to go back through those documents now that I knew what they were
photos of. I’d had no idea the guy in them was head of the infamous Lopez Cartel. How perfect for the story. The smoking gun,
so to speak.

“Does the Lopez family own the property?” Jamie asked.

“Oh, no. They do not own anything, ” said Alejandro. “If they did, the
policía
would be on them immediately. They lease the land from a third party and pay them off in a combination of drugs and cash in
exchange for the use of the land.”

“Do you know who they lease it from?” I asked, getting excited. That transaction we saw in the desert—that must have been
the guy they were leasing it off of. It made finding out who owned Reardon Oil even more important.

He shook his head. “I do not know for certain. I would assume someone from the American side. Someone with a clean record
that the Feds would not suspect. A business leader, perhaps. A—how do you say it?—pillar of the community.”

Curiouser and curiouser, as Alice in Wonderland would say. It all starting making perfect sense. Reardon Oil paid off Senator
Gorman to approve their digging for oil on that property. With government approval, no one would suspect anything illicit
going on. And since it was so far out in the desert, most likely it didn’t get inspected on a regular basis. Then, Reardon
Oil leased the land to the Lopez family to transport their drugs. They made a huge profit for doing absolutely nothing.

Only one question remained. Who owned Reardon Oil?

Before I could ask any more questions, voices, speaking in Spanish, suddenly echoed through the warehouse. Someone had arrived.

All four of us froze. Alejandro glanced at Miguel, a scared expression on his face.

“Eduardo, ” he said in a whisper. “The other guard. I do not know why he is here. He is not on duty for another hour.”

Jamie and I exchanged horrified looks. This was exactly the nightmare situation we’d feared. To be caught by drug lords! Tortured.
Killed. Buried in the desert. Our lives could be over in a matter of minutes! I felt like I was going to puke. Why had I thought
this was a good story?

“Quickly. Through the window!” Miguel pointed to a small, dingy window on one wall. Could we even fit through that? The voices
were coming closer. We’d sure as hell have to try. Alejandro ran to the door and locked it.

“This will not buy us much time, ” he said. “Please leave. I mourn the loss of your brother, Miguel. But I do not wish to
join him in hell.”

We didn’t wait for a second invitation. Propping a chair against the wall, I stood on it and pushed up the window. It opened
with a resounding squeak that I was sure would give us away. Any second the door could open. We could be caught.

Focus, Maddy!

“Alejandro?”
a male voice called.
“Dónde está usted?”
I nearly fell off the chair as the doorknob rattled. Thank God Alejandro had locked the door. That would have been it.

“Un momento, Eduardo. Ha, ha. Usted me ha cogido que
tomaba una siesta, ”
Alejandro said, motioning for us to hurry.

“What did he say?” I hissed to Miguel, praying it wasn’t Spanish for selling us down the river.

“He says they caught him taking a nap.”

Phew. With great effort and much adrenaline, I pulled myself through the window. For a moment, my childbearing hips stuck
against the sides of the small frame, but I managed to wiggle my way out and jump to the ground. Short, skinny Miguel came
next, slipping through easily.

My breath caught in my throat.
Jamie
. He was a much broader build than either of us. Would he be able to fit?

His head poked through the window and I could see that he was struggling. He was just too big for the narrow frame. Terror
choked me. He would get caught. They’d kill him. KILL him! I couldn’t let it happen. Not to Jamie. Well, not to anyone, if
it came to that. But especially not to Jamie.

I raced back to the window and grabbed his hand. “Let me help you, ” I cried. “I’ll pull you through.”