Warriors in Paradise (19 page)

He called Sandra and asked her to check on Valentina. He asked about the Rhodesian Ridgeback. The dog was doing fine and would not let Sandra out of its sight. Santi said that if we were going to keep it, we should give it a name.

He was still talking to Sandra when Caleb and I each took a cell phone confiscated from the bodyguards, put the batteries in, turned them on, and left to call our respective mothers.

It was one hour later in Essex, Connecticut, where my mother lived. She was happy, in her restrained Anglo-Saxon kind of way, to hear my voice. After the affectionate preliminaries and responses to her questions about the storm and conditions in Acapulco, I got to the crux of the matter. I knew that Aaron Carson was powerful and that he knew who I was. He could easily get to my mother in order to get to me. I needed her protected, and the best protection I could think of was her brother, my Uncle Jonathan. I had to tread lightly. She might reject my suggestion if I didn’t approach the subject correctly.

Charlie’s flashback

My mother had always been a feminist. She studied sociology at Columbia University in New York. She met my father in 1989 and married him in 1990. I was born a year later. After my father died, she dated a few men but stayed single. She worked as a consultant for small companies doing human-resource appraisals. She was not wealthy, but she was well-to-do. She was tough but fair. She was unafraid of expressing her affection, but she was careful not to do so in public.

I had always been big and strong. I was six years old and had just entered first grade. Due to my height, I sat all the way in the back of the class next to two big brothers, one of them my age and the other a year older. We rapidly became friends. I started following the lead of the older brother. The problem was that they were not very nice to other kids in school, especially if the other kids were smaller and weaker. After three months of hanging out together, we cornered a smart, fat kid with curly hair and a freckled face during break. We took his lunch and money. The fat kid tried to fight back, and the two brothers hit him until they made him cry. Of course, many of these incidents had already happened, but this was the most serious one. I didn’t hit the fat kid, but I didn’t defend him either. The parents of the fat kid complained to the school principal, who called our parents.

The brothers’ parents and my mother arrived at the school after hours. The school principal explained what had happened. As we were leaving, the father of the brothers, a big redneck of a man with a beer belly and baseball cap, said, “What a waste of time! This is kids’ stuff. No need to make such a big deal out of it!”

My mother said nothing—not in the principal’s office (except for greeting him), not to the brothers’ parents, and, most scary of all, not to me. We drove away from the school and straight to the most expensive restaurant in Essex, a beautiful and classy colonial establishment where George Washington had slept.

The first time she brought me there, one Sunday after church, I asked her if George Washington had really slept there. My mother answered that was why he was called the Father of Our Country—because he slept all over the Eastern Seaboard of our nation, and not always alone. There must be hundreds, if not thousands, of Washington descendants running around the present United States, she said with a chuckle.

My mother walked into the restaurant and asked the proprietor if we could have an early dinner or a late lunch. The proprietor, who had always been sweet on my mother, said of course; the restaurant was almost empty.

My mother had not spoken a single word since we had left the school. She opened the menu and told me, “I think I am going to have the New England clam chowder and a glass of Chablis. What are you going to have? You can have whatever you like. We are celebrating.”

I was confused, so I asked her, “What are we celebrating?”

She said, “We’re celebrating you, of course. We are celebrating your choice of the man you want to become. If you want to prey on the weak and less fortunate, that is your decision, and I respect that. I see by the sort of friends you have and the sort of deeds you’ve done that you have chosen to be a bully. That is what we’re celebrating—your choice of the man you want to become.

“I guess you were very happy when you were taking away the food and money of the little fat kid. How did you feel? Were you laughing when you were hitting him? How many times did you practice on other kids before you graduated into stealing by force?”

I looked down at my hands. I couldn’t look up to her. I felt too ashamed. I had always known deep inside of me that what we were doing to the other kids in school was wrong. But I still did it because I wanted to belong. I was an only child. I wanted the brothers to like me, to accept me.

In a very soft voice, I told my mother that I was not hungry. She answered me, “Sorry, but we have to celebrate your choice of the man you want to become. This is a celebration, and in celebrations, you finish all your food.”

When I went back to school the next day, I didn’t talk to the two brothers. I went to see the little fat kid, and I apologized. He was surprised, but he was smart. He accepted my apologies. I told him that the brothers would not bother him again.

When I was walking home after school, I got close to the two brothers and told them, “From now on, the little fat kid is under my protection. From now on, if I hear that you are hurting others, I will come after you.” The big brother smiled and pushed me. I dropped my backpack and went after him. I had him on the ground crying and bleeding from nose and mouth in no time. His brother tried to help him and suffered a similar misfortune. I stood up, looked at them, and said, “This is your first and final warning. Next time I will really hurt you.”

I had learned my lesson. My mother didn’t have to hit me to teach me. She just had to show me the right way with the proper example. I was a quick learner.

It took me almost ten years before I tried New England clam chowder again.

Charlie talks to Mom

“Mum,” I said, “I need to talk to you about something that happened to Caleb and me in Acapulco, since it affects you and Uncle Jonathan.”

The change in my tone alerted her. She was silent for a while, and then she said, “Charlie, tell me everything. Don’t leave anything out, and let me know what I can do.”

That was my mother: directly to the point, no beating about the bush.

I explained everything up to the moment. I didn’t mention any names or the unfortunate mishaps suffered by some. I ended by asking her to go to my uncle’s place until we sorted out the situation. If she stayed home, even though I knew she could protect herself, I would be worried and thrown off my game.

She said to me, “Call your uncle and explain the situation to him. I will call him later, and tomorrow I will drive there. None of this sounds like your fault. You did what you thought was right. Now you have to do what you have to do. When this is all over, you know where you can find me.”

I changed phones and called my uncle.

I explained the situation to him from beginning to end. I tried not to leave anything out, but I was careful not to give names or specifics over the phone.

After I finished, he said to me, “Your mother will be safe here. Given everything that you have told me, I expect to see you soon. It seems that the most important part of the problem is right here in our backyard. I will try to find out as much as I can.

“We need a better way of communicating. Do you remember your first free e-mail? Do you remember the names of your first two pets?”

“Yes, I do,” I said. I knew what he was referring to. I added, “Talk to you in ten.”

We hung up.

Uncle to the rescue

I asked Ramon where Toro’s computer was. He took me to his bedroom. It had a side room with a desk, phones, and a laptop.

I thanked Ramon and asked him to let Caleb and Santi know where I was.

I turned on the laptop and went to the site of my first e-mail. I created an account under my first pet’s name, using my second pet’s name as the password.

I typed a message describing the events with names and specifics and saved it in the draft folder. I logged out. Nine minutes had passed since I hung up the phone.

Caleb and Santi walked into the room. They sat on the chairs in front of the desk. I told them that my uncle and I had devised a secure way of communicating.

I said, “Nancy Smith is like a praying mantis—predatory, always on the lookout for potential preys. She senses your weaknesses and uses them to manipulate you. Interrogating her is going to be a challenge.

“As Santi said, we have been lucky so far. Now we are facing a trained operative. We’re going to need professional help. I have asked my uncle to come and conduct the interrogation. He should have answered by now.”

I logged into the account and checked the draft folder. There was one draft with the subject “Travel News.” My uncle had already logged in and deleted my prior message. I opened his e-mail. He would be arriving at Toluca Airport in a friend’s private plane at three o’clock in the morning.

I deleted his draft and replied that I would be waiting for him.

***

We went down to look for Ramon. He was in his room in the servants’ quarters. I asked him if he could drive me to Toluca Airport. He responded, “Sure. If you want me to, I will take you. However, it will be quicker if we go in the helicopter. We do it all the time with Mr. Toro.”

“But don’t you need to file flight plans beforehand?” asked Santi.

Ramon responded, “Yes, but Mr. Toro has a standing arrangement with the authorities, and we fly whenever we want to.”

“Great,” I said. “Would you please tell the pilot to be ready? We need to pick up a passenger at three a.m.”

Before we left, Caleb checked on Toro, opening the door and saying, “How are you doing, sweet pea?” There was no response.

***

We went back to Toro’s bedroom. Santi said, “Caleb and I will stay at the house while you fetch your uncle. You should be arriving back around three thirty a.m., which gives us an hour and a half to prepare before Nancy and companions arrive. I propose we catch a few
Z
s. I will take the first watch and Caleb the second. Charlie, you sleep in this bedroom until it’s time to leave for Toluca. Caleb and I will share the next room to your right. Let’s give our clothes to the maids for washing and ironing. Tomorrow is going to be another long, long day, and we need to remain looking presentable for as long as possible.”

We undressed and gave Santi our clothes. Caleb went to sleep in the room next to mine, and I lay on top of the covers. Sleep would not come. I was thinking of Juliette. She was so sweet, tender, naïve, and set in her own ways. How was she going to cope with all of this? Could she become so depressed that she might attempt to take her own life? No, I didn’t think so. Underneath all that naivety was a tough streak ready to emerge. I knew she would find that hidden strength when she needed it most.

I felt a little better and more optimistic. If the three of us were better than good, with my uncle we would be unstoppable. I knew we were going to find Juliette and Camille, and perhaps the Russian girls too. I took three deep breaths and fell into a deep, relaxing sleep.

It seemed that I had just closed my eyes when Caleb was shaking me awake. “Charlie, the pilot is ready and waiting. It is two thirty a.m. You should be at Toluca Airport in twenty minutes. Here are your clothes, clean and ready for another day of stinky Charlie.”

“Hell,” I said. “I need to sleep for two days straight!”

“You will when you’re dead,” responded Caleb.

I went to the bathroom to pee, wash my face, brush my teeth, comb my hair, and dress. I grabbed a large, fluffy beach towel from the bedroom closet. I was down with the pilot in five minutes and ready to leave. It was a cold morning. The temperature was about six degrees Celsius. Fortunately, it was not raining. We walked to the heliport. As soon as we boarded the chopper, I asked the pilot for his utility knife. He gave it to me and then checked his instruments and proceeded to take off. I made a straight-line cut of about twelve inches in the middle of the towel, making myself a poncho. As soon as I put it on, I started to feel warm again.

Twenty-one minutes later, we were landing at the airport in Toluca. I went to the private plane arrivals. It was 3:00 sharp. My uncle was walking out as I came in. Perfect timing! We smiled at each other and embraced. We had never been afraid of showing our affection in public. He was carrying a large briefcase.

We walked back to the helicopter. The pilot was waiting for us. We boarded and took off. My uncle and I talked all the way back to Mr. Toro’s house. He asked me to go over the whole story again and to give him my insights about Nancy Smith.

We were back at the house in twenty minutes.

It was 3:28 a.m.

***

As we came into the house, Caleb greeted my uncle, saying, “Hello, Jonathan. Thank you for coming to the rescue.” He added immediately, “This here is Santi, the stray puppy we picked up on the streets of Acapulco.”

“Hello, Caleb. You don’t look half as bad as you should with all the wear and tear of the last couple of days.” Turning to Santi, he said, “Hello, Santi. Nice to finally meet you. These clowns were lucky to run into you.”