Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
They hit the coast just after sunrise. Salina Cruz was a port city perched on the edge of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec.
Port cranes lined the horizon like skeletal giants.
The main road ran downhill toward the port, lined with mechanic shops, taco stands, and boarded-up storefronts.
The bus station café where they got off had no real walls, just a cracked tile floor and a faded Coca-Cola awning that flapped like a sad flag.
Ryan stood by the open frame, trying not to lean on the sticky counter. Gulls circled the nearby dumpsters, their cries high and shrill, wings casting shadows over the road.
He tried not to look at Lucía. She was in the booth behind him, hunched over her laptop, hair pulled into a low bun.
The morning light caught the soft shadows under her eyes and the curve of her jaw.
She wore a faded gray tee and jeans dusted with road grime, but somehow she still looked… incredible.
“Do you ever blink when you’re in data mode?” he asked.
“Do you ever shut up when you’re bored?” she shot back, still typing.
He smiled. “Touché.”
Lucía exhaled through her nose, eyes flicking over the screen. “I followed the Salina Cruz signal to a shell company,” she said. “They filed a storage lease, the address is behind a dead shipping yard. And a power meter there just came online.”
Ryan frowned. “So someone’s using a fake address.”
“Or hiding in one,” Lucía said. “Could be nothing. Could be everything.”
A gust of wind pushed through the café, bringing with it the sharp, greasy tang of fish guts and engine oil.
Ryan nodded, rolling his shoulder against the weight of his gear. He was still half-distracted by her. “Either way, we check it.”
The place looked like it had been abandoned mid-apocalypse. Rusted corrugated siding. A chained-up gate. Concrete walls mottled with salt bloom.
Ryan knelt by the gate, checking the padlock. “It’s been opened recently,” he murmured.
“Footprints, too,” Lucía said. “Somebody’s been through here.”
They scaled the fence two minutes later, boots crunching on gravel as they crossed into the yard. A squat building sat at the back, windowless and square. Ryan moved first, sweeping the perimeter, weapon drawn.
“Stay behind me,” he said, not looking back. She muttered something, but he heard her soft footfalls trailing him as he rounded the side of the building.
They slipped inside through a broken door. The interior was hollow: concrete floor, old crates stacked along one wall.
Ryan moved through each room, clearing it fast. Empty.
He lowered his weapon. “Nothing.”
Lucía exhaled hard. “Damn.”
She moved to one of the crates and pried it open with a piece of rusted metal. Inside: rotted packing foam, a rusted electrical coil, and a torn receipt.
Ryan leaned against the wall. “Dead end.”
Lucía didn’t move. “It doesn’t make sense. The money moved from this company. The signature matches. It should’ve led somewhere.”
“Well, it didn’t,” Ryan snapped. He regretted the sharpness even as it came out, but the frustration was rising in his throat like bile. He was hot, and hungry and so tired he could barely think straight. “We’re running out of time, and every one of these leads is colder than the last.”
Lucía turned, her expression sharp. “Don’t put this on me. You think I’m not aware of the stakes? That I don’t know what happens if we don’t find that boy?”
He crossed his arms. “You’re the one with the map. So far, it’s gotten us nowhere.”
Her eyes blazed. “I’m the one with the map? You mean the one I built while running for my life? While hiding in shit motels and stealing Wi-Fi from corner stores?”
Ryan opened his mouth, then shut it.
Lucía stepped closer, close enough he could smell the sharp citrus of her shampoo, or maybe just the heat rolling off her skin. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need you second-guessing me every time something doesn’t explode into answers.”
Ryan didn’t back down. “I’m not second-guessing. I’m just tired of chasing shadows.”
The silence that fell between them was too tight, too close. Her eyes flicked over his mouth before she looked away.
Ryan’s voice was low. “You said it yourself. Could be nothing, could be everything.”
She looked at him, anger flashing. “Yeah, well, I was hoping for the second one.”
He forced himself to soften. “We’ll find the right lead.”
Lucía shook her head, then started walking toward the exit. “You know,” she said over her shoulder, “for someone who hates chasing shadows, you sure do spend a lot of time standing in them.”
He followed, lips twitching into something that almost resembled a smile.
Gates leaned over the table, elbows planted between cables and monitors. The feed from drone B-17 flickered, then stabilized. A grainy image resolved: Ryan and Lucía emerging from the shipping yard’s back entrance, their expressions tight, body language guarded, but aligned.
Behind him, the surveillance team murmured updates. A local handler tapped in the next grid overlay. The thermal signature of their vehicle flared, then dimmed as they turned south along the coastal road.
Reyes picked up his tablet and scrolled through the latest field notes. “We’ve got a clean intercept window. If you want them stopped, this is it.”
Gates watched the screen in silence, arms crossed. “Let them go.”
Reyes blinked in surprise.
Gates looked back at the screen, re-watching Ryan guide Lucía into the vehicle like she was something fragile. His jaw tightened. “Log their route. Keep the drones high. No close pings. I want eyes, not footprints.”
Reyes hesitated. “So we’re not engaging?”
“Not yet. Let them believe they’re in control.” Gates stepped away from the monitors, his voice low. “When the time comes,” he said, “we’ll be ready.”