Chapter 25
Twenty-Five
Ireach for my pants, pulling them on quickly as Naomi wraps the sheet around herself more securely and joins me at the table.
I pick up the phone and hold it close to my mouth. "Static? I thought you couldn’t talk through this thing. How are you doing this?”
Even through the distortion, I can hear Static’s smirk.
"The simplest answer is I am very, very good at what I do. The more complex answer involves technical information that I have learned over the years makes normies’ eyes glaze over.
But suffice it to say, I’ve upgraded the system. You’re no longer in El Centinela.”
I shake my head even though he can’t see. “No. La Pesca Azul.”
“Ah, you used to live there.”
I’m not surprised that Static was keeping tabs on me long before I contacted him.
I spend the next few minutes filling him in on everything we found. And the fact that we stole what we believe to be their communication hub at that location.
“Nice work,” Static says.
“But we weren’t in El Centinela,” Naomi chimes in. “We were in Devil’s Gulch.”
“No, my friends, you were in both.”
Naomi and I share a look. “What do you mean?” I ask.
"I've been doing some digging since we last spoke." I hear Static's fingers fly across a keyboard we can't see. “Devil’s Gulch is in the United States. El Centinela is not.”
I share a confused look with Naomi. Static recognizes it through our silence, so he continues.
"In the mid-1800s, there was a minor border treaty signed between Mexico and the United States. There was language articulating a list of towns that belonged to Mexico. Many of them no longer existed or had different names. So Mexico got its list and acknowledgment, but the US kept the actual land.”
"But that was almost two centuries ago," Naomi says. "What does that have to do with now?"
"About fifteen years ago, an obscure provision was buried in a congressional spending bill. There was some seemingly innocent language about honoring the cultural heritage of the Texas-Mexico border region. What it actually did was activate that forgotten treaty. Naming El Centinela as an alternative name for Devil’s Gulch wasn’t just honoring its history, because of that first treaty, it gave Mexico control over part of it. "
“On purpose?” Naomi asks.
I can picture Static shrugging, that constant knowing half smile on his face. “Not sure. But my guess would be yes.”
I shake my head. "So Devil's Gulch is the American name, and El Centinela is the Mexican name for the same place?"
"Exactly. And here's the genius part," Static says, his voice taking on a grim admiration.
"That congressional provision created a perfect legal gray zone.
Since the town technically exists in both countries, neither country's laws fully apply.
The CIA can operate there without oversight because it's 'foreign soil' when convenient, but they can control access because it's 'domestic' when they need it to be. "
"No wonder they were so desperate to keep me from finding it," Naomi murmurs.
“There were tunnels under the houses. That’s how they were moving drugs, weapons. There was evidence they had moved people at one point.”
“Makes sense.”
“Does it? Why would the CIA be funding something like that?” Naomi asks.
I turn to look at her. She is so good. So earnest. Static and I are cynical enough not to even question it. “Because they can track a lot of bad people, entrap a lot of useful ones,” I say.
“Normal border crossings are watched. But in El Centinela, no one is watching because officially, there's nothing to see,” Static adds.
"So they can do whatever they want," Naomi adds bitterly.
“Static, Logan was there.”
“Logan?” I can hear the shock in Static’s voice. Logan must have truly been off the grid if Static wasn’t tracking him.
He thought he was just as dead as I did.
“Yeah. Is he running this?”
“No,” Static says. “A woman named Isla Graves. Walker, she’s at the director level. And if she’s working with Logan and knew about those treaty loopholes…”
Static doesn’t finish but lets the implication hang.
“What does that mean?” Naomi asks. She still looks determined. Hopeful.
It kills me to break it to her. “It means we could have all the evidence in the world, and there’s nowhere we could use it to get justice. The rot runs too wide and too deep.”
Naomi looks far away. “You’re telling me this evidence is useless? Everything we’ve done is for nothing?”
I nod. And my heart breaks for her. But she doesn’t. Her face doesn’t fall. It hardens into a grim determination. “I don’t accept that.”
“Walker’s right, Naomi,” Static says. He knows how the world works like I do. He’s seen the guts underneath. “This treaty provision needed someone really high up. They have at least a senator.”
Naomi crosses her arms and paces. I can see that beautiful mind of hers whirring, trying to put the puzzle pieces together in a new way. “But they don’t have the public. We don’t use the system. We expose it. We need to get this information out so that people can see it.”
“I could cover the internet with it right now,” Static says.
“No. It would just get swallowed up as another conspiracy theory. We need a legitimate source to break it, and then, Static, you need to manipulate the algorithm so that everyone sees it. There won’t be any shadow left for them to hide in.”
“But will people care, Naomi?”
She looks at me, her eyes blue flames. “They will, Walker. I know you don’t believe in them, but I do. When they see the truth of this, we win.”
And all my doubts are consumed by those blue flames. Maybe she’s right that people will believe. If she can make me believe, she can convince anyone.
“Static, you need to find a large news source. The Times, preferably. But we’re going to need to meet in person and provide the evidence to them. You gotta get us back.”
“You got it. But the border is a pissed-off hornet’s nest right now. Ms. Graves seems to be using official channels again to find you two. But I’m sure she hasn’t given up on unofficial ones…”
He means the cartel. And Logan. “I’ve got my eyes open. What should we do?”
"Just lie low. I'll send information as soon as I have it. Stay safe."
The call ends.
I get up and walk to the window. We have a plan, but I’m still frustrated. Sitting here waiting feels wrong. We should be moving, planning, fighting. But we're trapped in this little fishing village until Static gives us the all clear.
Naomi wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me close. Outside, the ocean laps against the shore, the rhythm steady and ancient.
As if reading my thoughts, she whispers, "There are worse places to be stuck.”
“And far worse people to be stuck with,” I say just before my lips touch hers.
I pour everything into the kiss that I can’t find the words for: my fear for her, my admiration, my promise to protect her no matter what it costs me. Because she’s right. The truth is, I’m not stuck. There’s nowhere else I want to be than with her.