4. THE FIRST JOB
THE FIRST JOB
Three days passed before Mateo Vargas asked Chris Roman to do something that had absolutely nothing to do with fixing an engine.Chris knew because Rafael stopped pretending it did.It was just after seven in the evening when Rafael walked across the garage and tossed a set of keys onto Chris’s workbench.Chris caught them one-handed.
He looked at the Mercedes emblem dangling from the ring.Then at Rafael.“What?”
“Delivery.”Chris went back to tightening a bolt.“I fix cars.”
“Tonight you drive one.”
“Sounds like a promotion.”
“Don’t get excited.”
“I’ll try to contain myself.”Rafael didn’t leave.That got Chris’s attention.He straightened slowly.Most of the mechanics had already gone home.
Luis was in the back finishing paperwork.
Music played quietly from somewhere near the office.Outside, the Texas evening had turned the sky orange.Chris wiped his hands on a rag.
“Where?”Rafael handed him a folded piece of paper.An address.Across the city.Industrial district.Chris knew the area.Warehouses.Freight yards.Storage facilities.Not much residential traffic.Not good.
“Take the Mercedes,” Rafael said. “Park it exactly where the paper says.”
“And?”
“Leave the keys inside.”Chris waited.Rafael stared at him.Chris stared back.
“And?”
“There is no and.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“Roman.”
“What?”Rafael stepped closer.“Don’t open the trunk.”There it was.Chris glanced toward the black Mercedes parked near the last service bay.Then back at Rafael.“Wasn’t planning to.”
“Don’t look under the seats.”
“Now you’re making me curious.”
“Don’t.”Chris folded the address once.Slipped it into his pocket.Rafael continued.“Don’t stop anywhere.”
“Need gas?”
“You don’t.”
“Food?”
“No.”
“Coffee?”
“Roman.”Chris smiled faintly.“Relax.”Rafael’s expression didn’t change.“Take the car. Deliver it. Leave it. Somebody will pick you up.”
“Who?”
“You’ll know when they get there.”Chris rolled the keys around one finger.“Anything else?”
“Yes.”Rafael stepped closer.“Don’t ask questions.”Chris’s smile disappeared.He slipped the keys into his pocket.“Never do.”That was a lie.Chris Walker asked questions for a living.
Chris Roman just knew better than to say them out loud.The Mercedes was clean.Too clean.Chris noticed it immediately.No personal items.No registration visible.No parking receipts.No loose change in the cup holders.Nothing suggesting the vehicle belonged to anyone.He opened the driver’s door.Sat.Adjusted the seat.Checked the mirrors.His eyes moved automatically.Garage entrance.Street.Rafael watching from inside.Luis pretending not to.Chris started the engine.Smooth.Expensive.Powerful enough.Not his first choice if things went bad.He backed out.Rafael stood in the garage entrance.Chris lowered the window.
“You forget something?” Rafael asked.“Yeah.”
“What?”
“What’s in the trunk?”Rafael stared at him.Chris smiled.“I’m kidding.”
“Don’t.”
“Right.”He drove away.The first mile was boring.Chris liked boring.Boring kept people alive.He drove exactly like Roman should drive.Not overly cautious.Not reckless.Eight over the limit.One hand loosely on the steering wheel.Radio playing low.Nothing about him suggested federal agent.Inside his head, Chris Walker was cataloging everything.Gray pickup.Behind him for three blocks.Turned left.White Tahoe.Two blocks.Passed him.
Black sedan.Stayed behind.Chris watched it without moving his head.One intersection.Two.Three.The sedan turned.Clean.Maybe.He continued.His phone sat facedown in the cup holder.Not his Bureau phone.Roman’s.No communication with the task force while he was moving.No unnecessary signals.No mistakes.This was exactly what he’d spent years training for.Blend.Observe.Remember.Survive.He approached a red light.
Stopped.A family in a minivan pulled beside him.Two children arguing in the back seat.
Their mother turned around and said something Chris couldn’t hear.Completely ordinary.Chris glanced at the rearview mirror.The Mercedes looked completely ordinary too.
That was what bothered him.He had no idea what was behind him.Cash?
DrugsWeapons?A Body? Nothing?Sometimes the test wasn’t what you carried.It was whether you’d look.Chris hadn’t.He wouldn’t.The light changed.He accelerated.Twenty-two minutes later, the neighborhoods thinned.Warehouses replaced houses.Streetlights became less frequent.
Rail lines appeared along the road.Chris turned onto Industrial Parkway.The address was six blocks ahead.He passed it.Deliberately.Kept driving.One block.Two.No visible surveillance.No obvious tail.He turned at the next intersection, looped around, then approached from the opposite direction.Roman could justify that.Wrong turn.Chris knew better.Never enter somewhere you haven’t looked at first.The destination was an abandoned-looking warehouse behind a rusted chain-link fence.Gate open.One security light.No sign.No visible people.Perfect place to disappear.Chris turned in.Gravel cracked beneath the tires.He drove around the side.Three vehicles were parked behind the building.
Black Tahoe.Older Ford pickup.White cargo van.No plates on the van.Chris memorized all three.There was a yellow number painted above a loading bay.
17.The instructions said:Bay 17.Chris backed the Mercedes into position.Put it in park.Turned off the engine.Silence filled the car.He looked at the rearview mirror.Nothing.He removed the keys.
Then remembered Rafael’s instruction.Leave them.Chris put them in the cup holder.
He got out.Closed the door.And walked away.No trunk.No checking the vehicle.No hesitation.Thirty feet.Forty.A door opened behind him.Chris didn’t turn immediately.
Footsteps.Two men.He kept walking.“Roman.”He stopped.Turned.Neither man was familiar.One was tall and thin.The other looked like he’d spent most of his adult life lifting heavy things and hurting people.The larger one approached.
“Car good?”Chris glanced toward the Mercedes.
“Was when I left it.”The man looked him over. “You check the trunk?”
There it was.Another test.Chris put his hands into his pockets.“No.”
“Why not?”
“Wasn’t my car.”The thin man smiled slightly.“Most people are curious.”
“Most people are stupid.”The larger man’s expression remained flat.“What if there was a million dollars in there?”Chris shrugged.“Then somebody’s missing a million dollars.”
“What if it was yours?”
“Then I wouldn’t have left it in somebody else’s Mercedes.
”The thin man laughed.The bigger one didn’t.Chris was starting to think criminal organizations deliberately paired one man with a sense of humor with another who’d misplaced his.The larger man stepped closer.
“What if there was something else?”Chris held his eyes.
“Then it’s still not my problem.”A long beat.The man nodded.
“Good answer.”Chris shrugged.“Wasn’t trying to impress you. ”
“That might’ve been the wrong answer.”
“Can’t win them all.”The thin man laughed again.“Come on.”He nodded toward the Ford.
“We’re your ride.”Chris followed.As they walked away, he never looked back at the Mercedes.Not once.That mattered.The next morning, Rafael handed Chris five hundred dollars.Chris looked at it.Then at him.“For driving twenty minutes?”
“You complaining?”
“Trying to figure out if I should’ve charged more.”Rafael smiled.“You did fine.”
“Thrilling.”Chris pocketed the cash.He went back to work.No questions.Exactly as instructed.Two days later, another set of keys landed beside him.This time it was a Cadillac.
Different address.Same rules.Drive.Park.Leave.Don’t look.Chris did.Then came a pickup.
Then an SUV.Then a late-night run involving nothing more than moving a vehicle from a restaurant parking garage to a private residence.Each time, Chris memorized everything.
Routes.Faces.Locations.Vehicles.Security.Names when he heard them.He never wrote anything down.Never photographed anything.Never made a move that couldn’t be explained.At predetermined intervals, he passed information back to the task force.
And every time, the answer was essentially the same.Not enough.Chris knew.He hated that they were right.Two weeks into the operation, he sat in a dark SUV inside an underground parking structure.Mercer occupied the passenger seat.Sloan sat behind him.
No phones.No recording devices visible.Nothing that could connect Roman to the Bureau if somebody stumbled onto the meeting.Mercer looked at him.“You’ve got six minutes.”Chris leaned back.“Nice to see you too.”
“Report.”Chris gave them everything.Warehouse on Industrial.Bay seventeen.Vehicle descriptions.Rafael’s movements.Two unidentified men.Three additional drop locations.
Possible storage facility.A restaurant being used for meetings.Names.Times.Patterns.
Sloan listened without interrupting.When Chris finished, she asked:“Mateo?”
“Seen him twice.”
“Business?”
“Nothing useful.”
“Drugs?”
“Nothing I’ve personally witnessed.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“Distribution?”
“No.”Sloan sighed.Chris’s jaw tightened.“I know.”Mercer looked at him.“Know what?”
“That I’m not far enough inside.”
“You’re not even close.”
“Thanks.”
“We don’t have time to make you feel good, Walker.”
“I don’t need you to.”Mercer leaned forward.“Then understand the problem. Mateo has had four years to insulate himself. You’re moving cars for Ortega. That’s six levels away from Vargas.”
“I’m working on it.”
“At this rate you’ll be still changing Mateo’s oil by Christmas.”Chris looked at him.“Anything else?”Sloan interrupted before Mercer could answer.“Diego?”Chris’s expression changed.“He doesn’t like me.”
“Why?”
“I’m charming.”Mercer muttered, “God help us.”Chris ignored him.“Diego watches me. More than Mateo does.”
“Suspicious?”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s suspicious of everyone.”
“Keep it that way.”Chris nodded.Then Sloan asked:“Camila?”Chris looked at her.
“What about her?”
“You’ve seen her?”