Kingdom of God Page 9

  “Then why was the van that carried the bomb registered in your name?” The pastor drew a big breath through his nose. He sat up in his chair.

  “Now are you now accusing me...of having something to do with this?”

  “No, I’m just-”

  “Do you have any evidence for that? Do you have the registration forms? Do you have evidence that I owned it? That we owned it?”

  “I’m just gathering information.” The pastor stood up.

  “You’re not. You’re passing judgment. That’s what you’re doing. You will find nothing—that van was donated to my ministry and probably stolen—nothing connecting me to this tragedy. Absolutely nothing. And you will find nothing to connect me to this...hysterical woman that you found. I don’t know how she knows my name. I don’t know what her intentions are. I don’t know what she wants from me. But there is nothing that will convict me of this crime. No false accusations, no lies, no slander will overcome me. I am completely innocent. You hear me? Completely innocent.” He sat back in his chair. He slid the bible off of the table and onto his lap. The young boy retreated back to his parents on the other side of the room.

  “Mr. Poneros, please. I’m just trying to get closer to the people who did this.”

  “I’m not answering any more of your questions without a lawyer present. I want to speak to a lawyer. I’m not answering any questions until then. I’m on American soil-”

  “You’re not.”

  “I have the right to an attorney. You’ll be speaking with them.” The pastor crossed his legs and reopened his bible. Michael rose out of his chair and looked down on the pastor from across the table.

  “Do you still want to pray together?” Michael asked. The pastor drew another long breath through his nose. He uncrossed his legs and closed the bible on his finger. He raised his head slightly and closed his eyes.

  “Heavenly Father, I pray that you be with this man. I pray that you grant him safety and security while he is here in Tijuana. I pray you grant him the discernment, the wisdom...the wisdom, Lord...to see through these lies and get to the bottom of this horrible, horrible tragedy.” Michael’s eyes remained open. “I pray that you be with the families, Lord. Give them healing, give them strength. Give them the power to know that You are God and You can deliver us from evil. Deliver us from this evil, Lord. You are an awesome God, and we know You can do all things through Your strength. And we know that You can deliver us safely from this evil with Your protection and Your great love. We lift these things to You in Your Son’s holy and gracious name...Amen.”

  “Amen,” Michael said. “Thank you for your time.” Michael turned around and walked toward flight of stairs. The parents’ eyes tracked the detective as he passed their table. He ascended the stairs, paced back down the hallway and reentered his living quarters.

  He dropped the notepad, pen and manila folder down on the desk and fell into the chair. His eyes drifted to the sunlight beaming through the side of the curtained window. He spotted a man running alongside the perimeter fence. Michael peeled the curtain away from the window.

  The man wore a black t-shirt. He jogged next to the metal barrier and out of Michael’s sight. The detective stood back up and stepped out into the hallway.

  The sunlight cast a small shadow under Sool. He shuffled along the perimeter fence until he reached a white towel wedged into the iron bars. He stopped, pulled the towel from the fence, and cleared the sweat off his neck, face and chest.

  Across the parking lot, Michael stood in the shade of the recess surrounding the building’s side entrance. He leaned against the wall and watched Sool saunter toward the building. The man’s eyes were down. He draped the towel over his shoulders.

  Michael stood up straight as Sool neared the side entrance.

  “Hot out there, huh?” Sool looked up at the detective, annoyed. His eyes returned to the ground. “How far do you usually run?”

  “I go until I get tired, then I stop.” Sool pulled the door open and entered the air conditioned corridor. Michael followed him inside.

  “Hey, I didn’t get a chance to say it during the meeting, but, uh...That was a really good job with Maria Rosa. We got a lot of good information to go off of.”

  “Okay.”

  “I didn’t hear you on the recording.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “What did you say? What did you ask her?”

  “I said just said tell me everything and she spilled it.”

  “You didn’t touch her?”

  “Nope.”

  “You didn’t make any physical contact or anything?”

  “Didn’t have to.”

  “Okay. Just wanted to make sure. Because even if you did, we still can’t use it.”

  “Sure we can. We’re using it right now.”

  “I mean in court. Everyone could see she was under duress. Any judge would throw it out.”

  “Don’t bring it to the trial then.”

  “You have something else to bring against Los Hermanos? They’re going to walk if we don’t.” Sool glared at Michael without breaking his stride.

  “They’re not gonna walk when I’m done with them.” Sool turned and entered the men’s restroom on his right. Michael followed him inside.

  “Is that what you’re going to tell the Harris family? It’s all okay, I sorted it out?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m going to tell them.” Michael stopped between two vanities facing one another. Sool continued toward the toilet stalls.

  “We need to get Maria Rosa on the record. We need her on our side. We can’t do that unless we accommodate her. You know, give her refugee status. Get her help for her baby.” Sool stopped in front of one of the stalls and peered back at Michael.

  “That’s out of my territory, chief. I mean really out of it.” Sool stepped inside the stall and shut the door behind him. Michael heard the sound of urine hitting the toilet bowl. Michael raised his voice over the noise.

  “You’re right. All that stuff we handle in the States. But we’re not in the States. This is your territory. So if you want to help Maria Rosa, get her to testify against Los Hermanos, it’s got to start here with the pastor. You want to get with him, see what he knows, now’s the time to do it. You know...it would really help us out. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Michael heard the last of Sool’s urine dribble into the bowl. The toilet flushed. The stall door reopened, and Sool stepped back into Michael’s view. The man in the black t-shirt walked over to the vanities, turned on the faucet and began rinsing his hands. He cupped some water into his right hand, slurped it into his mouth and spit it out. He shoveled another handful of water into his mouth. He turned toward Michael, swished the water around his mouth and swallowed it.

  “Okay. Just let me call my people and we’ll get going.” He wiped his mouth with the towel on his shoulders and strolled out of the restroom.

  “Wait, what people?” Sool walked by the detective without a reply.

  The toddler and his two parents were no longer in the room. The pastor sat alone at a table in the waiting area. His nose was buried in his Bible. Sool and Michael arrived at the top of the stairs. They sauntered down the steps and into the cavernous room. Sool peeled his sweat-soaked t-shirt away from his chest and fanned himself with it. Michael stopped at the bottom of the steps. The detective regarded the man in the black t-shirt saddling up to the pastor.

  The pastor looked up from his bible. Sool stood over the pastor and muttered a few words, but Michael could not make out what he was saying. The two men glared at one another. The pastor closed the book and stood face-to-face with Sool. He took a few steps toward exit. Sool followed closely behind. Michael hurried after the two men.

  They stepped through a set of glass doors and into the reception area. Michael spotted Tonya seated at the front desk. He leaned over the desk while the other two men made their way outside.

  “Sorry, Tonya. Can you tell Agent Potter that David migh
t be a little late to his meeting?”

  Michael rushed out of the front entrance and into a hazy midday light. He shadowed Sool and the pastor as they approached a black Chevrolet Suburban idling in the middle of the parking lot. They reached the rear of the vehicle. Sool turned to Michael and pointed at Mr. Poneros.

  “All right, cuff him.” The pastor threw his hands up.

  “Excuse me. Excuse me. No. I’m...what’s going on here?”

  “Sir.” Michael removed two zip ties from his belt. “If you would please just place your hands on-”

  “What crime have I committed? What am I under arrest for?”

  “Right now you’re resisting an officer. Can you please put your hands on the vehicle-”

  “No. I want to speak to a lawyer. I’m on American soil. I want to speak to-”

  “You want to go back to America,” Sool chimed in. “You gotta cooperate.”

  The pastor glared at the two men. With his lips pursed and his brow furrowed, he handed Michael his Bible and hat and placed his hands against the car’s rear window. Michael completed a full pat down of the pastor. He removed a wallet, passport, thirty eight pesos in coins, a crumpled photo of a Caucasian woman and child, and a metal flask from his pockets. He placed every item into the hat, set the hat on the ground and pulled the pastor’s arms behind his back. He knotted the pastor’s hands together with the zip ties.

  The detective opened rear driver-side door and guided Mr. Poneros inside. A metal partition divided the front and rear seats. The miffed pastor took the seat in the middle of the rear bench. His arms dug into the flat leather seatback. Michael sat next to him.

  Sool took the front passenger seat. Another man appeared behind the steering wheel. He put the vehicle into drive and inched toward the gate. Michael reached around the pastor’s stooped shoulders and grabbed the middle seatbelt. He pulled it over the pastor’s torso and buckled it. Sool’s stench started to fill the cabin. Michael looked for a switch to open the window, but the switch and door handle were missing.

  They passed the security post and stopped at the end of the driveway. The driver turned south on the empty Paseo de las Culturas. The pastor twisted around in his seat and looked out the rear window.

  “Hey. Excuse me. Excuse me, sir. The border is that way.” Sool did not reply. He stared straight ahead through the windshield. Only the left side of his face was visible to Michael and the pastor.

  “Do you know who I am?” Sool asked.

  “No. No of course I don’t.”

  “I’m going to give you two options. You tell us what we want to know, and it will be quick. You won’t feel a thing. Your family will know. They can even have a little memorial for you. If you don’t, it’ll take as long as it has to. Then you’ll just disappear. Your family will never know, and they’ll never find you. Eventually they’ll just forget about you. It’ll be like you never set foot on this earth.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “You know, you’re pretty lucky. Not everyone gets to choose the way they die.” Michael’s throat tightened. “Just tell us everything you know about Los Hermanos and you can feel better about how it goes down.”

  The pastor’s face reddened even more. His breathing grew labored. Sweat started to form on his forehead and neck. He began writhing in his seat.

  “Get me out of here. Get me out of here! You can’t threaten me. How dare you threaten me. I don’t know anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m innocent. I’m innocent of everything.”

  Michael placed his hand on the pastor’s shoulder to keep him still. The pastor kicked at the floor, pushing himself out of the seat. He turned toward Michael. Tears welled in his eyes.

  “You can’t do this. You can’t do this. You, you can’t let this happen. You said, you said you were a man of God. You said you were a man of God. You can’t let this happen. I don’t know anything.” Michael remained silent. “I didn’t, I didn’t do anything. You can’t. Please. Please don’t hurt me. Please.”

  The pastor continued thrashing. Michael gripped his shoulder tightly. It failed to keep him still.

  “David,” Michael said softly. “We know you were running the orphanage. We know it was your van that carried the bomb. We know you had some connection with these people. Just tell us what you know about them and where they are.” The pastor leaned forward, sticking his head between his knees. He began to hyperventilate.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t remember. I can’t remember. I can’t remember.”

  “David-” Michael looked back at Sool. His attention remained fixed on the road ahead.

  “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

  “David, I...I can help you. I can get you out of this. Just tell us what you know about Los Hermanos.”

  “I don’t know. I swear to God I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know who they are, or you don’t know where they are?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about the van? What can you tell us about that?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt, David. Just tell us what happened with the van.”

  “I don’t know. I left.” Some saliva dribbled out of his mouth and onto the floor.

  “Say that again.”

  “I left. I ran. I ran away. I got scared.”

  “You ran away.”

  “Yes. I, I got scared and I ran away.”

  “What scared you? Los Hermanos.”

  “No.”

  “Maria Rosa? Is that what-”

  “No.”

  “Heriberto?” The pastor did not reply. Seconds later, he nodded his head.

  “You had interactions with Heriberto.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did he want? Why did he scare you?”

  “I...I don’t know. I just ran. I got scared.”

  “David, you got to tell me something or-” The pastor raised his head and faced Michael.

  “You think I want to remember? I’ve seen people die of AIDS. I’ve seen kids slash each other throats. You think, you think I want to remember any of that?” He buried his head between his knees again. “This city broke me.”

  “So you can’t remember any of these people. You just blocked it out.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t remember Los Hermanos.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t remember Maria Rosa.”

  “I don’t know.

  “What about the kids? Where are the kids? What did you do with the kids?” The pastor wheezed. His back rose and fell with each abbreviated breath.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You abandoned them.”

  “Yes.”

  “You just ran away from them.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ever touch them?” The pastor turned to face Michael again. His brow was furrowed. Tears continued to stream down his cheeks.

  “Never.”

  “Okay.”

  “I would never do that.”

  “I believe you. But you got to help he figure out what’s true and what’s not. Did you know two brothers?” The pastor’s eyes returned to the floor.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Or Maria Rosa.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What was that?” Michael leaned in closer. “You remember Maria Rosa?”

  “I don’t know. I had some women.”

  “You had women.”

  “Yes.”

  “You coerced them into sex. Was that it?”

  “I didn’t force anybody.”

  “She said you did.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “She said you forced her after she stole some food-” The pastor looked at Michael once more.

  “She didn't put up any stop signs! Please. I didn’t do anything wrong. I just want to go home. Please just let me go home. Please. I want to
go home. I want my wife and son back.”

  “David-” The pastor unleashed an exasperated scream before sobbing again. Michael sat back in his chair. He leered through the partition. Sool continued to stare straight ahead with little expression on his face. The detective turned to the window on his left. They passed a farm and several produce stands outside.

  * * *

  The pastor remained slumped over in his seat for the next two hours. Sweat pooled under Michael’s shirt. The SUV trundled down a dirt road surrounded by two rocky slopes. It emerged from the shadows cast by the mountains and proceeded onto a dirt road bisecting a dry lakebed. Cracked earth lay out for miles in every direction. Barren peaks stretched across every horizon.

  After advancing another kilometer down the unpaved road, the driver veered off the path. Michael grabbed the handle over the door. The vehicle violently bounced over the rocks, plants and loose earth. Michael peered through the partition. Sool’s head knocked from side to side. The pastor was still doubled over in his seat.

  Through the windshield, Michael spotted a small clearing free of any plants or boulders. A white pickup truck appeared parked in the clearing. It was surrounded by four men. Two of the men were digging a hole. The other two leaned against the truck, each with paper cups in their hands. An orange water cooler was affixed to the side of the truck bed.

  The pastor sat up in his seat. Dried tears and saliva accumulated on his face. He looked through the partition and out of the windshield. His breathing labored again.

  “Oh no. Oh please God. Please God, don’t do this.” He bent forward again, struggling to catch his breath. The driver stopped in front of the white pickup truck. The hole the men were digging was about three feet deep.

  The driver exited the car and opened the rear door. The sunlight bouncing off of the white sand blinded Michael. He took a deep breath as the musty air inside of the car cleared. He placed his fully extended left leg on the vehicle’s running board and lifted himself out of the seat. He put his full weight on the leg and groaned. He stepped out of the shadow of the open rear door and planted both feet onto the dry lakebed. Sool had already disembarked and was making his way around the car.