“And?”
“Let me ask you this first. If we had all the kids in a room and nobody around to bother us, how long do you think we’d need before we broke them?”
Efren considered the question. His dark eyes seemed to reflect on past interrogations, calculating the time it had taken from initial threat to full cooperation. “Hours. A day at most,” he said.
Fausto nodded. “With a margin for error, I say a day. I agree. And to get back the money is not a long process, at least not according to Javier.”
“Agreed,” Efren said. “What are you thinking, Fausto?”
Fausto sat on the edge of the massive tub. “We need to get these kids together in a single place where they can disappear for some time without being noticed,” Fausto said. “Vanish within a cloud of chaos and confusion. No alarms would be raised, at least not over any missing students. Not if there’s a big enough distraction. It would allow us to operate without intervention and do what we do best.”
“And what is it that we do best?”
“Get results for Soto. There is no other line in our job descriptions.”
Fausto and Efren exchanged smiles.
“So, what is it you’re thinking?” Efren asked.
“Do you believe this Lion person Javier told us about could get access to the students’ class schedules? Time, room, building, that sort of thing?”
“I’m sure he could.”
“Then I say, ‘Look out, Winston, Massachusetts, because a devil wind is coming,’ and it’s going to blow their town down.”
“Tell me your plan.”
Fausto did just that. When he was finished, Efren looked shell-shocked.
“But, Fausto,” Efren said, “what if the police find out before we get what we came for?”
“I have a plan in mind for that, too,” Fausto said. He stood and patted Efren’s shoulder. There, there. We’ll be fine. Trust me on this. “A good employee of Soto’s,” Fausto added, “is always prepared.”
CHAPTER 11
Every year, on the third weekend in March, Jake brought Andy to the Self-Reliance Be Ready Expo and Convention held in Syracuse, New York. Better known by its acronym, SRBR, it was the trade show for the latest and greatest in survivalist gear, training, and the best prepper paraphernalia.
Jake and Andy left after school on Friday and stayed until Sunday. They attended discussions and seminars during the day at the Expo center. They returned at night to their tent at the local campground, where they stayed with other like-minded individuals. Real preppers doing the SRBR never booked a hotel room.
Jake always looked forward to the annual convention. It was a time to bond with his son. These moments weren’t going to last forever, and soon enough Andy was going to move on with his life, as he should. For now, being here with Andy meant the world to Jake, and he tried his best not to think too far down the road.
As they walked the conference floor, Jake and Andy did what they always did at the SRBR: talked about gear, clocked the latest trends, shopped for deals, and did some networking. Most kids got to do fun things with both their parents, but not Andy. The loss of his mother remained a raw spot etched on Andy’s heart. Jake had done all he could to support his son over the years, even compiling a nice photo album-a memory book, he called it-filled with pictures of Andy’s mother from her high-school days and happier times as a family.
For many years, Jake had been distraught and angry with Laura for leaving him, but he made it a point to craft something positive out of heartbreak for the sake of his son. The pain had an upside, and he and Andy might not have been as close as they were, had his mother stayed.
In his small campus office, Jake had taped a Mark Twain quote to his walclass="underline"
Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.
As time passed, Jake lost a lot of the anger, but not all of the emotion. Even Ellie, strong and loyal, couldn’t completely replace Laura in his heart. On occasion, Jake would sneak into Andy’s bedroom to leaf through the memory book on his own. Every picture of Laura was so clear to him: the day it was taken, where they were, how he was feeling. Some of the shots were so darn beautiful it was difficult to look at them without feeling the ache of missing her.
Perhaps the only way to vanquish Laura was to let Ellie in. But there was the small problem of his lifestyle. Many people had the wrong image of a prepper, but they’d have to come to the SRBR or a similar expo to debunk the myths. Images of a deluded, rootin’-tootin’, gun-obsessed nut job were far from the reality. People who prepped were just average consumers who happened to be deeply concerned about the fragility of the “system,” and growing numbers were fueling an emerging lifestyle trend. If anything, Jake was on the low end of the economic spectrum, as many SRBR attendees were financially more solvent, with deeper pockets to make them better prepared.
Andy paused at a booth Jake would have preferred to ignore. “Check this out.” He pointed to one weapon in particular, enclosed in a locked glass case.
“That’s a grenade launcher, son,” Jake said.
“Yeah, and?”
“And we’re not here for weaponry, especially something like that. This is about having skills and knowing how to do things for yourself when nobody is there to do it for you. We’re not at a gun show.” Jake actually bristled around the gun show crowd. He needed to know how to defend himself, and was highly competent with many weapons, but he wasn’t interested in building up a massive arsenal. “Come on,” Jake said. “There’s a lecture I want to sit in on that’s starting soon.”
Andy groaned and rolled his eyes. He looked back at the grenade launcher as if it were a million times cooler than his dad. “I don’t know if I can take this anymore,” he muttered.
Jake heard him. “What did you say?”
The words hurt, so Jake wanted to make sure he didn’t misunderstand. Andy might as well have said, “I don’t want to fish with you anymore, or go camping, or go hiking, or go skiing,” or any number of other things fathers and sons did together. The SRBR was their thing. It meant a great deal to Jake to share the experience with his son.
“Seriously, do you not want to be here?”
Andy gave Jake a sidelong glance.
He doesn’t want to hurt my feelings, Jake thought.
“I’m fine. Let’s go, Dad. I don’t want you to miss anything.”
Jake slipped his arm around Andy’s shoulder. Andy didn’t seem to mind, which lifted Jake’s spirits in ways Andy would only understand once he was a dad.
“Thanks, buddy,” Jake said. “That means a lot.”
The lecture hall was a large conference room, which had folding chairs set out in rows. Richard Weismann was an internationally recognized authority on self-reliance, and for months Jake had been looking forward to hearing him speak. Seats near the stage were filling up fast. Making a dash to the front, Jake nabbed two empty chairs together in the first row, just to the left of the podium on the stage. He turned to see that Andy had staked out his claim in the very back of the hall. He was already engrossed in his smartphone, eyes glued to the screen.
Jake saved the seats with his coat and walked to the back of the hall. “What’s up, buddy?” he asked. “You don’t seem as into it this year. You’ve always loved coming to the SRBR. We look forward to it all year.”
“No, Dad. You always loved coming here. I just go.”
Ouch!
“Stop slinging arrows, okay? I’m your father, and I love you very much,” Jake said. “And this lecture is important to me, but I want to be with you, too. So come on up front. I’ve got us two seats. So, how about you humor your papa for a bit? Okay, kiddo? It means a lot to me to have you here.” Jake gave Andy a playful punch on the arm.