Page 46 of Pax

“You’ve got receipts. Where are they?” asked Benji. He jerked his head toward the tray on his credenza, and Benji picked them up. “Which one?”

Bogey let him up, and his shaky hands took the stack of receipts. He rifled through them, pulling out the receipts one by one. Six in total.

“Ameri-Mex Missions,” read Bogey. “You’re fucking kidding me. You didn’t question this bullshit?”

“N-no! No, why would I? They had cash and paid upfront every time.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” said Benji. “So, they handed over thousands and thousands in cash, and you looked the other way. You make me sick.”

“I’m a businessman!” he yelled. “In a downturn economy, you do what you need to do. I don’t know what they’re doing with the boats. They ask me to make certain modifications, and I do it. It’s not illegal.”

“No, it’s not illegal,” said Bogey, “but the next boat I find that you sold to them will be your last. I will hunt you down and cause you immeasurable pain. Pain that you’ve exposed those poor people to. If you’re lucky, your wife will identify your remains, collect the insurance money, sell this piece of shit business, and take one of your boats to the Caribbean with her lover.”

“I didn’t do anything except sell boats,” he insisted.

“You did way more than that. Way more, and I’m going to prove it, and then I’m coming for you, you fat piece of shit.”

“Hey, that wasn’t nice. I’m an older man.”

“Come on,” said Bogey to his friend. “Let’s see if we can find out anything about this fucking company.”

Two hours later, Bogey and Benji were seated on the patio of their favorite pub, nursing a beer and finishing off their juicy burger. They looked through the paperwork dozens of times, trying to catch something that would identify the buyers.

Back home, Tanner, AJ, Hiro, and others were searching for names as well. The company name was suspicious enough. There was no record of it being a non-profit or, for that matter, filing any tax returns.

“You read?”asked Hiro.

“Loud and clear,” said Bogey.

“Bear with me. This is gonna take a hot minute. There is no record of Ameri-Mex Missions anywhere. Nothing. But I did some digging into our victims, which was hard enough. Most had no wealth at all, but Mexico did have a record of them applying for assistance of some sort for medical needs. Things like hospital beds, wheelchairs, special hearing-impaired telephones, that sort of thing.

“Two years ago, an American insurance executive, Carr Mason, came down to Mexico to speak with government officials about the crisis in healthcare for their country, as well as for America and Canada. While he was there, he met with the chief officer in charge of health and human affairs in Mexico, Diego Moravo.

“Now, fast forward and these two have been meeting regularly, determining which conditions, diseases, and drugs should be covered. Mason has convinced the country of Mexico that his insurance company could provide healthcare opportunities for their country. In fact, he submitted an eight-hundred-and-thirty-one-page document on just how to do that. In the document it even touts the benefit for the country, as it would charge the citizens an obnoxious amount of money for coverage.”

“How does that help them? Most of these people can’t afford that,” said Benji.

“I’m getting there. They charge this absurd amount for coverage, and if you can’t afford it, you don’t get coverage. Nothing. And there will be no alternative. Charity clinics and hospitals will be shut down, people will be forced to travel abroad for care if they can afford it, and there are more than three thousand conditions listed as ‘exceptions’ to the policy. I’m talking high blood pressure, diabetes, and pregnancy, for fuck’s sake! None of it will be covered. What’s covered, you ask? The most insane rare diseases on the planet. I’m talking about things that are only seen as one in a million or two million.”

“It is a type of genocide,” frowned Bogey.

“It’s worse. These two men are in on this together. So far, they’ve raised more than three billion dollars to push this shit through the Mexican government.”

“Why are those two names ringing bells for me? Mason and Moravo?” asked Benji. “Do we know them?”

“Just remember you asked. Mason and Moravo were tried and found not guilty for a trafficking ring out of Mexico involving disabled children. This was a few years ago, the senior team handled it, but it was fucked up. They’re old men now, both in their seventies, but I will guarantee you that they’re doing it again. Killing off the kids they don’t want, taking those they do.

“I know you know this, but every minute we don’t find them, there are kids out there suffering in their hands. And worse, they’re looking for more right now. I’m sending you the lists again, highlighting those we think they’ll try to take next.”

“Brother, what about the boats? Any idea which boats they might be using right now?”

“Check in with the others. They saw a boat hauler drop some boats at a marina, and we think at least two were ordered by this group.”

“You’re the best. Thank you.” Bogey looked at Benji as he downed his beer in one gulp, nodding. “I guess we’re going to Mexico.”

“We’re gonna need a boat.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

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