Page 8 of Healing Love

The shots reverberating through an otherwise calm morning caused other Red Cross volunteers and security to run out of their buildings. Everyone halted when faced with the firepower of the bandits.

What do they want? Drugs? Before I could react to the events taking place all around, four of the armed men ran over grabbing me, Sharon, Sister Genovia, and another woman I had not met yet. The man who had ahold of my arm was surprisingly gentle, but firm. Pushed and shoved over to the vehicle, we were forced to stand facing away from the crowd. Oh my God, we’re going to die!Someone behind me threw a bandana over my eyes and tied it to the back of my head. Then my hands were tied behind my back, and I could hear doors being opened. I was lifted and placed into the seat, feeling someone placed next to me. The door slammed shut and with the wails and screams from the witnesses fading into the distance, the vehicle rumbled forward.

Fifteen days had passed since she had said goodbye to her family in Richmond. Lying in bed, the threat of tears pricked her eyes, but she battled them back, determined not to fall apart. She remembered her last days there at home.

The family had gathered for our Sunday mid-day meal, when I delivered the news about going to Mexico with the Red Cross. When the local RC called, I did not hesitate. Finally, a chance to do something different. The hospital shifts were not boring, but for so long I had felt stuck in a rut. The idea of traveling to another country with a group of dedicated volunteers sounded like just the ticket. The hospital would keep my job available while I was gone and with some money saved up, I would take this opportunity to test myself.

Of course, the news went over horribly. Mom burst into tears while my brother, Jobe, immediately looked at me and simply declared, “No, you’re not going.” His wife, Mackenna, attempted to placate him but, Jobe was determined that I wasn’t going to go. And I was equally determined to do so.

Rebecca, ever the peacemaker in the family, tried to intervene, but to no avail. Dad finally pounded his fistdown on the table and startled everyone into silence. “We will not fight at this table,” he announced. He shot me a look of disapproval, but everyone remained quiet. Staring at my plate, appetite gone, I fought the urge to jump up and leave.

Several tense minutes later, dad declared the meal over and told everyone to adjourn to the living room. “Leave the plates,” he said gently to mom. “We need to take care of family first. Then you and God can wash the dishes.” Mom never wanted an automatic dishwasher, saying that for every dish she washed, she would pray for the person who had eaten off the plate. She gave dad a small smile, knowing he understood her heart.

The family meeting lasted for a few hours, finally settling down when I got on the computer and showed them the Los Mochis area on the internet. “It’s got beaches and farmland right outside. There is an airport that we will be flying into, and the Red Cross keeps us all together.”

Jobe leaned over my shoulder and with a few taps on the keyboard, he pulled up gruesome photographs of drug murders. “Yes, and it also has a high crime rate and drug cartels.”

“Jobe, I’m not going for a drug cartel. I won’t be out in the jungle of Mexico! I’ll be on the outskirts of town, working in a hospital.”

Once again, the family all began to shout, each trying to overcome the madness. Finally, dad stood and brought the room to order once again.

Turning to me, his youngest daughter, he said, “Miriam,” gaining my attention. “You are twenty-seven years old and no longer a child?—”

“She’s my child,” mom interrupted, receiving a glare from him.

“Be that as it may, you are old enough to make your own decisions. While my heart is heavy that you would go to an area that is dangerous, I cannot forbid you to go.”

Standing, I walked over to dad wrapping my arms around his rotund middle, hugging him closely. “Thank you, Pop, but it would mean so much if I had your blessing.”

He returned my hug and said, “You only needs God’s blessing, my daughter. From me, you will take my love with you.”

At that memory, Miriam was unable to hold back the tears and she pressed her face into the pillow hoping that Sharon and Sister Genovia would not hear her sobs.

4

Marc flew Cam into Los Mochis airport but bypassed the customs office. Pulling into a small, private hangar they were met by Alberto Ortega, their DEA contact. Alighting from the small Cessna, Cam carefully eyed the man sent to assist. As much as he had been prepping about the drug cartels, he found himself doubting everyone. The cartels had even managed to infiltrate Interpol, much less the country and local governments.

Alberto was middle-aged and not overly athletic. He was shorter than Cam and Marc by almost six inches, and his tan suit jacket was slightly wrinkled as though it was the only one he owned.

“I can see you evaluating me as we meet,” Alberto stated.

“Occupational habit,” Cam replied as Marc walked up to the pair.

Alberto nodded. “Understood. For me, occupational hazard.”

The three men headed into a room inside the hot, metal hangar and sat in rickety wooden chairs at an old, scarred table. Without wasting any time, Alberto pulled out of his pocket a sheaf of papers and handed them to Cam.

“Here’s your ID, papers to keep on you, and there’s clothes in that bag,” he said as he nodded over to a duffel bag in the corner. “Here is also a cell phone for you. Most of the workers have them so there will be no surprise. The phone’s been preloaded with some phone calls and texts so that it looks legit to anyone who takes and searches it. What they won’t know is that it can be switched to a secure phone that can reach out to me or to your partner here to contact us as to where to pick you up when you are ready to get out.”

Cam looked at him, lifting his eyebrow. Alberto had switched to Spanish and watched him closely. Answering him back in the same dialect of Spanish, he noted with pride when Alberto appeared surprised.

“I see you’re not only a native speaker, but you pick up dialects easily.”

Cam did not reply, but just nodded in response.

“What have you got for him?” Marc asked, cutting to the chase.

“We’ve got some insiders working with the cartel, mostly in the fields. We’re getting you with them. You’ll be introduced as a distant cousin and right now our intel is the cartel won’t ask too many questions. So many of their workers have been injured or become sick from the polluted water that they are desperate for workers.”

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