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Chapter 17
Brady carefully maneuvered himself through the crowd until he could stand close to the exterior wall but far away from any of the guards. He had to thread himself across sleeping children, pregnant women, small family members sitting in a circle or sleeping together side by side. It was nearly five o’clock in the morning, and the outside had already been getting warm. As he headed to the wall, he cocked his head to the side, indicating where he was headed, and Maggie understood and casually followed him there.
They were both eager to see each other but also careful not to flag too much attention.
She pretended to be laying a blanket down on the floor and didn’t look at him. But damn, it was hard for Brady not to look at her. He bowed slightly and tipped his hat, helping her spread out the blanket.
He was carefully scanning the perimeter when he heard Armando send him a message.
“You just focus on Maggie. We got your back.”
“Thanks, man,” he whispered back.
“Feel free to maneuver, Brady.”
He grinned at Maggie.
He took Fredo’s mop handle and the dirty metal bucket and began washing down the floor, in essence forging a little space for them, a path, because no one wanted to smell the bleach and moved quickly out of the way. He was sure that tensions were just below the boiling point. Groups of men whispered together, and women clutched their children and their meager belongings, feeling obviously vulnerable and victimized by whims of whomever was controlling this zoo.
But at least, he got to talk to Maggie.
“I have missed you so much. What happened to your phone? Were you injured at all or mistreated?” he asked her, drinking in the sight of her face.
“They took our phones. They searched our bags and confiscated my wallet. Nobody has money here, or if they did, they’ve stolen it.”
Brady stared at her and saw the streaks of dirty sweat running down her face and neck and below her arms. “Did you meet your priest?”
“I have no idea where he is. Someone said they detained several people who were supposedly involved in the assassination. You heard about that, Brady?”
One of the guards walked past them and said something in Spanish to Brady, pointing to the floor. Brady nodded and tried to mimic Spanish as best he could. “Sí, sí, patron.” He made sure he nodded twice as fast as he would normally to show compliance. As he swished the mop back and forth, water traveled in cracks and occasionally leaked into somebody’s space or onto their blanket or clothes. He apologized several times, which always gave him the chance to return to Maggie’s side.
“I’m here, and there are seven of us. Are there more Americans?”
“First of all, Brady, I have no idea who these people are. Except everyone was either on my plane or on several others that arrived about the same time. We heard shouting, and then we were told the doors were locked to the terminal. I have not spoken any English at all until now. I don’t know how many Americans are here. I could guess, but I just don’t know. I don’t know how I would find out.”
“We’re tasked with bringing the Americans home. Maggie, can you help me out?”
“I can go up to several people and ask them if you want, but I just don’t know anybody.”
“Guys, Maggie is not sure who in this room are American citizens. I suggest we spread out, each take a little territory, and approach people or listen for people speaking English. That’s no guarantee, but that’s the only way I can think to try to identify some. It’s not like I’m going to stand here in the middle of the room and—” The same guard who walked by before had overheard his conversation and was frowning.
“American?”
Brady was all of a sudden stunned, unsure what to do.
Maggie blurted out, “This is my brother, señor. I came to visit his wife and family here, and he works for the airline companies doing maintenance. I am here on vacation. Can you let me go with my brother? Please?”
“You are American. You both are American?” the guard asked.
“I am American,” said Maggie. “But he is married to a Mexican woman who is from Yucatán. You know, Cancun?”
The guard studied Maggie harshly.
She tried again. “You have my wallet, my passport, my cell phone. I could prove all of this if you return my things to me. Why are we being held here, why?”
Maggie had allowed her voice to rise, and it began to create a crowd. Brady decided it might be a good way to help identify other American citizens or at least native English speakers.
The guard nervously searched around him as several people ran for the circle between them. One older gentleman in a seersucker jacket and a straw hat chimed in.
