10 Chapter 9 (2/2)

I scrambled to get a hold on the counter behind me, looking up past the gun between my eyes at an enraged Murphy. He looked as bad as I felt, or possibly worse, wiping his bloodied nose with the back of his hand as he stared me down. I cowered, silently willing his finger away from the trigger.

'You can't shoot a gun on a plane,' I whispered, closing my eyes. Fresh tears tracked their way down my cheeks and dripped onto my chest.

'Yes, I can,' he murmured. 'I know just where to shoot you so there's no exit wound.'

He was an air marshal. Of course he knew how to shoot a gun on a plane without risking the rest of the pa.s.sengers by puncturing the hull with a mis-aimed trajectory.

'Open your eyes,' he demanded.

I did, but I immediately regretted it. In his free hand he held the crumpled picture of a sweet baby boy, the picture I'd taken from my locket and hidden in the rubbish bin.

Blank face. Blank face. I tried to convey confusion. 'What is that? Is that a baby?' I s.h.i.+fted my eyes to his face. He wasn't buying.

'Oh, Mariana,' he hissed, pressing the gun into my forehead so hard I cried out. 'I know all your secrets, sweetheart, and all your lies. Luis, right?'

He knew his name. If he knew his name, he knew everything.

'No,' I moaned, feeling my face s.h.i.+ft into sorrow and terror as I reached out for the photo. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it away and shook his head.

'Mine now,' he said, pocketing the photo.

'He's not my son,' I lied.

Murphy sneered. 'Of course he is. Little Luis. You think I didn't do my research last night after you went to sleep, Annie? I have access to every single thing about you. Hospital records, adoption papers …'

f.u.c.k!

I took a shuddering breath inwards. 'Did you tell Emilio?' I asked in a small voice.

'No. But I will. Unless you start f.u.c.king behaving.'

Oh, G.o.d. 'What do you want?' I asked in a voice that sounded far calmer than the fear and rage swirling within me.

'Nothing, yet. For now, do as you're told. If I tell you to visit the bathroom, visit the f.u.c.king bathroom. If I tell you to take the food tray? Take. The. f.u.c.king. Food. Tray. If I tell you to do anything —' he paused for effect, pressing the gun deeper into the flesh between my eyes, '— you do it.' His eyes flared wider, and I flinched.

I nodded, letting my shoulders sag under the weight of my defeat.

'Good girl,' he said, letting the gun fall and patting me on the head, as if I were a G.o.dd.a.m.n dog. He lifted my chin so we were eye to eye. 'You're brave, I'll give you that. You're not like the other girls. But in this world, you're going to have to start being smarter, or somebody is going to snuff you out.'

The rest of the flight ground on so slowly, I started to feel like I was going insane; that maybe I had actually been shot in the bathroom stall, and this was h.e.l.l, and I was stuck here forever.

But eventually, after a stopover in Mexico City and another five hours of h.e.l.lish turbulence, we arrived at San Diego airport. I had remained largely mute for the rest of the first flight and the second flight, only responding if questioned by Murphy or a flight attendant. Inside me, nineteen capsules full of cocaine churned along with my rising panic. Murphy knew. He knew about my son, and he was using the knowledge of Luis's existence against me.

He had found my Achilles heel.

The power he held over me, in a crinkled-up photograph from the locket around my neck, meant he could ask me to do almost anything, and I'd have to do as he wished.

At San Diego airport we walked past a sign, 'Welcome to the United States of America', and my heart contracted painfully as I remembered my conversation with Este only the night before, moments before he was shot. How he had been so sure we would make it together. Start a new life, away from my father and the cartel.

It made me wish I'd died with him.

I walked as slowly as I could through customs, but they didn't give me a second glance. I dragged my feet as we made our way to the parking lot, lagging well behind Murphy. He seemed confident that I wouldn't run — he barely turned around to check I was still behind him. But eventually we arrived at a sleek black BMW, and I was ordered inside while Murphy packed the luggage in the trunk.

'Don't worry,' he said, as he slid into the driver's seat. He slipped on a pair of aviators and gave my thigh a squeeze. 'I'll play nice if you do.'

I didn't answer him. Instead, I pressed my forehead to the window and swallowed back my grief as the place of my dreams became the place of nightmares.

As soon as we reached the motel, I rushed to the bathroom. I'd started experiencing intense cramps, and I needed to get the pellets out of me before they ruptured.

Murphy laughed as he settled into a recliner.

'What's so funny?' I demanded.

He shrugged. 'Oh, nothing.'

I was about to close the bathroom door, but then something occurred to me. Feeling the blood rise in my cheeks, I turned back towards Murphy, who had cracked a beer. I had no idea where he'd gotten it from.

'Don't I need a …'

He raised his eyebrows mockingly, tilting his head. 'A …?'

b.a.s.t.a.r.d. 'A strainer, or a bowl or something,' I said through gritted teeth.

He sn.i.g.g.e.red, taking a swig of his Corona. 'Flush 'em,' he said.

I must have looked stunned, because he burst out laughing. 'Your face!' he said, spitting some of his beer out as he laughed.

I s.h.i.+fted uncomfortably. 'I have nineteen pellets of cocaine in my stomach, and you want me to flush them down the toilet? Emilio will kill me! What is so funny?'

Murphy settled down enough to take a breath between all the laughing. 'Cornflour,' he said, wiping a tear from his cheek as he rocked back in his chair.

My stomach growled as if on cue. 'Cornflour?' I repeated dumbly.

'You just smuggled in about fifteen pesos worth of pure cornflour. You could sell it and buy yourself a taco.' His face said he thought he was hilarious.

I clenched my jaw. 'I don't believe you. Get Emilio on the phone. I want to hear him say it himself.'

His mouth returned to a sneer, but he got his phone out, and dialled.

'Boss,' he said. 'We're at the motel. The little girl doesn't want to flush the junk.'

Emilio said something on the other end that I couldn't catch, and Murphy tossed it to me. I caught it, surprising myself, and put it to my ear.

'Yes?' I said, keeping my voice monotone.

'You have my permission to get rid of the pellets,' Emilio said smoothly. 'You are not required to keep them for me.'

Anger flashed inside me and I tamped down the desire to start smas.h.i.+ng things. I made my free hand into a fist and squeezed it as hard as I could.

'Why?' I managed to utter.

There was a brief silence on the other end. 'It was a test,' Emilio said. 'Congratulations. You pa.s.sed.'

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