The Ninth Day Read online

  The man stared back at Raoul without fear. “Your threats and bullets will not stop this, so why do you persist?”

  Raoul jerked his head in the direction of the door and Emma and Oz filed out. The sun hit her face along with fresh air, and she was grateful to breathe it in.

  “Have you seen this before?” Raoul’s voice was harsh.

  “No,” Emma said. “Never.”

  “Can any chemicals create this?”

  It was an interesting question. Emma thought a moment.

  “You asked me about herbicides. Why?”

  Raoul turned and continued toward the Jeep. “The American government does random flyovers and dumps herbicides in an attempt to eradicate the crop. It’s never worked before, but perhaps now they have something different.”

  Emma saw his point, but she doubted the damage she was seeing was from an herbicide. She filled him in.

  “Drug-dusting herbicides are the same as those you can buy in any agricultural store, with the exception that their ingredients are augmented with surfactants or some other toxic chemical to heighten their effect. But none of the additives that I am aware of could create these growths.”

  “Then perhaps the negative report the internist received about the fungus was wrong. I saw a picture of that Thai man with tree-like warts on his hands. They looked a little like this.”

  Emma shook her head. “I know the case you’re describing. That was a fungus. The difference here is that the growths aren’t growing on the skin, they’re eating at it. Devouring it and the tissue beneath it at an incredibly fast pace. Let me speak to the dermatologist and internist. I’d like to know what drugs they’ve used so far.”

  “You can’t. La Valle had them killed when they said they didn’t have the answer.”

  Oz groaned and rubbed his face with his hand.

  Raoul stepped closer to her. “You need to discover what’s going on here, and fast. La Valle is panicked now that his woman has it. He’s convinced it’s the herbicide. He’s launching an offensive at the American government’s Department of Defense. They ordered the dusting.”

  “Offensive, in what way? Any offensive against the DOD will fail, and once they get wind of it, they’ll come after him.”

  Raoul spit on the ground. “They’ll never make it to Ciudad Juarez. La Valle owns the police, the judges, the lawyers, everyone. No one will reach him here. Get back in the Jeep.”

  Raoul drove along the edge of the ruined field until they came to an intersection, where another dirt road bisected theirs. On the opposite side was a second field. These plants were tall, green and healthy-looking. Workers moved among them, cutting the stems and stacking the plants onto flat trailers. Guards holding rifles stood at various locations along the field’s perimeter. Raoul stopped and they watched as a black Mercedes with tinted windows pulled up. La Valle emerged from the car, along with two armed men. La Valle pointed to the ruined field. The workers froze in their tracks. La Valle screamed at them in Spanish and they started to move, heading toward the decaying plants.

  Emma grabbed Raoul’s arm. “Stop them!”

  Raoul shook her off and climbed out of the Jeep. Emma swung out from her side, as did Oz. The three of them stood there and watched the proceedings. Oz’s entire body vibrated with tension. The first migrant worker to reach the ruined field chopped several of the blackened plants down with a machete. He dragged them to the trailer and threw them on top of the healthy foliage.

  “Why are they doing that? They’re contaminating the shipment,” Oz said.

  Raoul nodded. “Exactly. And that’s the shipment you’re taking to the United States. Your country will reap what it sowed.” He looked at Emma. “You have nine days to figure out what’s killing the men. You fail, you die.”

  Chapter 5

  Emma stared at Raoul and didn’t bother to hide her astonishment.

  “I’m a chemist. I know about plants in cosmetic applications, herbicides, chemical reactions and lab techniques, but I’m not a medical doctor. Nine days to diagnose, treat, and cure a progressive disease that two doctors and two medicine men have never seen before? Are you serious?” Raoul stormed up to her, only stopping when they were toe to toe. He pulled his ever-present revolver out of the waistband of his pants and shoved it against her jaw.

  “You want to die now? Just say that you can’t do it, and I’ll be happy to shoot you.”

  Emma was done with the threats and something told her that showing fear before Raoul would only escalate his behavior. She steeled herself and stared him in the eyes. “One more person shoves a gun in my face and you might as well shoot me, because I’ll refuse to help you and La Valle’s mistress will surely die in the next nine days. I’ll let you explain why you thought it best to shoot me before I even started.” Raoul opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. Emma gave a pointed look at the gun. “Lower it. I mean it.”

  Raoul lowered the gun.

  Emma took a deep breath. “Take me to the mistress. I need to speak to her.”

  They climbed once again into the Jeep and Raoul drove to the hacienda. They stepped back into the family room, empty this time, and Raoul disappeared into a hall that branched off from the opposite end of the room.

  “Wait there,” he called back behind him. Emma heard his footsteps fade as he walked away. She looked at Oz.

  “How the hell did you get caught up in this mess?”

  Oz sighed. “Money. I’ve been drifting, working as a roadie, for years. I’m broke. A guy that hung around the last band I worked for claimed that I could make eight thousand, easy, by running drugs from Mexico to the States. I bit at the chance.”

  “How many shipments have you transported?”

  “None. This is my first,” Oz said.

  Now that was some unfortunate timing. For a brief moment Emma hoped that his bad luck hadn’t become hers. There came the sound of footsteps, two sets this time, coming toward them.

  Raoul entered the room followed by a tall, thin Latino woman. Her hair looked chemically lightened to an even honey color that was a beautiful contrast to her brown eyes. She wore a too-tight corset top that emphasized a chest swollen completely out of proportion to her figure. Emma assumed she’d had implants. Large hoop earrings swayed in her ears, and several bangles, all gold and some encrusted with diamonds, encircled her wrists. She wore tight jeans and stiletto heels. Emma noted that Oz perked up, and looked at her with interest. The mistress, though, looked frightened. Her eyes locked on Emma’s.

  “Are you the chemist?” she said in English.

  “I am. Can you show me the spot?”

  She walked toward Emma with a swaying motion and thrust her hand out. “Here.”

  Emma moved in closer. A small red wart-like growth covered the tip of the woman’s little finger. It matched the growths on the men and the plants exactly.

  “You haven’t touched the plants?” Emma said.

  The woman shook her head. “No, never.”

  “Do you smoke them?”

  The woman nodded. “Yes. Eduardo and I do. We all do.” She waved a hand in Raoul’s direction. “But only leaves taken from the healthy field. Not the sick ones.”

  Emma doubted that the healthy field was as healthy as it appeared. Presumably the herbicide dusting planes managed to cover both fields, not just one, and even if it missed one area with a direct hit, some part of the herbicide would float or be blown onto the nearby plants. It was likely both fields were contaminated, but one more heavily than the other, and the healthy one just wasn’t showing the decay yet. She kept this thought to herself, though, as she didn’t want to frighten the woman further. Emma noted that the woman’s hand shook as she held it out to Emma to analyze.

  Emma stepped back. “When did this appear?”

  “This morning. I told Eduardo first thing.”

  Raoul watched Emma with an unfaltering stare. Emma made a mental note to control her emotions in front of him. His eyes were far too sharp, and she s
ensed that he would use the slightest hesitation on her part as an excuse to undermine her. There seemed a tension between him and the mistress, but Emma couldn’t get a grip on what the tension meant. Whatever was going on here, Emma needed to keep him cooperating with her and giving her the information she needed. As she stood there, Emma caught the smoky, tangy smell of cooking bacon. Her stomach growled, audibly.

  The woman said, “You are hungry? Let’s have breakfast. You can ask me more questions there, though I doubt I’ll be able to eat a bite.” She spun and marched to a second door on the right side of the room and pushed through it. It swung in and then returned. Oz caught it on the backswing and held it for Emma and Raoul.

  The hacienda sported a spacious kitchen with top-of-the-line stainless-steel appliances and cherrywood cabinets. A cook moved bacon from a fry pan onto a plate lined with a paper towel. She glanced up and gave a slight nod at the mistress, but no smile crossed her lips. Emma wondered if she was another unwilling recruit like Oz.

  Emma’s mouth watered at the smell. A large wooden kitchen table with matching wood chairs nestled in a bay window area to Emma’s right. The table was set for three, with bowls of fruit, biscuits, and a platter of sausages arranged in the center. A coffee carafe dominated one corner. The cook opened a nearby drawer and pulled out an additional place mat. She moved with a practiced efficiency and in utter silence. When they had all taken their seats, she handed Emma the coffee carafe before returning to the stove.

  “I am Serena,” the mistress said. Emma warmed to the woman despite her association with La Valle. The offer of food was gracious. She could have simply gone herself to the kitchen and left Emma and her empty stomach for someone else to address. They filled their plates and ate in silence. The scraping sound of utensils on ceramic was the only noise in the room.

  Emma broached the subject that hung heavy in the air.

  “You need to go to Mexico City. To the finest hospital you can find,” she said.

  Serena shook her head sadly. “I can’t.”

  “Why? Your life may depend on it.”

  “I’m wanted in Mexico. The army knows that I’m La Valle’s girlfriend. They’ll lock me up for the rest of my days. I’d rather die quick here, than slowly there, year after year.” She shook her head again. “I’m wanted.”

  “Wanted for what? Being his girlfriend?” Emma said.

  Serena snorted. “And for murder.”

  Oz stopped chewing and looked up from his plate. He slid his eyes sideways at Emma. Raoul returned to staring at her, a hint of a smirk in his eyes.

  Nest of vipers, Emma thought. She felt a stab of fear and panic, but tamped it down. She would do what it took to stay alive, and if that meant trying to unlock the secret of the disease infecting the men and Serena, then she’d apply herself to solving it.

  “I’ll need to talk to the medicine man again.” She slid her chair back and stood up. Raoul shook his head.

  “Sit down. I’m not done,” he said. He continued to shovel his second helping of eggs into his mouth.

  Serena hit him on the arm. “Shut up, Raoul. She needs to go now. I’m sick and you’re worried about eating?” Serena turned to Emma. “Go. Do what you must. But whatever you do, do it fast.” Raoul shot Serena a look filled with loathing, but when he spoke, he spoke to Emma.

  “Don’t think you can get away. The entire compound is under surveillance. You try to run and we’ll get you. You won’t like what we do to those who run.” A look of dismay ran across Oz’s face. Emma didn’t reply. She gave Oz and Serena a curt nod and headed back to the swinging door.

  The temperature had risen and the heat would soon be upon them. Emma walked down the path toward the migrant workers’ huts. All the while she did her best to act nonchalant, like she belonged there. She used her peripheral vision to search for the video surveillance that Raoul claimed existed. She spotted a camera high up on the hacienda’s roofline, under the eaves at the corner. She turned a bit and checked another corner. Another nestled there. They both pointed to the backyard, triangulating it.

  Emma kept strolling, using the slow pace to scan the area. She saw a third camera attached high on a tree. That one pointed further out, toward the migrant huts. The path turned into the wooded area, and she welcomed the cool darkness. After fifteen minutes she emerged at the place where the sentry sat on the chair. This time he held a Maxim magazine. He nodded and opened the gate for her.

  She glanced up. Two more cameras were mounted on high poles located at the chain-link fence corners. These turned inward, toward the row of migrant housing. Emma took a deep breath and steeled herself to enter the sickroom.

  The medicine man leaned over the last man in the row and didn’t look up when she entered. Emma watched him reach out and close the man’s lids over his eyes. He made the sign of the cross over the body and murmured a prayer in Spanish. Despite the language, Emma knew what he said: the Lord’s Prayer. She mentally recited the words as well. The medicine man leaned back and peered at her through the gloom.

  “I’m sorry,” Emma said. The man didn’t reply.

  The other patients were in the same position that they’d been in when she’d first seen them. They lay on the mats, still, appearing to be sleeping.

  The man rose in one graceful motion and moved toward her. He wore faded jeans, a short-sleeved western shirt with piping on each shoulder in a scroll pattern, and dusty cowboy boots.

  “Let’s go outside.”

  He turned right outside the door and walked away from the migrant huts. They once again entered the trees and walked along a path. Emma spotted three more cameras, placed high among the branches. She heard a mechanical whirring sound as the equipment swivelled to follow them.

  “Do they have audio?” Emma asked the medicine man.

  “No. You can speak. They won’t hear.” The path curved left. Through the branches Emma spotted the glint of sun on steel. They were still within the boundaries of the chain-link fence and its razor-wire deterrent.

  “I’m Emma Caldridge.”

  “Octavio Guzman.” Octavio looked at her with a hint of amusement in his eyes. Emma couldn’t tell if the name was real.

  “What do you think is killing these men?”

  All amusement fled from his eyes. “I told you, La Valle is cursed. As are all in his radius.”

  Emma felt her irritation rise. “I don’t mean to belittle curses, but—”

  ”But you are a scientist and don’t believe in them,” Octavio shot back.

  “But I don’t believe that innocent men can be cursed. La Valle, yes. The men and women held on this compound against their will? No.” Octavio stopped walking and turned to her. Emma felt a grim satisfaction to see the surprise in his eyes. “What?” she said. “You expected me to scoff?”

  Octavio nodded. “Yes. Scientists, especially Western scientists, have long ago dismissed nature’s ways from their scrutiny.”

  “I spend a lot of time in nature. La Valle’s men chased me down while I was scouring the desert for night-blooming plants that might have a medicinal effect. Please tell me what you suspect is happening.”

  “You know La Valle doesn’t just deal in drugs?”

  The question sounded rhetorical, but Emma answered it anyway. “I presume he traffics humans as well.”

  Octavio nodded. “But he also sells human organs.”

  Emma stopped walking. “Does he sell them on the black market?”

  “There are hundreds of murdered women from Ciudad Juarez, and many are La Valle’s work. He kills men, too, but not for the same reasons.” Octavio blew out a long, slow breath. “In truth, he doesn’t discriminate. He prays to Satan and those prayers have brought this curse upon himself.”

  Emma returned to Octavio’s side. The trail widened so that she could stay shoulder to shoulder with him. She clenched her teeth to stop them from chattering in fear: not at Octavio’s claims of a curse, but at his revelation that La Valle was a killer on such a leve
l. If Octavio was correct, Emma’s own chances of survival just went even lower.

  “How does one reverse the curse?” Emma said. Octavio halted and faced her.

  “You wish to keep Satan’s messenger on Earth alive?” His voice held a harsh note and his eyes sparked with anger.

  Emma frowned. “Of course not, but I don’t see any sores forming on the messenger, do you? They’re all forming on his victims. I will stop that destruction if I can.”

  Octavio’s belligerent stance subsided a bit. “I understand your dismay at the unfairness, but they will all die. None will escape.”

  “And you?”

  Octavio gave a small nod. “All of us. Even me. It’s fate.”

  Emma’s own barely contained anger roared upward. She struggled to regain her composure before she spoke. Anger was a wasted emotion that would cloud her judgment. She needed to remain calm.

  “It’s not my fate. Nothing is fated,” she said, still a little too forcefully. Octavio’s face held a resigned look. It seemed clear that he didn’t believe her, but he wasn’t planning on arguing with her either.

  They’d reached a clearing. In the center sat a canvas tepee. Its sides were bleached white in some places, baked yellow in others. The color reminded Emma of the dirty maize of a pair of canvas gym shoes left in the sun to dry.

  “A tepee?” Emma said. “Is this yours?”

  “It’s La Valle’s. He loves American-Indian folklore. He’s fascinated with it. The tepee is just one of his affectations. The other is the wearing of totems. He believes in their power. Of course, while the real Indian tribes created totems out of rawhide and carved wood, La Valle’s are made out of platinum and encrusted with diamonds. I use the tepee because I don’t want to go near the hacienda.”

  “Tell me what you’ve attempted to treat these men with and I’ll begin my own testing.”