Solemn Vows Mission Continued

By R. Craig Henderson

Paul Richter, a retired Army officer who spent twenty-three years of his life fighting his country’s battles around the world, is settling down in his new life. Richter is in love, with Celia, a smart and beautiful woman, her two teenaged children, and with the sleepy rural Georgia town in which he has settled.

Celia’s daughter is a member of a church youth group on a mission trip to the small town of Futuro, Mexico. After a few days, Celia and the other the parents receive the nightmarish message that their children are missing. Governments on both sides of the border seek to resolve the crisis at a glacial, diplomatic pace.

Richter knows that time is not on their side. He calls on old friends from his Army days for help. Retired Senior Chief Warrant Officer Michael “Hawg” Wilde, a doctoral candidate with a collection of bemused observations and awesome weaponry, is joined by another shooter, retired Master Sergeant Billy Many Birds, an Oglala Lakota who misses his warrior life. They are supported by U.S. Marshal Arturo Battaglia, the dapper former sergeant; Smilin’ Jack Cullen, a gregarious dinosaur in the technologically oriented C.I.A.; and Quentin Granger, the misanthropic computer genius with a taste for larceny and self amusement.

Richter and the shooters make their way to Futuro on the uncertain and illegal paths of smugglers and others whose stock in trade is human misery. In Futuro, Richter and his team learn that the American teens were taken by El Jefe, the ruthless and ambitious leader of a violent cartel cell. He has bargained to sell the teens to the smuggler and human trafficker known only as “The General.”

In this tense race against time, Richter is certain that people will die. He is relying on old
skills and old friends to make sure that the ones who perish are the ones who deserve it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543923476

Book preview

FORTY-FOUR

PROLOGUE

Futuro, Mexico

He stood on a high bluff overlooking the hot, dry plain below. The man sighed, and bent down and scooped a handful of the sandy dust. Power, and what once was, was like the dust. He let it sift through his fingers, a temporary cloud that dispersed before him into nothingness.

He was not an old man, but he remembered what were the old days. He was one of the Originales, the last of the original thirty-four Mexican Army deserters who founded the Los Zetas cartel. There were less than ten of them still alive, and some of that number had quit, some had splintered off and been absorbed into other organizations, and the few who remained floundered ineffectively in the face of Mexican and American law enforcement and the competition of the other cartels. The worst were the Zeta Killers, a cell of the Jalisco New Generation Cartel, (CJNG). Arising from the remains of the Sinaloa Cartel, this group had staged a series of bloody battles and betrayals that left the Gulf and Zeta Cartels reeling on chaos and diminished control.

The Zetas had been the elite, the original thirty-four. They had been members of GAFE, the Grupo Aeromóvil de Fuerzas Especiales, the commandos trained by Israeli and U.S. Special Forces. They started as bodyguards and mercenaries for the Gulf Cartel, but by 2010 had become the dominant criminal organization in eastern and central Mexico. They even outstripped the Sinaloa Cartel by the sheer amount of geography they controlled.

Business had been good. Besides drugs, the Zetas had done very well in other ventures, such as running protection rackets, assassination for hire, extortion, human trafficking and kidnapping. Corruption of both public officials and private citizens allowed the Zetas to operate with near impunity. However, eventual pressure from the United States, efforts by the Mexican authorities, and competition from the CJNG eroded the Zetas’ position. By 2015, the cartel splintered further, and the few remaining of Los Zetas were feeling pressure to merely stay alive and relatively free from official pursuit and the less legalistic and more efficient and deadly efforts of their hunters.

The man on the bluff knew all of these things. The knowledge was a bitter truth. But the man had known many bitter truths. He knew that despite being once described by the Norteamericanos as "the most technologically advanced, sophisticated, powerful, ruthlessly violent and dangerous cartel operating in Mexico," Los Zetas had lost its position. Los Zetas’ battles had been lost by betrayal, by the very corruption that they had sponsored. The seeds of their own downfall were sown in the victories they had won. Memories are long and so is the legacy of violence among the survivors of those wars. The organization was never defeated outright by superior forces, but rather it had been bled mercilessly dry through the attrition caused by the constant pressure of those wishing to take what was the Zetas’ and the craven nipping at their heels by mongrel politicians and avaricious police they no longer understood or owned.

He smiled grimly to himself. Los Zetas had risen because of their ruthlessness and willingness to take violence to nightmarish levels against their enemies. There was no limit to what the man would do to return to this path and restore himself to his rightful place in that world. People believed in success; they believed in discipline and what they saw with their own eyes and felt on their own skin. They believed in violence, because they had seen it and feared it. But the man did not fear violence, nor was he put off by the blood of others. So, to regain what was his, he would return and if it was necessary, he would show people blood—a very great deal of blood. He walked back to his truck, thinking about his next steps, and happy to have a mission.

ONE

Wilson, Georgia

Paul Richter stared off into the middle distance, trying to empty his mind in preparation for the start of his mission. He had been out in the weeds many times, and he had been alone before, too. He did all the routine calming things he knew to do to get his mind right before the mission commenced and the action started once again.

Richter had been a Special Forces officer for most of his career. Until the past year, he had been an Army officer serving around the world in various postings and unconventional covert assignments. His twenty-three year career came crashing to a halt when Richter was retired after an incident involving the death of a minor member of the Saudi royal family. The Saudis, in tribute to the essential nature of their bartering culture, seized upon this incident to negotiate the purchase of additional Patriot missile batteries. To cut a deal, the U.S. State and Defense Departments were more than willing to throw Paul Richter’s career on the table as a small bargaining chip that might have some emotional appeal to the Saudis. It did, but not nearly as much as the value that the Under-Secretary of State, negotiating on behalf of the United States, placed on the photographs and jump drive offered by one of the bespoke clad Saudis, showing the Under-Secretary in bed with two Saudi youths. Both boys were soccer players, and were notable for their exquisite muscle tone.

Allowed to retire, Richter was at loose ends until Jack Cullen, a colleague and sort of friend from the CIA, arranged for Richter to work and rest in Redmun County, Georgia. Richter went to work for Cullen’s cousin as a high school history teacher. Surprising himself Richter found a home and people that he cared about deeply. The other thing that happened was his relationship with Celia Farley. Richter met her in Wilson. She was his realtor, and they found an immediate attraction that surprised them both. He bought a house from her, and she helped him furnish it and set up his yard. Their feelings for one another deepened quickly, and very soon they became a couple. Celia had two children from her previous marriage, a son Evan, who was now seventeen, and a daughter, Jeanine, who was fifteen. Richter got along well with the kids, and surprising him, they seemed to genuinely like him.

Richter’s warm feelings did not extend to Celia’s ex-husband, the former Dr. Dennis Farley. Farley was an arrogant, abusive man who bullied his ex-wife and dominated his children. Richter used his resources and a few connections from his old days and discovered the doctor’s pain clinic’s illegal and fake drug importation. Richter gave evidence of these criminal acts to semi-grateful representatives of several federal agencies, and Dennis, stripped of his medical license, was now serving a three to five year sentence in the federal prison in Talladega, Alabama.

The sound of Celia’s SUV slowing and then turning into his driveway interrupted Paul’s reverie. He glanced around the dining room one last time, saw that everything was placed properly, and walked back to the kitchen as the door knob turned. Jeanine burst into the room like a Broadway star taking the stage. She gave Paul a quick hug and a shivery giggle and walked on through to the dining room. Evan followed his sister and silently shook Paul’s hand. He too, seemed to be in on a private joke.

Celia Farley, lithe, blonde and with a grin adorning her face, trooped in last and put her purse on the small kitchen table. She kissed Richter and they hugged. She enjoyed hugging Richter, he had finally learned how to do it. Initially, he had been stiff, unyielding and at the same time tentative. Though his body was still firm and lean, like cables strung tautly on a steel frame, his hugs now were welcoming and enveloping. Celia liked to snuggle against his chest.

Yum, she said releasing the hug, It smells great in here. What are we having?

Ah, nothing special, Richter shrugged, Some figs with gorgonzola and balsamic vinegar with some crackers and cheese for starters while I finish the main course—apple cider pork tenderloin, roasted corn, a little rice and oven roasted broccoli. Maybe some peach cobbler for dessert.

Celia rolled her eyes dramatically. Again? I fixed that for lunch today.

Well, now the kids will get a chance to see what it is supposed to taste like, replied Richter with an eye roll of his own. Celia yawned expansively.

Want a drink? Richter asked as he reached under the counter and brought out a bottle of The Glenlivet scotch. Celia nodded and pinched her thumb and forefinger about a quarter inch apart. Richter poured her a small drink and a substantially larger one for himself. He slid the pan of cheese covered figs under the broiler and carefully watched as the gorgonzola melted. After he removed the pan, he lightly sprinkled the figs with the vinegar reduction he had made earlier in the day. He quickly plated them and called for Evan and Jeanine to join the adults in the kitchen.

Jeanine, as was her wont, burst into the kitchen like Fourth of July fireworks, talking rapidly to her brother and mother about something. Evan silently went to the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water and then snared a fig and popped it into his mouth. Hmm…not bad, he supposed, but he would have preferred Doritos. But the cheddar and crackers looked kind of good.

Richter appraised the food on the stove and counter one more time before turning to the appetizers like everyone else. Celia glanced at Paul and then noted that his glass was empty. That surprised her; Paul had poured himself at least two fingers of The Glenlivet (the good stuff!), and he had downed that pretty quickly. Paul did not usually drink like that.

They munched and talked, and Paul put the finishing touches on dinner. Evan and Jeanine were drafted to carry the food into the dining room, and Paul opened a bottle of Pinot Grigio. He brought that to the table and poured it generously into their wine glasses. Jeanine brought another bottle of water for Evan and incongruously, a glass of chocolate milk for herself. One of the things that Celia loved about Paul was that he paid attention to her children, and went out of his way to remember to do little things that made them feel cherished and included.

The food was good and well prepared, and was accompanied by happy conversation and laughter around the table. Much of the conversation was from Jeanine. She was excited; next week she was going on a ten day trip to Mexico. The Wilson United Methodist Church was sending a mission team as part of the district’s Missions program to a small town in northeast Mexico. They would continue work on the construction of a church and schoolroom in the town. Jeanine, who complained bitterly about helping with yard work, was very excited and eager to be going on this youth group trip. She had been a zealous fundraiser over the past year, and was absolutely dedicated to this upcoming adventure.

As is the nature and prerogative of older brothers, Evan teased his sister mercilessly about her enthusiasm for this trip. He maintained that it had little to do with evangelical fervor, or even a thirst for travel and adventure. He was convinced that Jeanine discovered such spiritual dedication based entirely upon her ridiculous crush on Ronnie Waters, the very young, very handsome youth minister the Reverend John Barber had hired straight out of seminary. There was enough truth in Evan’s teasing that he had to be careful. He enjoyed teasing her, but he did not want to hurt her feelings really.

The peach cobbler was dished out and vanilla ice cream was scooped onto the still warm dessert. Between bites, Jeanine continued her near monologue about Ronnie and the youth group and their trip preparations.

I’m glad y’all are going to be working so hard, Evan said with a sidelong glance to Richter that seemed to say, watch this. Maybe Ronnie will be so sore that you’ll have to rub his shoulders. Bet you’d hate that.

Despite being ready for all manner of attack from her brother, Jeanine turned a bright crimson. She stuttered a reply, humiliated that she had thought exactly that.

Evan shrugged with an evil grin. During the day, you could slather him in sunscreen. You oughta be prepared, because, well, you might have some competition. You know how Meredith Blake looks at him. Meredith Blake was a gawky, chinless girl of thirteen with a braying laugh and an all-consuming interest in insects. She bred beetles in her father’s tool shed.

Jeanine glared at Evan and rubbed her nose with her middle finger, subtly shooting him a bird. Evan laughed, and turned to Richter. Richter looked at Evan, grateful that Evan knew when to stop the teasing. From his own teenage years and in the Army, Richter had known several guys who didn’t know when to let a joke go. He was happy that Evan did.

Richter drained his wine glass. Well, Evan sort of has a point, Jeanine, that you should always be prepared and observant when you travel. Celia looked at Paul in confusion. For instance, he continued, when you are in a foreign country, that’s sort of like visiting someone’s house, and you want to observe things and pay attention to what’s around you.

What the hell is Paul talking about, Celia wondered. She thought about the scotch and wine he consumed, and a tiny question arose in her mind. Was Paul drunk?

So Jeanine, we have to pay attention and be observant, don’t we? asked Richter. Jeanine bobbed her head vigorously in agreement. Celia noticed that Evan was looking at her and nodded slowly.

For instance, wouldn’t you have expected your mother to take note of the gift wrapped box on the side table there? I would have expected some interest, maybe a little curiosity on her part. They say that curiosity is to be encouraged as we age, you know, to keep the brain from seizing up or having a form of intellectual vapor lock. Evan barked a short laugh, and Jeanine pushed herself back from the table and howled with laughter.

Celia got up and went over to the neatly wrapped box. She looked over at Paul in confusion. What is this? Celia asked as she picked up the small box.

Richter shrugged. Evan smirked and sat back, a pleased and amused expression lighting up his face. Jeanine continued to laugh like an over-caffeinated monkey. Suspiciously, Celia tore open the wrapping paper and opened the box. Cradled by wads of tissue paper, a small velvet jewelry box sat unopened. Celia looked at Paul and repeated, What is this?

Despite heroic effort, Jeanine could no longer restrain herself. It is an engagement ring, Mommy! Evan shook his head snickering into his hand. Celia stared blankly at Paul. He shrugged again.

This isn’t exactly how I planned it, he said. But we’ve been talking about it, and I talked with the urchins here, and…well. I love you and I love these guys, and I want to make our lives together. I have committed myself to many things before I met you. You, and these guys are the first ones I’ve wanted to commit to with everything I am. If you will have me, I want to marry you, love you, and grow old with you.

Celia looked at him with tears brimming in her eyes. Crying and laughing at once, Celia nodded yes and opened the jewelry box. The diamond was set in the center of a graceful curve. Along the curve, smaller diamonds seemed to reflect light back up into the center stone. Celia tried it on and the ring fit.

Oh, Paul, she said. She went over to him and wrapped him in a fierce hug. She flung her outstretched arms around his neck and shoulders, and as she did, the jewelry box slipped from her fingers. With the speed and accuracy of a big league pitch, the box flew in a straight line and struck Evan in the forehead from a distance of five feet. Celia looked on in shock as Evan closed his eyes and his face dropped silently into the remnants of his cobbler. The other two gaped in utter silence. As Richter began to move towards the youth, Evans shoulders shook with silent laughter and he raised his dessert encrusted, laughing face to them. They all laughed hysterically.

I am guessing that this outburst means yes, said Paul with a grin masking his uncertainty.

Celia wrapped Paul in a tight hug. It means yes a million times, she said before kissing him tenderly.

Evan went to the bathroom to wash up as the others began clearing the dishes. The talk was happy and relaxed. Celia turned to Jeanine.

So, how long have you known about this, Little Miss Conspirator?

Jeanine giggled and bowed. Two months, Mother Dear

You never said anything! You little fink!

Evan wandered into the kitchen, thoughtfully carrying a pair of plates from the table. Mom, you remember when you went with Melinda to that concert up in Macon? Paul took us out to dinner and talked about it then. He wanted our opinion and then for Jeanine to help with the ring.

And you never said a word.

Nope.

Celia shook her head. The ring is beautiful. How did you get the size right?

Jeanine giggled again. Remember when you lost that ring that was your grandmother’s? Well, I knew it fit right, so I borrowed it, we used it to size this ring, and then I put it back.

Celia nodded. I thought it was a little weird how it just showed back up all of a sudden.

Jeanine shrugged, I am very talented. Evan made a wet farting noise and they all laughed again.

So, Paul, Celia said, when were you thinking about setting a date?

Paul continued to work at the sink. I was thinking about maybe mid-September. John Barber has a few dates at the church that are available.

That’s only a few months away, Celia observed. But I like it. She paused. You already talked to John? Richter nodded. My, you have been a busy little bee.

If it were done when ‘tis done, then ‘twere well it were done quickly, Richter intoned sonorously.

Celia laughed. You’re a jerk, she said. But that is a good idea.

Richter nodded, vaguely aware that he had narrowly escaped making a mistake.

All right, herd, Celia said. Let’s go home and let Paul recover from his evening. Jeanine, you and I will make some mint tea and giggle and look at dresses on the internet, and Evan, you can go kill zombies or whatever it is that you do on the TV.

She leaned in and kissed Paul. Thank you. Thank you for this, the future, and especially thank you for respecting and loving the kids. This means so much to me.

Paul returned her kiss. I am the one who should thank you—all of you. I am as happy right now as I expect I will ever be. Thank you. He looked at Evan and Jeanine. Thanks, guys. You did good, and I really appreciate it.

Jeanine gave Paul a hug and Evan stuck out his hand to Richter and that turned into a clumsy embrace. Awkwardly, they shrugged and then laughed at each other.

Celia fluttered her hand with the ring shining at him. Good night, Paul, she sang.

Oh, Mom, Jeanine said innocently, If you and Paul want to do something gross right now, Evan and I can wait in the car.

Paul laughed and Celia turned her daughter to the door. March, she said sternly.

Richter heard their laughter over the sounds of the car as they went down the driveway.

Richter sat in the relative quiet of his kitchen. He had poured himself another whiskey, and he admired the rich amber in the glass. Being content was a relatively new experience for Richter, but to tell the truth, he was getting used to it. Celia was fantastic, the kids seemed to really like him, and it was hard to imagine things going any better for him.

A faint noise interrupted his train of thought. He went to the door and on the stoop sat Jack, the misshapen, ill-tempered cat he more or less shared the property with since he moved in last summer. Richter opened the door, and the cat sauntered in, giving the impression that however grudgingly, he was doing Richter a favor by coming inside.

The cat bumped Richter’s leg, not the head bump that cat owners and cat lovers might associate with affection, but rather like fighters touching gloves before a boxing match. Jack sat down and stared at Richter. His gaze was not loving, but it no longer was overtly hostile. Richter decided the cat now looked at him with slightly bemused contempt. All in all, that seemed like real progress.

Guess what, Jack? said Richter, amused at himself that he was talking to a cat. I asked Celia to marry me, and she said yes.

Jack seemed shockingly indifferent to the news. He shifted around and began licking his anus, one of his favorite pastimes.

Richter laughed and went to his pantry. He came out with a can of tuna. The cat’s interest was piqued, and he suddenly seemed more interested in Richter’s happy news. Richter opened the can and spooned the contents onto a plate and put it on the floor. Jack sniffed the plate cautiously, then sat down and began eating quickly and noisily.

Richter took a sip of his drink and mockingly raised his glass to Jack. He remembered when he was in the Army, some of the lifers used to joke about retiring to a cottage with a wife and a white picket fence. Richter thought about Celia, Evan and Jeanine, and his job at the high school. He was happy. He was content. He had, or as of tonight, was getting the wife, he was getting the family, and he was in a community where he felt he belonged. He sighed, and idly wondered how long it would be before someone or something tried to take it all away from him.

TWO

Futuro, Mexico

El Jefe liked to have Rigoberto and Carlos walk with him. The men radiated aggression, and they could frighten most people with a mere sidelong glance. Both had been with El Jefe since the old days. They respected him, and obeyed him with a fierce, dog-like devotion. For his part, El Jefe appreciated the two massive thugs much as his father might have appreciated a pair of matched oxen. Rigoberto and Carlos were remarkably well-suited to their positions.

Futuro, San Luis Patosi, was a small town north of Cedral. It stood a few hours’ travel from the border, and had little industry or meaningful agriculture to support it. What it did have was relative proximity to two highways, thus making it sort of interesting as a transportation and distribution hub, and a thoroughly cowed and pliant population with a corrupt infrastructure.

Inside the dark room that constituted the bar called Dos Hermanos, an air conditioner clanked and wheezed and failed to chill the air. The bar stank of poverty, desperation, and urine, and flies and the waitress/part-time prostitute lolled about in a desultory fashion. El Jefe’s eyes adjusted to the interior dimness quickly after the outside glare. He approached a table as Rigoberto and Carlos stood silently by the door. He smiled at the two Federales sprawled before their drinks. The two policemen were almost caricatures, one tall and thin with a wispy mustache, the other short and round. Both were unshaven, and both needed a clean uniform.

So, said El Jefe, is everything in place?

We have been thinking, said the tall one, a lieutenant named Oxcana.

That is usually a good thing, smiled El Jefe, But you have to be careful when you first try new things. I asked you if the preparations have been made.

"Sargento Montoya knows his business. He has been told to expect your call within the week."

El Jefe nodded. I am to call him directly, and he and the coyotes will then meet my drivers and conduct them safely across the border.

Lieutenant Oxcana nodded. But as I said, Querro and I have been thinking. We think that this route is worth a lot of money, and that we are taking big risks. So, we think that maybe you should pay a little more for our services. As the lieutenant was talking, Querro, with the stealthy nuance of a hog at the trough, put down his drink and lowered his right hand to his sidearm.

We have a satisfactory arrangement, said El Jefe.

Lieutenant Oxcana shrugged apologetically. There will be much product moved to the north. There will be much money. Surely a little more can come our way.

What you say is very true, agreed El Jefe. There will be a great deal of money. And the availability of a secure route does have value. Most importantly, I am a great believer in relationships. Trust, particularly in these sorts of endeavors, is very important. The two Federales glanced nervously at each other.

I like simple solutions to problems the best, said El Jefe. And I am a businessman. He smiled at the officers. As they smiled back, and their relief and greed surged through them, El Jefe reached quickly under his light cotton jacket and drew his gaudily engraved, chrome plated Beretta and shot Querro between the eyes. Blood and brain matter misted the floor behind him. See? said El Jefe, now you don’t have to account for Querro’s share. There is more money for you, and I think we have reached an understanding regarding your place in the scheme of things. Rigoberto and Carlos had quickly moved from their positions by the door, and stood pointing their weapons at Lieutenant Oxcana. The large caliber pistols looked small and dainty in their enormous hands.

El Jefe put his pistol away and took a large bundle of bills from his pocket. He peeled off several and tossed them casually onto the table. Please, he smiled, this is my treat. He smiled at the bedraggled waitress who stared silently at him. I apologize for the mess. He winked at her and then turned to go out the door. Carlos and Rigoberto followed, with Rigoberto watching Lieutenant Oxcana until they exited the bar.

As they settled into the truck and El Jefe pulled out onto the road, Rigoberto, who was recognized as the more eloquent of El Jefe’s bodyguards, cleared his throat and turned to his leader.

Sir, he began tentatively, you should not have done that.

El Jefe cocked his head quizzically at the bodyguard. Why should I have not done that, my friend?

Rigoberto shrugged mountainous shoulders. Above a long scar across his neck, from a fight when he was a mere teenager, his round face colored. Sir, that is why Carlos and I exist. You should not trouble yourself beyond making your wishes known. An accident could have happened, you could be hurt, or ruin your clothes. He stopped helplessly.

El Jefe genuinely smiled, Carlos, he asked, do you think such things?

It is how it is, he said simply. You are the soul of what we do. We are the hands. We are here to serve you.

For a moment, El Jefe said nothing. Carlos and Rigoberto assumed he was concentrating on his driving on the baked and deteriorating road. When he first spoke, his voice sounded a little odd to the men. If they noticed, neither man said anything about the tears running down El Jefe’s cheeks.

My brothers, El Jefe said emotionally, you have made me very happy. Your loyalty, your love, is treasured. We embark upon a great journey, you and I. You will be rewarded, and you will always have places of honor in my heart.

El Jefe assumed the mien of a teacher with favored students. Why did I kill Querro myself? He was merely a greedy, foolish policeman. Happily, we have other greedy, perhaps less foolish police at our disposal. His death was a powerful lesson for Oxcana, I expect him to tell that story many times. That combination of greed and fear will keep the other policemen in my employ from thinking too much.

But I apologize, Rigoberto, continued El Jefe. Please do not think I do not respect and need your talents. I merely made a decision like that, he snapped his fingers, and took the initiative. In the future, I promise you that I will take into consideration what you have said. Your words inspire me, and I promise you, there will be much for you to do.

Rigoberto and Carlos nodded and sat back placidly. It was such a wonderful feeling to be told you are needed by such a great man.

THREE

Wilson, Georgia

Excitement crackled like electricity through the crowd gathered at the church for the sendoff service and lunch for the Wilson United Methodist Church Youth Mission to Mexico. The big day had finally arrived, and at noon on Tuesday, church members, parents, and assorted well-wishers had assembled in the sanctuary. After lunch in the Fellowship Hall, the twenty-three youth, ranging in age from thirteen to eighteen, and four chaperones, including the handsome and single, young Reverend McDreamy, Ronnie Waters, would board the large bus waiting in the parking lot for the two hour ride to the Jacksonville, Florida airport.

From Jacksonville, the group would fly to Cancun, and then travel more or less eight hours by bus to their destination. This route was chosen based on cost and the thought that on the way home, the kids deserved a day and a night at the beach. Notwithstanding the lectures the group had been given about the conservative values of rural Protestant Mexico, in anticipation of the beach trip, Jeanine and many of the other girls had packed bathing suits and bikinis that were not purchased as merely innocent swimwear.

Along with the teens, the four adults were looking forward to their day at the beach. Reverend Waters was young enough to remember his spring break adventures, and despite his vocation, was not averse to reliving them. Claire Tierney, mother of fifteen-year-old Rachel, was known as one of the cool parents. Solidly middle class, she was a stay at home mom and her husband was a manager at the Allied distribution hub. They had a pool, and their home was one of the kids’ favorite go-to hangouts.

Sara Dean Petty was a bit of a wild card. She was a secretary at the Redmun County Administration Office. Her husband ran the service department at the Ford dealership. Sara Dean was outwardly demure, but she was known among her daughter Brittany’s friends as being open to the kids having a beer or something else at her house, logically asserting that if they were going to drink anyway, they might as well do it in a safe place. She was also known for being a little bit of a tease with some of the teenage boys in the group, as well as some of their dads. She had brought her bikini for the beach, too.

The last chaperone was Mr. Gene. His name was Gene Morris. Nobody ever called him Mr. Morris, it seems like he had been Mr. Gene forever. The consensus was that Mr. Gene was around seventy or so years old. No one was really sure, and he wasn’t telling. He was still tall and lean, and despite his crew cut being silvery white, he remained a vigorous and dominant personality in the church and community. Everyone was glad Mr. Gene was going on the trip. He knew things, like how to find out what was wrong with motors and how to use tools. Parents felt he would watch after their children, and the kids thought Mr. Gene was fun. Whenever there was an adventure to be had, or a prank to be committed, Mr. Gene was in the middle of it. He was a gifted storyteller, but he also knew how to keep his mouth shut, like when he accidentally caught Becky Eustis and Ben Trane almost buck naked and going at it in the choir room. They were embarrassed, but he had calmed them down, and then walked with Ben to the picnic area, where they had sat and talked for a while. Mr. Gene did not lecture, and he did not reprimand, but he made damned sure that boy understood about protection, consequences, and being respectful towards Becky and the church. He never mentioned it again, but Ben and Becky both knew that every so often they were under Mr. Gene’s thoughtful gaze.

Reverend John Barber, the church’s senior pastor, concluded the service with a hope filled benediction and joyful, triumphant singing. The teens quickly abandoned their parents and formed a clump at the entrance to the Recreation Hall, where a lavish church buffet had been arranged. The line at the food gave the adults ample time to meet and greet and talk amongst themselves about the trip, their kids, and the sundry other conversational arcs that engaged people on such occasions.

Paul and Celia approached Reverend Barber as Evan wandered over to the group of teens not going on the trip. For the most part they were laughing and joking about their relief at staying home working or hanging out, rather than going and exhausting themselves working in Mexico for free. They may have felt a twinge of regret at missing out on the adventure, but most of them, like Evan, had paying summer jobs. Most of them, like Evan, could not contemplate being without the Internet for over a week.

Celia came up to John Barber and gave him a wide hug. As she did, Paul Richter surreptitiously caught the Reverend’s eye and made a subtle gesture towards his own ring finger. Barber’s face split into a delighted smile.

Barber stood back from Celia. He looked at her, and humor and happiness glinted in his eyes.

Celia, he said, you look lovely today. Is that a new hairstyle, or perhaps a new dress you are wearing?

Celia grinned and wagged her hand in front of Barber. Her engagement ring caught the afternoon’s warm light.

Well, Celia said, I might have a new accessory or something.

Barber took Celia’s hand and grinned. Wonderful! May I presume congratulations are in order?

Paul Richter laughed. Congratulate me, Reverend, and maybe offer this poor lady your condolences and counseling.

They all laughed happily. Barber asked about the big day, and the happy couple told him their hopes and scheduling needs. Reverend Barber told them he was certain that the church could accommodate them.

Barber grinned slyly at Richter. My snare is tightening around you, Paul. Sooner or later, I will have you on my softball team.

Richter laughed. I’m not sure I see that happening, he allowed.

Barber smiled and intoned sonorously, The ways of Our Lord are often mysterious.

The lunch was what a church meal should be. Ham, fried chicken and a smoked pork shoulder were flanked by potato salad, creamed corn, green beans, fluffy biscuits, and nineteen types of dessert, half of the examples containing pudding mix or Dream Whip, and in several examples, both. Sweet tea and lemonade were set up at the far end, along with ice water for the health conscious or other people similarly afflicted with peculiar tastes.

Eventually, the meal was finished, goodbyes exchanged, and the Mission Team got on the bus that was idling in the parking lot. Paul Richter stood with Celia and waved at Jeanine who grinned and waved back, and then became engrossed in conversation and laughter with her friends.

Richter hugged Celia and released her. I am probably going to be a crappy stepfather, he said.

Celia looked at him quizzically. What are you talking about?

I know Jeanine is going to Mexico, but I don’t even know where she’s going in Mexico. Do you?

Of course I do, you foolish man, said Celia as she leaned her head on Paul’s shoulder. It is in the information packet maybe a hundred times. It has a funny name, it sort of reminds me of the Jetsons cartoon when we were little?

Jeanine is going to Spacely Sprockets, Mexico? Paul joked.

Celia laughed and bumped her head against his shoulder. No, goof. Some place called Futuro.

FOUR

Futuro, Mexico

The hardest work is always right before an event or project comes to fruition. Conceiving an idea is pleasurable; the idea has no limits beyond one’s imagination. Building a plan around an idea has its charms; one essentially plays chess against reality as it whispers seductively