Chapter 12: The Teacher of Wisdom

I was sent home from hospital two days after the incident when a second CT scan confirmed that there was no swelling around my brain from the contact I made with the concrete floor of the cellar. The cut on my leg was not deep but it was jagged, and the doctors wanted me to keep it still and elevated for several more days. It was no hardship to lie in the shade of the pomegranates. Momma was in the kitchen with Mrs. Gonzalez inventing some new traditional Mexican dish for their blog, no doubt. Connie was at work.

Penny had agreed to share the burden of buying new bicycles for the three boys. Maria had offered to take them by herself but when Angelina tagged herself onto the party, Penny, with a somewhat martyred look, stepped in. Discreet enquiries had confirmed that there was no chance of recovering the machines they valiantly rode to the rescue. We could not report the loss to the police in Ciudad Juarez since all they knew of the incident was that one man had been killed in an industrial accident.

You might have thought that a thunder flash exploding in a confined space would have attracted attention but there was a fiesta in the town, so the incident passed unnoticed. I am not sure what kind of industrial accident would cause shrapnel to sever an artery, but I dare say that there would be pressure on the local police to accept the simplest explanation, Occam’s razor and Senor Albert working in conjunction on this occasion.

Angelina was the first to tell me of the wonderful new bikes the boys were unpacking as we spoke. “Why don’t they want me with them, Uncle Andreas?” she plaintively asked. “They will, precious. Give them another two years and they’ll be the ones trying to get your attention.” She did not take much comfort from what I said: she wanted them to notice her now. The boys relented, and her little face was suffused with joy when she was invited to join them on an inaugural ride round the neighborhood.

Later, when Angelina went off with her mother, the boys came to thank me for their new bikes. I let them enthuse over the features, many of which looked as if they had been designed by NASA. We had half an hour or so to wait for dinner and the mood seemed right to ask them for details of what happened after I rushed thoughtlessly to the rescue of Maria and Caroline. Mark and Nando discussed that headlong departure while Jim applied first aid to Philip. They agreed that I needed back-up.

As soon as the paramedics arrived, Nando brought up the location app on his phone and they set off at full speed in my support. I thanked them, admitting that at that point I had no idea how I was going to get out of the mess I had blundered into. Nando looked startled: “You were so cool. I don’t know about the other guys, but I was shaking with nerves. We raced into that yard, screeched to a halt and you gave us a little grin and said ‘Hi’. Then you turned to the four men armed to the teeth and told them to let the ladies go home with us.”

“It’s true, Dad,” Mark chipped in. “I thought we had overreacted until that guy began raving about keeping you and the women. You just stepped over as if you owned the factory and told me to drive them home as soon as they were loaded.” Jim smiled at me and added, “I couldn’t see how you were going to do it, but I knew you would.” When I explained that what they saw as a cool look was in fact the result of being scared witless, they laughed.

“You just stepped forward and took Aunt Caro from that guy and he just nodded. Then you handed her to Nando and went over to get Mum ... I mean Maria.” The other two were nodding in agreement and I sighed; it is pleasant to be considered heroic for once, even if their bubble will soon burst. It popped in the next sentence out of Mark’s mouth. “We didn’t deserve to be called ‘boys’, Dad.”

I explained that it was important to retain the illusion that they were young and harmless so that the bad guys would consider them no threat. “Remember, in the same sentence I called Maria and Caro ‘girls’ and that’s a really wild exaggeration!” I took a hefty punch to the shoulder and looked up to see Caroline scowling at me. I had not seen her since the lads bundled her into the car looking more dead than alive.

Now she would easily pass for a well-preserved fifty after pampering from hairdressers and beauticians. She grinned and gave me a crushing hug. “Someone who saves your life is allowed a few liberties, but don’t push your luck, buster,” she smiled fondly at me. “And I haven’t had a chance to thank these young gentlemen,” she added, letting me go and hugging each of the three boys. To their eternal credit they blushed but did not flinch at this public display of affection. I could not have done it when I was their age.

Angelina and Connie arrived at this point and took Caro with them into the kitchen, leaving me alone with the boys. “There was a moment when I thought you were going to dig your heels in and refuse to leave me.” They looked at each other and some signal passed between them to let Nando be the spokesman. “We did discuss it, but we really thought Mark’s Aunt Caro could die if we didn’t get her out of there.” Mark nodded: “Then Mum winked at me and sort of nodded her head towards the gate so I knew it was Ok to go and leave you.”

They helped me out of the chair, handing me the walking stick I was using, and we went to join the others at the table. I admired all three boys, but my heart was bursting with pride for Mark. This was the young man who had spent much of the last school term in detention. ‘Commeth the hour, commeth the man’, they say, and Mark certainly achieved adulthood in that dusty yard. The thing that brought tears to my eyes, however, was that Mark twice referred to Maria as ‘Mum’. There can be no more sincere compliment.

The three lads combined to tell the tale of their arrival at the hospital. They crossed the border back into the United States without problem and arrived outside the emergency room less than ten minutes after pulling out of the yard. They were greeted by a man telling Mark he could not park there, but one look at the back seat convinced him that there was a real emergency. Doctors and nurses helped the two women onto trolleys, and they were whisked away. The last word was that they still could not park there.

They pulled away from ER asking each other what they should do next. Mark wanted to go straight back to the yard but the other two persuaded him that a few minutes would matter little, so they should talk to someone before they went back into the lion’s den. Nando asked to be dropped by his father’s office since he had contacts with government and would know what to do. Jim had no fresh ideas except perhaps Principal Jeffries at the school. Mark went quiet for several minutes, obviously thinking deeply. “I’m going to find Penny. She’ll know what to do.”

After dinner, the parents of Jim and Nando arrived. We knew each other vaguely from picking up and dropping off the boys but we had got no further than waves and normal greetings. They sat, spellbound, as we detailed the events of the day. I let the boys tell the tale so far as they were able. I am sure they did not believe me when I insisted that I had not the slightest notion why we should be the target of kidnap. I did admit that I was the ultimate target, and the two women were decoys to reel me in.

Nando’s Dad was very apologetic that he did not do more. He would say things like ‘I tried’ or ‘if I could have done more, I would’ Kat, his wife, reassured him that he had done everything in his power. “Nando has told us you work for the government, but if you’re not in the right branch you’re as helpless as the rest of us,” I comforted him. He thanked me but added that it was not exactly as I had stated. It was all a bit cryptic, so I let the matter drop.

Everything went well until the new superbikes were mentioned. Everyone trooped out to see them to admire the impressive array of gadgets. It was after we returned to the lounge that things became tense. Jim’s parents live in a poorer part of town, and I suspect that money may be tight for them. Jesus, Jim’s Dad, accepted that it was reasonable for me to replace the bikes the boys had lost but he was adamant in rejecting the upgrade.

“He saved up to help buy that bike, working after school and at weekends and it was the best we could afford. It verges on insulting to offer him a replacement costing twice as much. How can he learn the value of money if he gets hand-outs?” I was at a loss how to answer him, but Maria rose to the occasion. She knelt at Jesus’ feet and took both his hands in hers, looking into his eyes. “Jim and the others saved Caroline and me from certain rape and very likely death. There is nothing we can do to adequately repay them. I am ashamed that all we were able to offer was a piece of machinery.”

Jesus had to take a hand away to wipe the tears coursing down his cheeks. “Forgive my foolish pride. There are more ways to earn a reward than by laboring, and I forgot that for a moment.” Shortly after that, they went home but not before agreeing to return for a barbeque on the Saturday evening. In bed I congratulated her on finding the right words to defuse an awkward situation. “I spoke no more than the truth, Andreas Honey.”

The following morning, I was on my lounger when Mick arrived for a scheduled maintenance visit. He brought Ricky with him to clean the pool and I idly watched father look up at his towering son. After a couple of minutes, they knelt together peering into a cavity revealed by removing a metal plate. Ricky rose and headed for the gate, waving at me and shouting a greeting as he passed. Mick replaced the plate and walked towards me.

When I was in hospital, the doctors were surprised that I remembered nothing after I struck my head. They judged that with the level of damage I suffered, I should have floated in and out of consciousness. They told me that it might be short-term memory loss and not to be surprised if memories flashed into my mind. Mick looking down on me sparked such a memory. I was on a stretcher exiting the passageway into the yard; the car was still there, and I even noticed that one of the back doors had been left open. Mick was standing beside me looking down, just as he now was in my garden.

There was a second memory of lying in the back of a car with my head on someone’s lap while the driver was talking through his open window. He was saying that I had bumped my head and hurt my leg. They were taking me to hospital. Two still pictures in the darkness between falling from the chair and waking up in a hospital bed.

Mick asked how I was feeling as he approached my lounger and for a moment I was confused, although he had spoken in Spanish as usual. My vision returned and I saw Mick again beside my stretcher asking me that same question, but in English. Not only that but he had a New England accent. “Who are you?” Mick grinned at me. “Don’t try to kid me, Andreas. There’s nothing wrong with your memory so don’t try it on with me.”

“You’re from Boston.” There was a prolonged silence before he sat on the lounger next to mine. “Would you believe mild-mannered Clark Kent.?” I looked at him, smiling sardonically as he made himself comfortable. “No, but I might be inclined to believe Superman.” He laughed. “It’s Penny’s fault. I was always a sucker for a pretty young woman.”

“I guess it’s time to tell at least some of the truth,” he sighed. “There’s still a chance it will cost me my job.” When Mark arrived home, he told Penny the whole story. She had already heard some of it from Momma but had failed to appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Without hesitation, she called Mick and told him everything. He told her not to worry. “I will, but thanks for telling me not to.” All Mick asked of her was to stop Mark and his mates going back. Mick needed an uncluttered objective.

Mick’s reluctance was apparent, and I could almost hear his sigh of relief when his mobile phone rang. “It’s Ricky. He’s gone to get a new filter, so I’d better answer it.” After listening for a few moments, he rose and went back to the hole beside the pool, presumably to get a model or part number. He had been shaken by my mention of Boston, but I was certain he would have manufactured a plausible story by the time he finished the call. I got up and limped back to the house; I had lost the surprise factor, and my only recourse was to get away,

In the kitchen, Mrs. Gonzalez and Momma were poring over a laptop, probably reviewing the latest blog; Angelina was at the table working on a jigsaw and she looked up briefly to give me a smile. Penny was sitting at the table watching some inane quiz show on television. On impulse I asked her why she had chosen to call Mick for help. She turned her head enough to see me out of the corner of her eye.

“Duh?” She turned her attention back to the television program. I had not heard the word before, although it was easy enough to translate it as ‘what a stupid question’. What was depressingly familiar, however, was the look on her face and the tone in which she uttered the single syllable. Her mother had been using both since shortly after Mark’s birth, to express her superiority over the idiocy of the man she married. I had not known until that moment that my daughter had also lost her respect for me.

I walked the final few steps to the door into the family room where I stopped. “I think it best, Penelope, that you move to a hotel until your mother arrives to take you home.” I walked off to my bedroom, closing the door behind me. Lying back on my bed, I reviewed what I had learned. My question was reasonable, even if I did not express it well. Penny could have called the police or Eric, whom she had met, or even the Dean if she needed an authority figure. I knew as well as she did that Mick was a good deal more than a simple gardener, but did she know something I did not?

There were little signs from the first day I met him, that Mick was playing a part. He was not supposed to understand a word Caro said, but he was reaching for a knife before I had translated for him. The clincher came when he spoke with Mark by the pool the first time he met my son. They had a conversation although Mark only speaks English. Apart from having greater language skills than he admitted, Mick was inquisitive, always pressing for information on my past. I assumed that he was the leader of a cell of agents getting background information on new arrivals in El Paso.

That certainly explained calling his ‘wife’ Mrs. Gonzalez and the fact that none of his many ‘children’ looked like him or each other. He had always a relative to help with any problems like his ‘niece’ who was the real estate agent selling the house of pomegranates. I judged his attempts to conceal his hidden purpose clumsy and rather naïve. I would have called on him if I had wanted extra muscle but certainly not to handle a delicate situation like the predicament I found myself in. So why had Penny chosen him?

I must have dozed off, for I was wakened by loud voices outside my bedroom door. Moments later, Maria strutted across the room in full momma bear mode. “What the hell have you done to your daughter? She’s outside, crying her eyes out saying you don’t love her anymore.” I took a moment to collect my wits. “You were the one who begged me to stop being a doormat. Not even my daughter is allowed to wipe her feet on the new me.” I explained the encounter in the kitchen in detail. Maria sat thinking for some moments after I finished.

“You’ve had a nasty bang on the head, and you look really tired,” she said, totally ignoring my point about Penny’s disrespect. Then she leant over, kissed my forehead and patted my hand before rising with a determined look. “You try to get some rest, Honey, while I sort this out. I’ll bring your lunch on a tray.” This was too much like betrayal. “I’ll skip lunch, babe, and try to sleep through. Will you make sure I’m not disturbed?”

As soon as she had gone, I hauled out the trusty suitcase I brought from Reading, throwing in the clothes I would need for a few days. It was the reverse of Mohammed going to the mountain because it would not come to him: If Penny was not going to a hotel, then I was. I was outside, sneaking down the side of the house, when I was overcome by reality. I had been warned not to drive since the action would probably tear open the wound on my leg; there was no nearby taxi rank, and I did not even have an Uber app on my phone.

The gods were smiling on me, since I almost stumbled into Ricky returning with the replacement part for the swimming pool. He amiably agreed to drive me into town, helping me into the cab of his truck with great care despite his size. I booked a room at the Hilton requesting that I be left undisturbed until I contacted them. Once in the room, I took off my shoes, lay down fully clothed on the bed and fell asleep. I was awakened by an altercation just outside my door. I could not hear the words, but I recognized one of the voices: it was Mick.

I telephoned the front desk to be told that Mick had challenged my right to remain undisturbed. He told them that I had had a recent head injury and there were sound medical reasons for entering my room. He was ranting on about legal risks and moral duty to the point where the duty manager had agreed to check on me. The fight now raging outside my door was whether or not Mick should accompany the manager into my room. It was clear that I would have to face him sometime, so I had reception pass the word that I would meet him in the bar in fifteen minutes.

I had not noted my time of arrival at the Hilton, but I reckoned that I had slept for two hours. I was feeling refreshed, and a long shower left me feeling better than I had since before the incident in Juarez. Reflecting on the morning as I stood under the warm stream, I admitted to myself that I had overreacted, probably, as Maria said, as a result of my head injury. My instinct, training and character all urged me to begin the process of reconciliation. I prided myself on being a big enough man to admit my own faults and forgive the faults of others.

This time was different, however, and I puzzled over why. It had always taken time for me to assimilate the hurt, weighing the benefits of forgiving others against the pain of being judged inept and inadequate. Looking back, I realized that I had always been able to isolate myself from others while the healing process proceeded. At EI I usually worked alone and could be short with someone barging in disturbing my train of thought. People normally waited until I appeared at the tea urn or joined the queue for lunch before approaching me.

At home, certainly in the last five years, I have been left undisturbed unless Susan or the kids wanted something. The daily routine was for the children to find their own friends; once they completed their homework and other chores, they were free to please themselves. Susan had Dan to share her mighty intellect, seldom bothering to patronize her poor dumb husband. Anything I said was ‘A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury signifying nothing’, as the bard has it. Since meeting Maria and moving to El Paso, the whole dynamic of my life has changed, particularly since we moved to the house of pomegranates.

I was the man of the house, expected to change light bulbs and unblock drains. Even where professional help was required from a plumber or electrician, I was expected to assess and sanction the call for help. Momma had been running a household alone for twenty years or more, but she stood with her arms folded waiting for me to agree that a plumber was needed to fix a leaking tap. After the event, she felt free to express her opinion on my performance under pressure. As usual, I soaked it up with a nonchalant smile.

The problem was that I had no man-cave where I could retire to lick my wounds. I had some ideas about that, but they could wait until I had solved the immediate problems. Both Penny and Maria had gone beyond a boundary and would have to step back with suitable apologies. In the meantime, I would spend a couple of nights in the Hilton to convince them of the seriousness of the situation. I had grave doubts that Penny and I would ever be as close again.

Like a good engineer should, I put those gloomy thoughts behind me to concentrate on the questions that started with Philip’s strange behavior when I first arrived, culminating in the kidnap and abduction. Mick knows at least some of the answers. My suggestion that he had a Bostonian accent rattled him and he might have disclosed more than he intended if Ricky’s phone call had not interrupted. His arrival at the hotel, trying desperately to talk to me, implied that he was still off balance. Could I exploit his unease?

As I dressed, I smiled at the realization that for the first time in my life, I planned to be nasty. Blessed are the meek, blessed are the poor in spirit, the good book tells us: not this time, buddy! I had lost the respect of my wife and daughter by my meekness and poor spirit; it was time for me to press for some answers.

Mick was sitting at a table in a secluded corner of the almost empty bar. “Sit down, Andreas. It’s time you manned-up, my friend,” he demanded waving at the chair opposite him. “Shut up, Mick!” He looked the way you might if your pet gerbil roared like an angry lion. “Don’t get on your high horse with me Andreas. Just remember that I’m the guy who saved your life only two days ago.”

“Face it, Mick. My life wouldn’t have been in danger if you were even moderately competent and a lot less arrogant.” I sat opposite him, pushing aside the beer he had bought for me and shouting to the bartender to bring me coffee. “You and your whole team are not fit for purpose. How could you let a moron like Rodrigo take two women in broad daylight from a house you had been monitoring for months? And why did it take you so long to show up on your botched rescue mission?”

“There was nothing botched about our intervention.” I lifted my injured leg, pointing at the dressing. “How was I supposed to know that idiot would knock you down?” I looked at him. “You talk to your allies and keep secrets from your enemies. Right now, I count myself amongst your enemies.”

“Ok, I’ll tell you what I can, but not here. It’s too public.” I was caught in two minds. On the one hand, he might be buying time to concoct a plausible story, but he might also be concerned that what he was about to reveal could be damaging to his masters, whoever they were. I had him on the ground. Should I kick him into submission, making an enemy for life? I decided that destroying Mick would not stop the surveillance and it would be better to keep the devil I now know.

“Let’s go to your greenhouse then, but I need to know the whole story.” Before we left the hotel, I had the receptionist put an Uber app on my phone; Mick had promised to return me to the Hilton, but I did not trust him that far. He was silent on the journey, doubtless wondering how little he could safely tell me. I judged that he had been genuinely shocked when I accused him of enabling the abduction because of his incompetence. I was relying on him wanting to justify his actions.

He got two bottles of beer from the fridge as soon as we arrived, drinking his in two long swallows before getting a replacement. Before we left the hotel, he had drunk the beer he bought for me as well as his own, so in the last half hour or so he had downed three strong ales. He was far from drunk, but he was certainly rattled. I hoped it would be enough to give me the answers I wanted.

Sven, Nando’s Dad, was the first government employee to learn of the kidnapping. He alerted the local agencies with an interest in newcomers, including Mick. He also passed the message up the line where frantic discussions were initiated, according to Mick. I have no doubt that many weighty matters were discussed like inter-agency rivalries and the prospects of their teams in the World Series, but the core of the debate was a simple choice. On the one hand, you had a solitary man, of no particular importance, and not even an American citizen; on the other hand, you had the labor of years building networks of agents infiltrating the enemy organizations.

I am surprised that the decision took as long as Mick insisted it did, nor can I take seriously his assurance that it was finally made at the very top. It is hard to picture the President of the United States sitting in the oval office giving a moment’s thought to the fate of one middle-aged Englishman. Being of a cynical bent, I wondered how many lines of coke were used during the deliberations to clarify the thought process of the participants. The answer, when it came, was as surprising as the name of the winner of a one-horse race: Andrew was surplus to requirements.

That was not the end of the story, however. Mick would not accept the verdict, believing me to be an honorable man who did not deserve to die. He made much of the fact that I had engineered the escape of the women captives, surrendering my freedom on their behalf. It crossed my mind that the authorities would have been more willing to intervene if Rodrigo had been holding two women and three teenagers as well as me. “I couldn’t let it go, Andreas, even although it meant putting my career on the line. I owed it to you to give it my best shot.”

He and five of his crew quietly approached the factory, finding the gate open and no one in the yard. They approached the open door into the building with caution, to discover Rodrigo and Erb still arguing. They were in a room near the end of the corridor and there was no cover; Mick was preparing for a shooting war, but he held back to see if they would reveal my whereabouts. Erb crossed the passageway, entering another door opposite. Rodrigo, stopping only to take another drink from a bottle of tequila, followed his brother-in-law.

Mick was at the door before Rodrigo reached the bottom of the stairs. Erb’s imprecations made it clear that I was in the cellar below so the pin on the stun grenade was pulled and it was gently tossed into the void. That part of the operation worked like a charm. All the bad guys were disorientated by the blast, letting Mick and his team gain complete control. Unfortunately, the guard who rugby tackled me belonged to another agency. He and Mick knew nothing about the existence of each other.

I was hustled out of the cellar on a stretcher and rushed back across the border into the United States before an industrial accident was reported to the Mexican authorities. It was the man who tackled me who remained to tell the tale to the police. He considered it a just punishment for inadvertently causing me damage. Erb was hosed down by the paramedics before being taken to the police office to be checked by a doctor.; he was later released without charge when the explosion was recorded as an accident. The guard who had held Caroline walked out amidst the chaos and has not been heard from since.

Did I believe that Mick had disregarded a direct order from his superiors to help a friend in deadly danger? I think at least part of the story is true. I believe that he was troubled enough to take action, but my guess is that his superiors adopted the Pontius Pilate strategy. They advised against intervention but washed their hands of the final decision, as the Roman Governor did with Jesus of Nazareth. Even in America it must be hard to lay your hands on an unauthorized stun grenade at a moment’s notice.

I thanked Mick profusely and put any remaining doubts at the very back of my mind. This is what engineers do with problems that cannot be fixed with the tools at hand. The problem is not forgotten but carefully stored away to be considered at a later date. After a brief argument, he shrugged and dropped me off at the Hilton. “You’re still a mystery, Andreas,” he told me as he dropped me off. “I’ve read your profile from British Intelligence and you’re nothing like they describe.” I almost told him that they reported on a door mat and that I was now a tapestry, but he was confused enough as it was.

The more I thought about it, the more sense Mick’s ‘family’ made. A jobbing gardener gets close to open windows where he can listen to unguarded conversations; who pays attention to the paeon quietly weeding a flower bed? Especially if he appears to know neither English nor classical Spanish. Ricky will be almost as unnoticeable as the pool boy. Agnetha, about to graduate, will hear the gossip on campus. Even Mrs. Gonzalez has insinuated herself into our kitchen and my guess is that she has previously done something similar.

Government agencies, suspicious of newcomers to El Paso, have a well-embedded source of information from Mick and his supposed offspring. They act like a typical family, close and caring but undemonstrative, even dismissive of each other. I can see why the authorities would be reluctant to risk their cover to save the skin of one middle-aged Englishman. Mick was obviously telling the truth when he said that he stuck his neck out on my behalf.

The day seemed to have lasted forever since I first saw Mick and Ricky by the pool, but it was still only a little after six. In my haste to be gone, I had packed nothing but shorts, so I decided on room service for dinner rather than be improperly dressed in the hotel restaurant. I could have found a place within walking distance where shorts would have passed inspection, but I was weary. While I was waiting for my meal to arrive, I checked my phone only to find that I must have switched it off at some point, probably before I sneaked out of the house.