ZACA (Zack Tolliver FBI) Page 2

  Jesus went with her as a log moves down stream with the current. At the snack table, he took the cup of juice and tortilla she offered him. After several bites, he said bluntly, "Who are you?"

  The girl laughed. "It is I who should ask, who are you? After all, you are the stranger here."

  Jesus stumbled over his words. "I am from Mexico..."

  She burst into a merry peal of laughter. "And here I thought you were from Sweden." She laughed again, stopped at his look of confusion. "Look around you. We are all from Mexico or South America somewhere. We don't talk about our home, or how we came here."

  "I'm sorry..."

  "Don't be. I know you are new and I think I can figure out the rest."

  The girl pushed her hood back. She was young, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. Her dark hair was lustrous and full but her face was broad with dimpled cheeks.

  "Thank you," Jesus said, flustered.

  She smiled at him. "We look out for one another here. We become like family."

  Jesus gazed at the workers crowded together in the shade.

  "We are lucky to work here," the girl explained. "The owner, Señor Reyes, treats us well. Most of us remain here through the year, form friendships. I'm told on other farms it is not this way."

  Jesus wanted to ask more questions but the air horn sounded.

  "Back to work," the girl said. She tugged her colorful bandana up over her nose.

  "Wait! What is your name?"

  "I am Candida." Her voice came muffled. She laughed and turned away.

  He called after her. "I am Jesus."

  She waved.

  Jesus trudged back to the platform.

  The day was long as any Jesus ever spent, and more taxing. They had an hour for lunch. A shaded table awaited them with drinks, sandwiches and the ever-present tortillas. He didn't see Candida but his new workmates were friendly and made him feel welcome. Toward the end of the lunch hour he saw her arrive in a car with other workers. They had gone elsewhere to eat their lunch. He was filled with wonder at the money and opportunities these workers enjoyed.

  When the day was over and the platform cleared and made ready for the next day, Jesus followed the others from the field. Many scattered to their own cars. Jorge found him and guided him to a truck for the ride back to the barracks. The people near him chattered eagerly about their plans for the evening. Jesus dropped his head to his chest and dozed.

  After showering––all that hot water––Jesus caught a second breath. Jorge supplied him with clean clothes. After he dressed, Jesus wandered outside and around the building. A dirt drive stretched along an avenue of trees, the way to the women's housing, he guessed. Beyond the barracks with its Protector grove of oak trees, an ocean of green fields lay flat as a tabletop to the distant swell of golden hills. The sky was as blue as the sky back home, without a single cloud. Vultures circled in the distance, tiny dark spots. Jesus stood transported by the wonder of it all.

  A touch on his shoulder startled him. He turned. It was Jorge.

  "It is different from Mexico, yes?"

  "Yes, it is very different. Everything is so...perfect. It's all so clean, so tidy and bright."

  "Here in the United States, people are not so poor," Jorge said. "They take pride in their possessions. They can afford to keep them up."

  "There is so much of everything." Jesus said. "Even these clothes." He looked down at the pressed shirt and trousers Jorge had given him. "I have no money to pay for these."

  "You don't need to worry," Jorge said. "Those clothes belonged to Manuel, a worker who went away. He will not be back. He left a closet full of clothing. It is fortunate he was close to your size."

  "Why did he leave all his clothing?"

  Jorge shrugged. "Why do people do anything? Around here, people come and go. We don't question it." He smiled.

  Jesus was drawn to Jorge. The man was relaxed, confident. He had a sincere manner. Jesus thought he could trust him.

  "That reminds me," Jorge said. "We need to talk. But it is time for dinner right now. You must eat to keep your energy up. After that, we can talk in our room."

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Jorge stretched out on his bunk, crossed his arms behind his head. "Make no mistake, you owe much to our business friends in Mexico. They ask little in return. A large payment was sent to your wife so that you need not worry about your family."

  Jesus sat on the edge of a produce crate that served as a table, rubbing his knee. He nodded.

  "I think you know the business of the Sonora Family," Jorge said. "They are wealthy and powerful but they are also generous to their employees and friends. Their import business is against the law here in the United States. If we are caught, the product is lost, we are sent to jail, maybe even deported. This is a risky business. The family can lose a large amount of money from the loss of a shipment. If they cannot pay the sembrador, the grower, he in turn cannot pay the campesinos, those who plant the seeds. Of course, the burro is lost and another must be found to replace him. The entire system breaks down." Jorge sighed. "It is a very difficult business for the financiero, yet the family is ever generous."

  Jesus lowered his head. "I am grateful."

  Jorge watched him. "Do you like to work in the fields?"

  Jesus paused. "It is difficult," he admitted. "But I will soon grow accustomed to it, like the others."

  "Perhaps you will not always work in the fields," Jorge said. "Perhaps, if you continue to work hard and remain loyal to the Sonora Family, there will be other work for you, less difficult work. You must understand, it will not be without risk." Jorge's head fell back on his pillow and he yawned. "We will see."

  Jesus slept well that night, with pleasant dreams of his wife and daughters. He felt better after Jorge's assurances that his family would receive the promised money. If they lived in comfort until his return, he could face almost anything.

  He awakened to the warm touch of the sun’s fingers on his cheeks. He sat up in panic. He'd overslept. Jorge was gone. Jesus looked at his watch. He might just be in time for breakfast. He threw on his borrowed clothing and ran down the corridor.

  When he entered the dining room, the sound of female voices woven with the men's low murmurs surprised him. The women wore their work clothes, their hair already covered by scarves. Only the flash of dark eyes and softer lines of the face gave them away.

  Jesus stood with his loaded tray, looked for a space at the crowded tables. He saw an arm wave at the back of the room. It was Candida. He went there. She squeezed out a space next to her.

  "Why are you here?" Jesus said. He put his tray down and stepped into the space.

  "My, you are direct." She giggled. "I work here, remember?"

  The space was tight. Jesus was aware of the warmth of Candida's thigh pressed against his. He was flustered; he wasn't ready for morning yet.

  "Today is meeting day," Candida said, with a smile. "Men and women always eat together on meeting day so that Señor Reyes can give us news and instructions."

  "This way, the time does not come out of our work," said the woman across the table. She looked Jesus up and down with raised brows. "Who is your new friend?"

  "Don't get excited," Candida said. "He is married and has children."

  The woman pretended to pout and ate her beans.

  Jesus' fork paused mid-journey. "How did you know that?"

  "I asked Jorge," Candida said. "Do you think me forward?"

  Before Jesus could respond, a spoon chimed against glass. He saw an older man of stocky build walk to the front of the room. Pale blue eyes searched from face to face. He held his hat by the brim in both hands, turning it bit by bit as he spoke.

  "I don't thank all of you enough for what you do," he said, in Spanish. "I will now. Thank you." His voice was deep and rumbled low in his chest, which made it hard for Jesus to understand.

  "That is Señor Reyes," Candida whispered.

  Señor Reyes waited for the murmur of voices to pas
s. "We're going to keep planting squash this week," he said, "as we have been. We're right on schedule and the weather has held steady for us. We need some rain soon, though." He gave a wry grin. "I do not understand why God doesn't adjust His weather to fit our schedule."

  There was laughter.

  Reyes paused, and his face became grim. "It is my duty to tell you that a man we all know, Manuel Ortega, a man who worked side by side with us every day...is dead."

  The room grew silent. All eyes fixed on Señor Reyes's face.

  "I try to provide good working conditions for you. I know the work is hard, I know the pay could be better, but the market controls that." He looked around the room. "The market controls everything. So what I do, I diversify the crops. I plant different crops for different markets. If the bean market fails, we got the peppers, if that market fails, we got the squash." Reyes paused to look around the room. "That's how I can keep you employed all year round. I diversify my crops and you diversify your skills. It works."

  He glared. "I know you can earn more money in other ways, but those ways are risky. So long as you stay here on my farm, and work hard, I can––I will help you. But once you leave to go out there" ––Reyes waved an arm in a general direction–– "I can do nothin' for you."

  He paused again, and his face drooped. "I'm sorry for our loss." He stared down at his hat for a few long moments. His head came up. "Rafael will give you instructions for the day." Reyes shuffled over to the door and left.

  A large man with prominent cheekbones and sun-blackened features stood before them. His bristly mustache framed yellow teeth.

  "He is Rafael Rodriguez, the supervisor," Candida whispered to Jesus. "He––". She went silent as he began to speak.

  "My friends," said Rodriquez, "it is a good day for work. The Lagunas Field must be finished before we are done tonight." He flashed a gapped smile. "We lost a hard worker." His eyes found Jesus. "We must work hard to make up for it."

  Rodriguez turned and walked out. The workers all stood as on a signal and cleaned their places, the clatter of utensils on plates followed them. Jesus dumped his unfinished food into the trash and hurried to catch up to Candida.

  "What were you going to say?" he said.

  Candida's facemask was over her mouth now but brown eyes rolled toward him. "It is not important." She hurried off to the waiting truck.

  At the field, Jesus climbed down. The dank smell of the rich soil comforted him. He stretched and walked toward the planting platform where others took their positions. The tractor hummed, ready to begin.

  His elbow was seized in a harsh grip. A voice spoke in his ear. Jesus turned and stared into the supervisor's contorted countenance.

  "I watch you yesterday, new man," Rodriguez said. "You work too slow and the planter must wait for you. "

  "I'm sorry. I––"

  "You earned only half your pay yesterday because of your slow work. If you do not work faster you will lose more pay today." The grip grew harder. "Listen, amigo. You leave Candida alone, you understand?"

  Jesus felt a last painful squeeze. Rodriguez walked away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Dear Isabella,

  I am safe and well in California. The boat trip was long and difficult but there were no problems. The meeting with my new business partners was good.

  I hope you have received the money they promised. Please write me at once if you have not. Please write me soon anyway. I miss you!

  How are Juanita and little Ana Dominga? Please tell them I miss them greatly and will return as soon as I have finished my work here.

  California is everything they say it is. None of the land here is wasted. Every hectare that does not have a building on it is used to grow food, raise cattle, or grow grapes.

  I live in a barracks with many men. We have a large shower room, and hot water every day, a dining room with many large tables, even a room for relaxation––with a pool table! And so much food! Senor Reyes insists that we always have as much to eat as we wish. We eat the same food as Senor Reyes. He told us so.

  The work is hard, but not so hard as fishing in the bay all day, although I prefer that. Today we planted summer squash. We follow a large platform called a transplanter pulled by a tractor. The platform holds the young plants, which we take out of the plastic and place in a hole in the ground we make with our hands in the soft earth. This work is easy but reaching up and bending down all day is painful for the back.

  I have good news! Jorge, my new roommate and associate in the organization told me that I might soon have a change in work. He says my new work will be much easier and I will have greater responsibility. I don't know what this is or when it will be, but I think I will like the change.

  There has been just one small unpleasantness. My supervisor has taken a dislike to me, I do not know why. He has made threats. But Jorge tells me not to worry about him.

  I wish I could be there with you. Jorge says my contract with the business will be over in just one year. That is not so long! And by then I will have earned a lot of money for us and we will live better than we ever have before. So I must be patient.

  I must sleep now, for the work is very tiring and breakfast comes early.

  But it is important that I know that you have received the money they promised. Please write and tell me as soon as you finish reading this.

  I miss you very much.

  Te Quiero Mucho,

  Jesus

  CHAPTER SIX

  Zack looked down at his hands. They rested palm up in his lap. He thought he must look about to catch a watermelon, crossed his arms instead. It occurred to him the students in front could see his nervousness. He felt uncomfortable here on this little chair up on the stage, nothing between him and a hall full of curious faces. He wondered about his legs––should he cross them, or would that be too casual? With his legs slightly apart he felt vulnerable, but with them tight together he felt prissy. Zack squirmed.

  At the lectern Susan swung into high gear, her pretty face pinched with intensity. Zack felt envy. This was her arena; this was the environment where she was most comfortable. Her slender good looks belied a fabled list of academic accomplishments. Susan knew her craft.

  Zack looked at the upturned faces. Susan was deep into her presentation yet she held every eye and connected with every young mind. The students were absorbed, drawn in by every word. Soon it would be Zack's turn. He was not a skilled public speaker and not as comfortable in these academic surroundings. His anxiety grew. The bright collegiate minds before him could swing from idealism to cynicism, from support to derision in an instant. Like sharks in the water, they would sense his fear, probe his vulnerabilities, and attack, laying waste to Susan's hard work in the process. Zack shuddered at the thought.

  When Dr. Susan Apgar first approached Zack to help present her lecture at the Criminal Justice Department at Allen Hancock College, he refused. He offered the usual arguments: lack of comfort with public speaking, a busy schedule, and not least, his ineffectiveness. But Susan trumped all of that with a single point. Her topic supported his work, after all. In her lecture she proposes the possibility that creatures from an undiscovered branch of the human evolutionary tree might theoretically exist today in our society, yet unknown to us, possessing extraordinary powers, posing unknown dangers, with us but not of us. She was after all speaking to Zack's area of experience. She could present the subject effectively as a theorist, but only Zack, the FBI agent, could introduce the missing sense of reality.

  Zack couldn’t turn her down.

  "A quick glance along this timeline suggests that at the time fire became a tool for human beings, our species had already exited Africa and were spread around the globe," Susan was saying. "Of course we all recognize the so called discovery of fire could not have been a single incident, but rather a period of time when humans experimented and gradually learned to nurture this life-changing tool. Nor could the discovery of fire have happened simultaneously within
every society on earth."

  She absently pushed back a strand of blonde hair from her eye. "We must therefore conclude there was a period of time when some of our predecessors had fire, and some did not. Those with fire would have had an enormous advantage. They would hold dominion over those without. So you see, our inevitable conclusion must be that humans without fire capitulated to those with it, or else concealed themselves in some way."

  Susan peered over her glasses, made eye contact. "It is therefore possible some fireless humans remain hidden after all these centuries They may well have evolved along different lines, may look different, perhaps with different skill sets and unknown capabilities. What strengths might they have developed? Think about recently discovered tribes hidden deep in the forests of Papua New Guinea, or of DNA evidence that proves the existence of an unknown species of bear in Nepal. Might not a divergent species of human beings have survived all these centuries in the same way, in environments that modern people seldom frequent, such as the deep forests or the high mountains, and emerge only after the sun goes down?"

  Susan paused for dramatic effect, her eyebrows raised above her glasses rims. "I leave you with this simple question: Why not?"

  There was a moment of pin-drop silence and then applause roared through the hall. Susan nodded and smiled and stepped back from the lectern, waited for it to ebb. She stepped forward, held up her palm.

  "Thank you. Thank you." She beamed a charming smile. "It is my good fortune--or perhaps I should say our good fortune--to have with us this morning FBI Supervisory Agent Zachary Tolliver. Agent Tolliver worked as FBI liaison with the Navajo Nation Police on the Navajo Reservation in the Tuba City region for over a decade. In that time he became familiar with the myths and legends of the Navajo People, including some that have a direct bearing on our subject this morning. I give you...Agent Zack Tolliver."