Page 13 of Depths of Destruction
"Why?" I say, raising my voice.
"I'm not sure, but I'm assuming it's too dangerous for you to stay in Belize?"
"Yes. The men in charge of the government will either kill or imprison me for years, now that they know I have their secrets. If I had exposed them, it would be different. But now..." I cross my arms and pace faster. The anxiety builds, and the air feels stale all of a sudden.
"Naomi, it's good the U.S. got involved, then."
I spin. "Is it?"
His eyes narrow to slits. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"How did they even know about it?"
More silence. Andre's eyes once again study me. His expression is like stone, and I don't know what to make of it, so it freaks me out more.
"Why would the U.S. want to get involved in this matter? Why do they care about where Belizean politicians get their campaign funding?"
"Normally, they wouldn't," he quietly admits.
"That's correct. So, are they giving me asylum?"
"I've not heard anything past the drop off location.”
"Then what do they want with me?"
He opens his mouth to speak, but his phone rings, cutting him off. Staring at me, he answers, "Lòpez."
Why does the U.S. want me? It makes zero sense.
"Everyone on the team is accounted for, and so are the targets. Santiago Gómez and three of his men got away on foot. My guys shot their vehicles out. Everyone else is dead."
Something about the way he won't take his eyes off mine sends heat to my core.
Snap out of it, Naomi. This is a serious situation. Put your loins on hold.
"Forty-eight hours is doable. We'll lay low until our window opens."
He's going to turn me over to the U.S. without even questioning why.
"Yes, sir." He hangs up.
Rage fiercely bubbles and overflows inside of me. This is my life. The U.S. President isn't someone I like from far away. I don't want to experience him up close. He gives me goose bumps whenever I hear him speak or look at him. I step closer to glare up at Andre. "You aren't even going to question anything?"
He swallows hard. Guilt appears in his eyes.
"Is that all you are? A yes man?"
His face turns crimson. "We have rules and protocol," he states, as if those are good enough reasons to blindly do whatever he is ordered.
"So, that means you never ask questions?"
"Asking questions gets people killed. My job is to keep my men and targets alive."
"Your targets. Is that what I am?" I accuse, offended.
He seems to not understand my abhorrence. "Is there something wrong with the words we use?"
I step closer and rise on my tiptoes, enraged. "I don't know, is there? Does it make it easier for you to not think of us as people?"
