Betrayed Page 5

  The next day seemed to pass at an excruciatingly slow pace. Rico had come to Austin's house for school, but even Karen was subdued and the boys spent most of the day reading and reviewing materials silently for the upcoming standardized tests. When late afternoon finally arrived and William got home from work, he explained to Austin and Karen how the evening's events would unfold.

  "I've been on the phone several times today with Steve and Rev. Sinkler," William said. "This is how it's going to go. Since I'm a deacon, I'll drive separately. Austin, the Alvarezes will pick you and Mom up about a half-hour before I leave. The meeting's going to start right at seven o'clock and we're going to meet in the sanctuary. Rev. Sinkler has agreed to let all of you sit in the sound studio and listen in." Austin nodded his head. Every Sunday, a couple members of the church videotaped the sermon. In a corner of the church balcony, they had built a small glass sound-proofed room to record the audio portion. This way the church could post high-quality podcasts or streaming videos on the church web site for members who were deployed in the military or out of town, or even burn CDs or VHS tapes for older, homebound members who couldn't attend Sunday services. The studio would be a great place to sit and listen unobserved.

  "Austin, I'm going to tell Rico and his parents the same thing when they get here. No matter what you hear, no matter who says what in that meeting, you cannot, and I mean cannot, have any reaction to it whatsoever. Do you understand me?" William arched his eyes brows waiting on an answer.

  "Yes, sir. I understand."

  Karen grasped him gently by the shoulders and swung him slowly toward her. "Sweetie, we believe Rico and his parents have a right to hear what people will say. They deserve an honest appraisal of their situation to see if they can count on the church's support." She looked up at William and continued, "But it's also a little unfair to the deacons to have us listening in without their knowledge, so we have to be quiet. No cheering if it's good news. No stomping and crying if it's not. For the time we're in that booth, we're basically just holding our breath and observing."

  "I get it, Mom. You won't hear a peep from me."

  By six-forty, Armando, Carla, Karen, Rico, and Austin were squeezed into the sound studio. The audio quality coming from the sanctuary was unbelievably clear, but the sound inside the booth–from them shifting in their seats to Karen unwrapping a butterscotch disk–seemed muffled because of the soundproofing. The glass surrounding the booth was tinted and, from the outside, appeared nearly blacked out. The technicians inside could see out, but people in the pews couldn't see in. The preacher assigned to the church when the booth was installed felt like the fewer distractions his parishioners had, the better.

  The church leadership began filing in, shaking hands as they arrived and making small talk. There were eighteen men and women in all, eight elders and ten deacons. Add in Rev. Sinkler and Steve Curtis, and there were twenty voices in the sanctuary. Sinkler called the meeting to order and opened with a prayer.

  Rev. Sinkler gave the floor to Steve Curtis who walked to the front of the church, but stayed on the floor beneath the dais. "Thank you all for allowing me to come before you tonight, and thank you for agreeing to meet on such short notice. In short, I have just taken on a set of clients, a family who is here in the United States illegally." Austin noticed a couple of the leaders glance at each other warily. "They are a hardworking family who pay their own way and they desperately want to stay here," Curtis continued. "We're going to file paperwork to apply for citizenship. I've enlisted William Pierce's help to try to speed that process along through some of his political connections," he said, nodding in William's direction. "I was hoping I might get your cooperation as the leadership of the church to sponsor this family. I firmly believe that will go a long way with immigration officials."

  "Are the people in the family members of our church?" asked one woman in the third row.

  "I'm afraid I can't tell you that. I hope you understand, but I have an obligation to protect their identities."

  "That sounds like a yes to me," the lady said. Curtis could only smile blandly and spread his hands apart to indicate he could say no more.

  "Are they even Presbyterian?" asked one of the elders, a man Austin recognized as Bob Poland. "I mean, that's certainly relevant to us as the leadership of this particular church. I assume they're Mexican illegals, so if they're Catholic perhaps working through St. Peter's might be a better strategy."

  "Yes, they are from Mexico and yes, they are Presbyterian," Curtis said.

  Poland turned to William, "Well that seems kind of problematic for you, William, given how hot this issue is politically. I'm surprised you'd want to help or even be in a position to. These illegals are living off our dime and have nearly broken our schools and shut down emergency rooms across the country So what's so special about this family that we should go out on a limb?"

  There's that school/emergency room comment again, Austin thought. He could see how it could happen, he supposed, with twelve million illegal aliens, especially if they were mostly concentrated in towns along the border. The conversation drew his attention back to the sanctuary.

  "Just a minute, Bob," said another elder, Carrie Martin." They aren't crossing the border to vacation in Vail or the Hamptons. They come here to work. And most of the time they're doing backbreaking labor for near-slave wages."

  "Still, Carrie, they are already criminals when they get here. We have a law that says they have to do certain things to come here legally. They don't want to jump through those hoops, so they just disregard the law. They are undocumented. Most of them send the money they make back to their families in Mexico, meaning that billions of dollars are leaving the U.S. without us getting one cent of benefit from it," said another one of the deacons. "Let's say we put all that aside and sponsor this family? What if they decide to disregard every law they don't like? Do we look the other way then, too? Besides, all sins are equal in the eyes of God, right, Randy?"

  The preacher cleared his throat. "Well, like many things in the Bible, there are different points of view on this. James says, 'For whosoever shall keep the whole law, and yet offend in one point, he is guilty of all.' Then again John appears to differentiate between sins that are deadly and sins that aren't." Austin noticed that after Sinkler's comments, many of the church leaders looked bewildered and a little confused. The room fell silent for a moment.

  "To answer your question, Bob," William said, "no doubt we've got people here illegally who do some bad things–defraud the system, run in gangs, sell drugs, or run prostitution. Then, on the other hand, there are people here illegally whose only crime–and I stress only–is being here without the right paperwork. I'll remind you that all the 9/11 hijackers were here legally, but it didn't stop them from doing an evil thing."

  Phil Allen, another attorney who served as a deacon, had sat silently listening to the back-and-forth. "William, do you know who this family is?"

  Before he could answer, Curtis interjected, "Does it really matter who the people are? The issue I wanted to bring before the church is whether we, as a church family, will show the compassion Christ commanded."

  "There's a difference between exercising compassion and harboring fugitives, Steve," Allen said. Austin looked over at Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez. The man looked as if he could explode, his face red and jaw tight. She sat almost expressionless.

  "I'm not asking you to commit a felony, Phil…"

  "It's the Alvarezes isn't it?" Poland finally asked. Austin noticed him sitting quietly as if the gears were turning in his head. "Has to be, I mean what do we have, five Latino families in the entire congregation? The Montegnes and Munioz family are definitely legal. And with Pierce here involved, as close as their families are, it just makes sense." He crossed his arms and a self-satisfied smirk crossed his face.

  "You can think and say anything you want, Bob," Curtis said, "but I wouldn't tell you if the Alvarezes were my clients any more than I'd reveal if you were." Austin noticed
something wordless pass between the two men. Curtis glared and Poland seemed to shrink back in his seat. Austin smiled inwardly wondering what secret the man harbored to have needed the services of an attorney.

  Just as the tension in the sanctuary crept through the soundproof booth, Rev. Sinkler stood. "Okay, I think all the issues are on the table. I think it's time to vote. As our church by-laws require, the issue must pass by a two-thirds majority. I've remained silent and I want us all to vote our hearts and our consciences."

  He eyed the elders and deacons in the room, who, staring back at him, sat silent with contemplation. "Shall we vote?"

  Chapter 12

  Carranza, Coahuila de Zaragoza, Mexico

  "This way. Hurry," Viktor Larnas said in an urgent whisper. He was almost out of breath as he led the six people through waist-high vegetation, all of them stepping as high and as fast as their legs would allow. The lush underbrush glowed nearly iridescent in the light of the half moon beaming down amidst an explosion of stars in the night sky. No doubt on any other night, Viktor would have stopped to admire its beauty, but tonight the light betrayed him to the uniformed men chasing him and his band of six trying to sneak across the border.

  Prisa!Prisa! Sobre esa manera. "Hurry! Hurry! Over that way." The men shouted as they chased their prey, hefting fully automatic rifles over their heads with both hands as they, too, high-stepped through the foliage.

  Viktor's clothing was soaked through with the sweat of exertion and fear. If they could make the caves, they would be out of danger. There were two caverns, actually, both on the western end of the village on the lower slopes of the eastern Sierra Madre. They formed a huge system of underground passages, but the only two entrances stood just eighteen feet apart on the same slope. Even though both openings were on Rancho San Juanita, private land, nobody knew them better than Viktor.

  The entrances stood less than a hundred yards from the Carranza River, the outward remnant of an underground river system millions of years old. The cave nearest to the path Viktor and the six people ran toward was called the Cave of the Wind. Behind him a man fell. A woman stopped to help him up. The group as a whole seemed to slow down and Viktor leaned down to help, and then he urged them forward, even pushing in the small of the man's back. In the distance, he heard the throaty yowl of a tracking dog. "Just a few feet more."

  Fifteen feet away a dark opening yawned at the bottom of the hill. Viktor knew the soldiers would follow them in, but he also knew he needed just a few yards head start before he and his party left them behind in confusing swirl of dead-ends, fissures, and tunnels that circled back on themselves after intersecting other passageways. He needed twenty seconds at most.

  Six feet. Five feet. Four. Inside! Immediately the outside sounds became muffled. Inside, the main hall consisted of two levels joined by a mud ramp. Ritual objects and votive candles, some lit and flickering and others completely flattened to disks of cold wax, littered the floor. Varnished wood holders and wax figurines stood on rock formations. The candlelight dancing off them threw grotesque shadows onto the cavern walls.

  Viktor turned to urge his followers on, but no one stood behind him and the only sound he heard was the whispering of the wind through the opening of the cave. "Anna? Enrique?" he called, looking toward the entrance. He ran back toward the hole and there, outside, the six stood silent, wide-eyed, still.

  "What? Are you crazy? Get in here," he said, emphasizing his words with a point of his finger to the cavern.

  Enrique shook his head with vigor. "No! Sagrado," he said.

  Viktor popped his forehead with the palm of his hand. Sacred! Aye, Aye, Aye. He knew many myths surrounded the caves, their origins and purpose. One warned visitors that entering the Cave of the Wind without having been blessed by a priest or one of the old Hispanic shamans at least seven days prior would provoke the cave's spirits. Another myth said those wishing to enter had to make an offering of food to the gods or they would experience visions of the giant vipers watching the entrance to both caves.

  Viktor stood at the entry way to the cavern, the soldiers closing in. He heard the tracking dog, fresh on their trail, bay and snarl against its leash. He could save himself, or he could try to save them all. To Viktor, it really wasn't a choice. "These are crazy superstitions old man! Those guns are real. Get in the cave." His eyes met those of each person he was trying to lead trying to communicate with just his gaze the desperation of their circumstances. "Now," he demanded through gritted teeth.

  The others looked to Enrique to follow his lead, but he stood firm, head held aloft. Viktor knew the old man would sneak across the border in the dead of night, but he would not sacrifice his principles, not where his beliefs were concerned. He felt his body sag with fatigue and defeat.

  If he had felt even a momentary impulse to flee and leave them all behind, it was too late. In an instant they were surrounded by gunmen. Each of the six and Viktor intertwined their fingers and locked them behind their heads. For a moment the only noise came from the breeze blowing through the lush vegetation and the rush of the Carranza in the distance. Then came the sound of footsteps dragging through the underbrush.

  "Crazy superstitions, amigo?" said the soldier in charge. He chewed on the butt of a Fuente cigar and he gave off the odor of its sweet, cured tobacco leaf mixed with sweat. "Looks like you forgot your food for the vipers." He moved to within an inch of Viktor's face, so close Viktor could smell the odor of onions on his foul breath. He stared Viktor down, removed the cigar butt, and put a walkie-talkie to his lips. "Carvezza to base."

  "Go ahead," came the squawked reply.

  "We've found six additional leaks. We have also found the source of the problem. We have prevented further damage."

  Chapter 13

  Columbia, South Carolina

  Austin felt like everyone was holding their breath inside the sound booth. When the pastor counted the final vote, it tallied ten in favor of sponsoring the Alvarez family, eight against. It was not the two-thirds majority they needed. Austin felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. He noticed a single tear streaking down Carla's cheek.

  With nothing left to be said, the deacons and elders filed out of the sanctuary. Austin, Rico, Karen, Carla, and Armando sat quietly, heads hung, until Steve Curtis came and got them from the booth. Together they gathered with William and Rev. Sinkler in the sanctuary where the church leaders met.

  Curtis spoke first. "Any chance we could put this before the entire congregation, Randy?"

  "Well, it might ruffle a few feathers. I mean, we have church leadership for a reason, but I'd be willing…"

  "No," said Armando. For a moment there was nothing but stunned silence.

  "Please, Armando, let them try," Karen said. "This is no time for foolish pride."

  "No. He's right." Everyone's head turned. After two days of nearly complete silence, Rico finally spoke. "It's not foolish pride, Ms. Karen. It's righting a wrong. If we have to go back to Mexico, that's what we'll do. We don't need to make things worse by dividing the church or placing our friends in bad positions."

  "Well said, son." Armando placed a gentle arm across Rico's shoulder.

  "There's got to be another way," Austin said. His heart had stopped at Rico's words. "We can't give up."

  "It's not giving up, Austin," Rico said, facing his best friend. "It's doing the right thing, the right way. Your mom and dad and my parents have taught us that all our lives. We can't expect them to say it and then not live it because it's not convenient. It's not like we'll be in Europe. Fuente is two day's drive from here. And we'll have email and cell phones. It won't be easy, but we'll manage."

  Austin saw how much it pained Rico to say what he had. Austin knew that every word he'd just spoken was true, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. In the end, no one said much more simply because there wasn't anything left to say.

  Rico and Austin spent the next two days together, talking mostly, and then sometimes saying nothing at all.
The Alvarez family placed their furniture and some other belongings in long-term storage. They decided to leave on a Thursday afternoon.

  As the time of their departure drew near, Rico became more reserved, almost depressed. Austin tried to keep his friend upbeat. "This might not be the best analogy, man, but maybe this is a little like having cancer. It'll come out okay on the other end but in the meantime we have to go through chemo and radiation, have our hair fall out, and vomit every three minutes getting there."

  Rico chuckled a bit. "Yeah, I'd say that's a pretty bad analogy, mi amigo." Then his face grew grim. "A large part of the reason my father decided to risk what he has for us to stay is because of me, and I know that."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Here money is power. In my country, power is power. It's truly survival of the fittest–whoever is more physically dominant, whoever can intimidate or extort. In many parts of Carranza, you don't need money to get things. Money is a convenience just to save the energy of having to take what you want. Austin, you just don't understand," Rico shook his head and locked eyes with his friend, "I have a very bad feeling about this whole thing. But I guess it's better than living under the shadow of shame and always having the risk of going to jail."

  The next afternoon, it was all over. Austin stood in the driveway of his friend's home watching him drive away into the late afternoon sun. His mother cried. His father became quiet. And Austin–Austin merely stood numb.

  Chapter 14

  Rancho Sam Juanita