Black List

CHAPTER 28

A block over, they came to a three-story building surrounded by a high concrete wall with a heavy wooden door that looked like it could be a couple of hundred years old. Guillermo produced a ring of keys from his pocket while the bouncer, Norberto, watched the street.

The bartender located the proper key, inserted it into the old iron lock, and turned. There was a loud click and then the door swung open. Harvath followed the man inside, and Norberto brought up the rear.

They had entered a wide rectangular courtyard. A jungle gym a stone’s throw from a statue of the Virgin Mary was all he needed to see to tell them where they were.

The walls were covered with murals of children playing interspersed with stories from the lives of the saints. Above the entryway was an inscription in Latin: ALERE FLAMMAM VERITATIS—Let the flame of truth shine. It was an interesting motto for an orphanage, but it resonated with Harvath. If anyone needed the flame of truth right now, it was he.

Beneath the inscription, Guillermo produced another key, opened the door, and shuttled his party through. “Wait here,” he said, once they were inside. “I will find Sister Marta.”

The interior reminded Harvath a lot of his grade school—the linoleum floors, the wooden lockers, the black-and-white photographs along the walls, even the faint scent of disinfectant—were almost identical. With all the similarities, and remembering how so many of the nuns had looked alike to him back then, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Sister Marta had been a dead ringer for the principal of his school, Sister McKenna. Sister Marta, though, turned out to be nothing like Sister McKenna.

When she appeared, she was wearing blue jeans and a Rutgers sweatshirt. She was in her late thirties with dark chin-length hair and, despite not wearing any makeup, was quite pretty.

The bartender said something in rapid Spanish to her that Harvath didn’t catch. All he was able to understand was how he addressed her. It wasn’t as “Sister Marta” but rather Martita, adding -ita to her name as a form of endearment. The young nun, in kind, referred to Guillermo as Momo and gave him a kiss on the cheek before he and the bouncer turned to leave.

As the door closed behind them, Sister Marta welcomed Harvath and extended her hand. “I’m Sister Marta.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Sister,” said Harvath, trying to figure out what her relationship with the bartender was.

“You may call me Marta if you like. We’re not very formal around here.”

“Is that why Guillermo called you Martita?”

The nun laughed. “We may be informal, but we’re not that informal. Only family call me Martita. Guillermo—Momo, as I call him—is my uncle.”

“Your English is very good. Did you go to school there?” Harvath asked, indicating the university on her sweatshirt.

“No. We get lots of clothing donations here. The items that are too big for the children, we pass on to the poor. Occasionally, the staff will find something that they think will fit me and they set it aside. That’s where this came from.”

“What about your English?” Harvath asked, intrigued. There was an aura of instant likability about her. She was strong and, like most nuns he’d known, could probably be quite strict when she had to be, but she was also very personable.

“My family takes education very seriously. I learned English in school and French too. I teach both to the children here.”

“They’re all somewhere sleeping right now?”

“Yes,” said Sister Marta with a smile. “Upstairs. It’s the only time I can honestly say that most of them remind me of little angels. During the daytime, it can be a different story.”

Harvath smiled in return. “I’m sure you have your work cut out for you.”

She waved her hand as if to sweep the topic aside. “It’s late and you’re not here to learn about the running of an orphanage.”

“To be honest, Sister, I don’t exactly know why I’m here.”

“You’re here because it’s where God wants you to be.”

“I’m sure that’s true,” said Harvath, “but in this case, God used an intermediary.”

“You’re referring to Nicholas.”

“Yes, and I’m assuming I’m here because you can help me get to him.”

Sister Marta nodded. “I have arranged to get you aboard a special flight tomorrow that will take you across the border.”

Harvath looked at her.

“It’s not that kind of flight,” she replied, sensing that he suspected it might be drug related. “It’s all completely legal. I have contact with someone who runs a shuttle service that flies wealthy Regios back and forth to Texas for daily shopping trips.”

“Regios?”

“Regiomontanos—Regios for short—is what we call people from Monterrey.”

“Where do they fly into?” Harvath asked.

“A city called McAllen.”

“What about customs and immigration?”

“It’s a small airport,” she responded, “and the pilot is American. He brings people in and out all the time and they all know him there.”

“But his passengers still need to clear customs and immigration, even if they’re just visiting for the day to go shopping and then turning around and flying back to Monterrey.”

“That is correct, but it is much less formal than at a major port of entry. As long as you have a valid passport, they swipe it and you get waved through. You do have a valid passport?”

Harvath nodded. “I do.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any problem. You should be able to walk right through.”

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“You don’t need to understand.”

“Why would you risk yourself for Nicholas?” he asked.

“What am I risking? I helped arrange a seat for you on a popular charter flight.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” she replied. “Nicholas has been very generous to our orphanage. When he found out that Momo was having trouble with the cartels, when they wanted to use his bar to move money and weapons and drugs, he made it all go away, all of it. He didn’t want any of that near us. He’s a good man. I have no idea about his past and I don’t want to know. That is between him and God. All I know is that he has made a significant difference in the lives of the children here.”

“Do you do many favors for him?”

“In all these years, he has never asked me for one until now. I can only imagine you are very important to him.”

Harvath wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

“He told me that you’re a good man,” she continued. “He said that you have spent most of your life in the service of others. That was all I needed to know. That’s why you’re here and that’s why I’m taking you to the plane in a few hours.”

“And when I land in McAllen?”

Sister Marta removed a piece of paper from her pocket and showed it to him. “He said you’re supposed to look for this.”