Reprimand

Back in the car, I went over what little I learned from the sailboat.

First: It's name is the Paraíso Perdido, which didn't tell me anything, but may be useful in spotting it again.

Second: I had photos of the depth tracking log that, might, after the proper analysis, give me a clue as to where they went yesterday.

Third: The **** in the storage area clearly indicate that whoever those men were, they were prepared to abduct people... like Mira.

It wasn't a big flashing sign saying, "bad guys here," but it was enough that I was glad to have investigated. Unfortunately, my ability to continue was rather limited and I decided that it was time to send this info back to the office and check in with Carl.

"Ron in Tech," came the response.

"Hey, Ron, this is Agent Douglas. I had Carl working on a phone last night..."

With a click, I heard the same utterly bland, and yet surprisingly frustrating, easy listening music that signaled that I had just been forwarded without Ron so much as telling me what he was going to do. Silently, I prayed for patience. Everyone knows that the guys in Tech make modern investigation possible, but their universal lack of social skills was infamous.

The phone clicked again and an all-too-familiar voice came on the line, "Alexandra Douglas." I held my breath at the way he made my name sound like a judge passing judgement on tiny six-year-old me.

The silence continued until I finally had to break it, "Um, hi, boss."

"Were my instructions unclear?"

"Um, no, boss."

"Then I expect you have a good explanation for why you are sitting in what could be considered a stolen vehicle in a parking lot off Boulevard Lázaro Cárdenas rather than a conference room located at 10385 Vista Sorrento Parkway."

I debated the merits of telling him that I was investigating my only lead, the sailboat. Before I could respond, he continued, "Your reason for the delay is irrelevant. At this point, I've already contacted a friend at the state department, who contacted a trusted member of the Mexican National Guard. That inspector has agreed to send an agent to find you and ensure you make it back the United States. If you want to avoid any escalation of this international incident, you will immediately make contact with Agent Javier Gomez and allow him to see you onto an airplane back to US territory, and frankly I don't care where in the US you end up at the end of the flight. I'm texting you Agent Gomez' phone number." And, without so much as a goodbye, my boss hung up on me.

Suddenly very concerned for my future at the Bureau and at the same time feeling guilty about worrying about my career when my sister was in danger, I opened the text and called the number it contained.

"Agente Javier Gómez, ¿quién es?"

"Agent Gomez? This is Alex Douglas. I was told to contact you."

"Maldita perra americana, ¿dónde diablos has estado?"

"I'm sorry, but I don't really speak Spanish."

"Por supuesto que no. Dios, líbrame de los idiotas," he sighed so loudly that I think I could hear his eyes roll over the telephone. "Vale, vale. Okay, American, where are you now?"

"I just left the marina and I'm sitting in a parking lot to the north."

"In San José or San Lucas?"

"Uh, Cabo San Lucas."

"Si, si. Okay. Do you have a car?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Okay. I want you to meet me. Drive on Highway One until you come to the rotonda, um, the car carousel. Wait for me in the parking lot of La Comer to the right."

"Sorry, but a car carousel?"

Again, he sighed before continuing, "Where cars drive around in a circle. There is a Mac Donalds there. You know Mac Donalds. Park there and wait for me."

While I'm pretty sure that he meant the comment about McDonald's as an insult, I felt confident that I could drive until I hit a roundabout and then park in their parking lot.

"Okay, I'm on my way," I confirmed.

"Gracias a Dios," he muttered as he hung up.