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at me and then stopping, and just the thought of it sends a numb pain surging between my thighs. The memory lives in me. Him, putting his hand between my legs and into my underwear, caressing, rubbing, pausing. I remember how he took my hand and put it on something hot, smooth and different from anything I’d ever felt before. Locking his large hand around mine and moving it up and down, so I couldn’t let go of this thing became harder my hand.

Sometimes he would do more. It would be better for both of us, he had said, persuading me to lick him there, to put it in my mouth. Sometimes he would push until I gagged, but he would hold my head tight and not let me go. Afterwards, he would buy me presents and remind me to keep it a secret, otherwise they’d take Gail and me to different orphanages and we would never see each other again. For my fifteenth birthday, he allowed himself the gift of penetrating me. I shook my head, refusing to let myself sink into that memory, to not feel that sense of helplessness I’d felt back then. All that had happened to the body of a little girl. Once my body started developing into womanhood, he allowed me to go to boarding school.

Once again, I shook my head and closed my eyes tight, and then opened them wide. The memories dissipated, but not the guilt. The thought of her addicted to drugs brought up the same feeling I’d had when he came into my bed -- paralytic helplessness. The picture in my head changed. I was not fifteen years old anymore and paralysis was not an option. And Gail still needed me. I glanced at my watch then started the car. They’d said that the road continued on until the farm, and then there was a left turn and another five-minute drive to the big iron gate. This was the destination I’d been trying to reach for over six months, from the moment that my inquiries had pointed me toward the head of the biggest cartel in Mexico.

The vehicle swallowed the lonely road, as if it were a single ship at sea. This was the calm before the storm. I heard the first gunshots during the last part of the journey, and, perhaps foolishly, I accelerated. As I anticipated, the guards only glanced quickly at me, saw the hat and then opened the gates wide. I quickly scanned the courtyard. I couldn’t make out Guy or Zorro, but I did see bodies on the ground. This wasn’t a good base for peace talks, but I assumed it was only to be expected from two characters who’d lived much of their lives in the Middle East.

I parked the car in a corner behind some orange rosebushes, in sight of the back balcony. The battle was unfolding on the other side of the estate, so this side was clear. I climbed onto the hood of the car and from there jumped into the balcony. The glass door was locked, so I shot through the lock. I preferred a dismantled lock than broken glass smashing everywhere, but, with a deafening sound, the glass shattered in big shards. I stupidly mused that the glass didn’t break the way it seems to in the movies. Even though the break-in wasn’t quiet, I ran in and immediately made my way to the top floor. I had envisioned Gail tied to a bed, or maybe not tied, but too stoned to call for help. Maybe she was in the basement. There is a basement here… There must be a basement.

They came at me from three different directions. I shot at the one on my right who had his gun aimed at me. He fell. Immediately I turned my gun on the man to my left and he lifted his hands in surrender. I should have known it was a trap, but I wasn’t quick enough. The man on the left smiled. I felt a blow to my head. All went dark.

Guy Niava,

El Desconocido’s office, November 14, 2015, 11:00 a.m.

Another shot sounded outside. The guards turned to look at the door and Zorro immediately grabbed El Desconocido’s gun and quickly moved away to the far corner of the room. Her gun pointed at El Desconocido and together we covered the whole room.

“Lower your weapons. Slowly. Put them on the floor and kick them towards me.”

The men looked at El Desconocido and waited for his confirmation. He nodded and they did as they were told.

There was a knock on the door.

I collected the weapons from the floor. “Tell him to ask them what they want,” I ordered Zorro in Hebrew and she did as I requested.

“What’s up?” asked El Desconocido.

An answer came from the other side of the door and Zorro translated for me. “They said they caught someone else who had infiltrated the estate. Do you think it is our wounded girl?”

“Most probably.” I thought for a moment, and then asked Zorro to tell them to let Laura in.

El Desconocido ordered the guard to open the door and an unconscious Laura was carried in, feet first. Another armed guard held her from the arms.

“We have an unpleasant situation on our hands,” announced El Desconocido, in quiet English. He seemed almost amused. “Your partner will die if you don’t put down your weapons.”

“Raphael, I am asking you. We have not come here to kill you.”

“So, who have you come to kill then?” He looked at Zorro with the same amused look.

“I have come to kill the American girl, the one you left me for. Is she still with you?”

“She is here, and I don’t see any reason to let the two of you meet,” he answered, and smiled at Zorro in a way that left no doubt that this man was a mercenary flirt and knew how to handle himself around women. “I don’t think jealousy becomes you,

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