Chapter 7: The Journalist Who Was Never Supposed to Survive
Four black SUVs rolled into the abandoned gas station.
They spread out with military precision.
One blocked the entrance.
Another stopped behind the old service garage.
The remaining two moved slowly toward Mateo's pickup, leaving no obvious escape route.
"They tracked us," Mateo said.
Dalia's eyes locked on the tiny GPS device still glowing green in his hand.
"I should've checked the folder."
"No," Mateo replied. "Dr. Ramos probably never knew it was there."
He looked around.
The station was surrounded by overgrown weeds, rusted fuel pumps, and crumbling concrete. There was nowhere to hide.
The twins were still asleep.
For now.
A loudspeaker crackled from the lead SUV.
"Mr. Solís."
The familiar calm voice echoed across the lot.
"We know you have the documents."
Mateo recognized the older man immediately.
"Leave the children in the vehicle."
"We're only interested in the files."
Dalia let out a bitter laugh.
"That's a lie."
Mateo agreed.
"If they wanted the folder, they would've taken it back at Dr. Ramos's house."
The loudspeaker came alive again.
"You have sixty seconds."
Mateo looked around desperately.
Then he noticed something behind the abandoned station.
An old drainage canal.
Hidden by thick vegetation.
"Dalia."
She followed his gaze.
"The canal?"
He nodded.
"Can we fit through it?"
"If it's still open."
He reached into the folder, grabbed the GPS tracker, and looked at it for one long second.
Then he smiled.
"What are you doing?" Dalia asked.
"They're tracking the folder."
He ripped the tracker from the papers.
Without another word, he sprinted toward the opposite side of the station.
The men inside the SUVs immediately reacted.
"There he is!"
Mateo hurled the tracker as hard as he could.
The tiny device sailed over a chain-link fence and disappeared into the back of a passing garbage truck just as it rumbled down the highway.
The tracker vanished.
A second later, every SUV accelerated toward the road.
"They're moving!" Dalia shouted.
"They're following the signal."
Within moments, all four black SUVs sped away after the garbage truck.
Silence returned.
Mateo let out the breath he'd been holding.
"It worked."
"For now," Dalia warned.
"They'll realize the signal is moving too fast."
"We don't have much time."
Twenty minutes later, they abandoned the blue pickup in a crowded supermarket parking lot and hired a taxi using cash from Dr. Ramos's safe.
No names.
No destinations spoken aloud.
Only a handwritten address passed to the driver.
The taxi wound through downtown Cancún before stopping outside a weathered three-story apartment building near the old city center.
"This is it," Dalia said.
Mateo looked at the building.
"This is where Gabriel Ortega lives?"
"He used to."
The hallway smelled of old paint and coffee.
Apartment 3B.
Mateo knocked.
Nothing.
He knocked again.
Still nothing.
Just as he turned away, the apartment door across the hall opened.
An elderly woman stepped outside carrying groceries.
"Looking for Gabriel?" she asked.
Mateo nodded.
"Do you know him?"
She smiled sadly.
"Everyone here does."
"Is he home?"
The smile faded.
"He hasn't lived here in eight months."
Mateo's heart sank.
"Do you know where he went?"
She hesitated.
"They said he disappeared."
"They?"
"The police."
Dalia exchanged a worried glance with Mateo.
"What really happened?" she asked.
The woman lowered her voice.
"He was investigating Santa María Hospital."
Mateo felt a chill run down his spine.
"He told everyone he had proof."
"What kind of proof?"
"I don't know."
"But after that..."
She glanced nervously toward the stairwell.
"...men in suits started visiting."
"Did you recognize them?"
She slowly shook her head.
"They asked questions."
"They searched his apartment."
"They came back several times."
"What happened to Gabriel?"
The woman sighed.
"Everyone says he vanished."
She looked directly at Mateo.
"But I don't believe it."
"Why not?"
"Because three weeks after he disappeared..."
She reached into her grocery bag and pulled out a folded envelope.
"He asked me to give this to anyone who came asking about Santa María."
Mateo stared.
"He knew someone would come?"
"He said if they ever found the courage to ask the right questions..."
She handed him the envelope.
"...they'd eventually find this building."
Mateo carefully opened it.
Inside was a single key.
Attached to it was a luggage tag.
Locker 214
Cancún Central Bus Terminal
There was also a handwritten note.
If you're holding this key, they've already started hunting you.
Don't trust anyone wearing a badge.
Not the police.
Not the hospital.
Not even the government.
At the bottom was one final sentence.
Everything you need is in Locker 214.
Before Mateo could fold the note back up...
A television inside the elderly woman's apartment suddenly interrupted its afternoon program.
BREAKING NEWS
All three turned toward the screen.
A news anchor appeared.
"We have developing news out of Cancún."
Images flashed across the screen.
Smoke.
Fire trucks.
Police tape.
Dr. Valeria Ramos's house.
Authorities were calling it a fatal gas explosion.
Mateo's jaw tightened.
Then another photograph appeared.
His own face.
The anchor continued.
"Police are also searching for local businessman Mateo Solís for questioning in connection with today's incident."
His picture filled the screen.
The caption underneath read:
PERSON OF INTEREST
Dalia whispered, "They're setting you up."
The reporter continued.
"Authorities believe Solís fled the scene with two minor children and may be considered dangerous."
Mateo felt sick.
"They're making me the suspect."
Just then, someone knocked on the apartment door.
Not loud.
Not urgent.
Three slow, perfectly spaced knocks.
The elderly woman's face went pale.
Mateo didn't need to look through the peephole.
He already knew who had found them again.
And this time...
Someone outside quietly said,
"Mr. Ortega told us you'd come eventually."
May you like
The voice wasn't one of the men from the SUVs.
It belonged to a woman.
