Flashback

“Bueno,” said Emilio. “It is a good time for such a move.” The older man hesitated a second, cleared his throat, and continued. “In two days—early Saturday morning, before dawn—the state of California will attempt to assassinate me here. They will use a Great White predator drone and will destroy this entire compound, hoping to kill me, my family, and everyone here.”

“Good God…”

“Sí,” said Emilio. “God is good. He allowed us to gain this valuable intelligence. My family and I shall not be here when the missiles strike. The forces of the reconquista are ready to respond. Within a week, all of the City of Angels will be under new leadership.”

Leonard had no idea what to say to this so he set the heavy messenger bag on the desk.

“One million three hundred thousand in new dollars,” he said in a strangely strangled voice. “My entire life’s savings. I kept only a small bit for expenses during the trip.”

Emilio did not look in the bag. He nodded courteously. “It is less than the usual price for two people being transported from here to Denver… you still wish to go to Denver, my friend?”

“Yes.”

“It is less than the usual price, but the convoy leader owes me a favor,” continued Emilio. The old man smiled, showing nicotine-stained teeth. “Also, our reconquista men and vehicles are providing security for this convoy. The convoy leader would not wish to alienate us over a few dollars one way or the other.”

“When does the convoy leave?” asked Leonard. He felt hollow, almost buoyant, as if he’d downed several strong drinks. This dialogue belonged in a movie, not in Professor George Leonard Fox’s life.

“Midnight Friday,” said Emilio. “Mere hours before the scheduled attack on my home. There will be twenty-three eighteen-wheelers in this convoy, some private vehicles, and, of course, our security vehicles. You and your grandson will ride in one of the large trucks. In the extended cab, of course.”

“Where do I go to find the convoy?” Leonard’s worry was that the rendezvous point would be too deep in East Los Angeles for Val and him to get there on bicycle or foot. Or at least get there alive.

“The old railyards off North Mission Road, just above where the One-oh-One runs into the Ten,” said Emilio. “You can get there easily by taking West Sunset past North Alameda to North Mission Road. There should be no roadblocks or checkpoints until you get to the railyards themselves. I have a letter of transit drafted and signed for you.”

Letter of transit, thought Leonard. He’d never heard that phrase outside of the movie Casablanca. Now Don Emilio Gabriel Fernández y Figueroa was reaching into his desk and drawing out and handing to him such a document. Emilio’s bold signature took up most of the width of the page.

The two men stood and Leonard used both his hands to shake Emilio’s liver-spotted, heavily veined, but still powerful hand. “Thank you, my good friend,” said Leonard. He was terrified and exhilarated and close to weeping.

Emilio called to him before he got to the door. “Your grandson… he will go with you?”

“He’ll go,” Leonard said grimly.

“Good. I doubt if we shall see each other again… at least in this life. Go with God, my dear friend.”

“And you,” said Leonard. “Good luck, Emilio.”

Outside in the hallway, his former guide and Emilio’s son Eduardo were waiting with three armed men.

Val came home early that evening, in time for dinner. As they ate their microwaved meal, Leonard told his grandson of the plan to leave at midnight of the next day. He did not phrase it as an option for the boy.

“I’m told the convoy will take about ten days to get to Denver,” finished Leonard. “You’ll see your father in a week and a half.”

Val looked at him calmly, almost appraisingly. Whatever objection he was going to raise, Leonard had the answer. If necessary, he would take Eduardo Emilio Fernández y Figueroa up on his offer to have two reconquista fighters come to Leonard’s home and carry Val to the midnight rendezvous point.

But surprisingly—amazingly—Val said, “Midnight Friday? A convoy to Denver? That’s a great idea, Leonard. What do we take with us?”

“Just what we can get in two small duffel bags,” replied his astonished grandfather. “And that includes our own food for the trip.”

“Great,” said Val. “I’ll go pack the few clothes I want to take. And a couple of books, I guess. Nothing else.”

Leonard still couldn’t believe it was going to be this simple. “You don’t have to go to school tomorrow,” he said. “And we can’t let anyone know we’re leaving, Val. Someone might try to stop us.”

“Yeah,” said the sixteen-year-old, his eyes slightly unfocused as if he were thinking about something else. “But no, I’ll go to school. I need to clean a few things out of my locker. But I’ll be home by nine tomorrow.”

“No later than nine!” said Leonard. He was afraid of what the boy might be doing with his friends on that final evening.

“No later than nine, Grandpa. I promise.”