Synchro. José Miguel Sánchez Guitian

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      “He was there, in Tijuana”, replied Don, still watching the squirrels scamper on the branches in an endless game of chase.

      “Yes, he told me; he’ll be back tonight. He called me from the car, he’s supervising a move.’

      “Stay and we can eat together; your boy will arrive late. And if you have the time, I can even show you this new toy I acquired today”. He lifted his hand and pulled an imaginary trigger, pointing at a wooden box on the table. “It’s a present”.

      “You haven’t bought me the Smith and Wesson 500, have you?”

      “Just a little something I fancied getting my daughter; it’s got double action, five shots”.

      “Right, it uses the 500 S&W cartridges with 12,7mm bullets, awesome stuff. But, I could totally wreck my shoulders, Dad”.

      “That’s why I want you to try it and get comfortable with it at the shooting gallery. Shall we?” Don nodded at the door.

      Esther checked her Cartier watch; she had a meeting later. The family’s venture capital fund had received an interesting proposal from a company named Synchro; they were looking for finance for a ‘technological drug’. That’s how they had sold her the idea, it sounded interesting.

      “I’ve got a meeting in an hour where someone’s going to present a project for a four hundred million investment”.

      Don seemed unperturbed by the sum and left the room accompanied by his only daughter. A few meters behind, the two Chinese men followed their steps.

      Esther was carrying the heavy box as if it were a briefcase; she calculated that she would have enough time for a quinoa salad and a few shooting rounds in her father’s gallery with the world’s most powerful revolver. Don smiled, he knew his daughter’s weak spot.

      ***

      Juno had his hands on the steering wheel. He had bought the Aston Martin Vulcan three weeks ago on a whim and it still smelled of new leather; Esther herself had chosen the color, smoky grey. Juno and his blonde companion remained within the vehicle’s tinted windows, watching the whole operation from a nearby hill; four armed men surrounded the car.

      The wall rose majestically in front of them. An impenetrable border, almost nine meters high, impossible to overcome. The drones were flying above it, undisturbed.

      “There you go; when they built it, they weren’t thinking of the future. The sky has no borders. They spent millions of dollars and it’s just a monument to vanity and human betrayal… They could have saved many lives with that money. I remember them building it when I was a kid…”

      The drones, loaded with cocaine, overflew the border with complete impunity. Trucks waited on the American side with their upper tarpaulin open; the drones flew just about a mile and unloaded the white powder, then the vehicles drove away to their various destinations in California. A clean and perfect logistic.

      When the last truck left and the drones returned home to Mexico. The same operation every week. The systems of detection of low-level flights made them untraceable.

      Juno made a signal and the four gunmen got into a big black car and left.

      Juno shuddered and started humming a popular folk song:

      ‘In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, there’s a land that’s fair and bright, where the handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every night where all the boxcars are empty, and the sun shines every day on the birds and bees and the cigarette trees the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings… In the Big Rock Candy Mountain…’.

      Ramona lifted her head from between Juno’s legs and sat up. She took a handkerchief to her lips and spit in it.

      Dust rose in clouds as the Vulcan drove off. Far away, with the lights on, a Border Police car drove along the American border.

      ***

      Julián Konks, Anthony Somoza and Carlo Stamas got into the elevator of the Reforma Tower and pressed the button to the fifteenth floor where they would be having their last meeting after two months of negotiations. They were going to meet the main investor who would sign the four hundred million dollars that would finally launch Synchro: Esther Nassar. Julian bit his thumb, gave his hair a tug and pulled his earlobe.

      Half an hour later, in a luxurious room, a group of people in suits watched in disbelief the behavior of the two lawyers that had volunteered for the test. They danced and kissed and rolled on the Council’s table. Esther smiled approvingly at Carlo Stamas; next to him were Anthony Somoza and Julián Konks; the latter was holding the phone with the Synchro app.

      ***

      Álvaro Guzmán stood by the coffee machine at the police station. His eyes were fixed on the dispenser; the coffee came out, but there was no cup. Guzmán punched and then kicked the machine; it swayed dangerously.

      “For fuck’s sake. Nothing works in this place”.

      Cristina Herrera was reading the report on the arrest of Aldo Ríos when she felt the weight of Guzmán’s friendly hand upon her shoulder. She did not need to turn to know it was him, it was something he always did. Six weeks had gone since the morning of her son’s funeral and she was still terrified of going home to his empty room. She had decided she would leave the house and move closer to the sea, to an apartment with a single bedroom.

      On the report, it said that Aldo Ríos was born in Manila and had become a Mexican national at the age of three. It also said that he had a brother, Doncel Ríos, who was missing. The fog crept into the office and grew until its darkness filled the whole place dark. She stopped reading the extradition report and her mind turned to death; she tried to remember her son’s face and failed.

      At the cemetery, the boy did not have a gravestone. The order would still take another couple of days to arrive; it would have the inscription of his name, the dates of birth and death. Cautious steps approached the place where the child rested; their owner looked around, watchful. A pair of large, dark glasses hid the face almost entirely. The figure looked around once more and made sure there was nobody else there. They warned her that it would not be a good idea for her to go; they recommended her to stay away from the place, but that was impossible. At the grave, the figure bent down and left a bouquet of roses on the small mound; ten. One for each year that Lucas had lived, ten.

      2. Ten

      It is a natural number, composite and defective; it is also the basis for counting in many cultures, since it is the result of the sum of all fingers. In Roman numbering, it is presented with an x, in Chinese with a +, and in Mayan with an =. October is the tenth month.

      “I told you that this was the best place for Synchro”. Carlo Stamas stood in the middle of the hangar, hand on his hips. “This is awesome”.

      They were in the interior of a white industrial unit where groups of operators worked without rest conditioning and assembling robotic structures. A high technology center in the making.

      Three operators in white lab coats and gloves, supervised the construction of a track where transport carts would run. All the boxes would be placed in automatized carts that were currently being tested, coming in and out of a door that opened whenever it detected movement. There was little need for human presence СКАЧАТЬ