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Chad met Sánchez at the gate. It had taken him forty-five minutes, but the instant he spotted Chad, he held aloft an envelope proudly.
“Excellent! Come with me. I’ll show you what’s going down.” Chad led him through the gate and the back door of the run-down hangar. Red brick placed around gray concrete beams. The high roof was a graceful semicircle of rust-pocked sheet metal, marred further by the missing windows here and there in the panels under the eave. The rear door might have once been blue-painted steel, but now it was rust red shreds of flake.
They stepped across the threshold and Sánchez stumbled to a halt.
“You said a couple.”
“Nah, buddy. I said some, but let’s not quibble.”
Three hundred and seven guys were lined up in chains of fifty—literally. They were bound hand a
