Chapter 9 - The Quality of the Watch
By August, the rain had stopped entirely, replaced by the high, clear skies of the dry season. The mountains around Querétaro looked like ancient, brown lions sleeping under the sun, their rocky ridges sharp and clean against the blue.
Inside the operational headquarters of the Highway Rescue Unit on Route 57, the atmosphere was busy. Six large, red-and-white rescue trucks were parked in the bays, their hydraulic cutters, spine boards, and heavy winch cables being inspected by a crew of young men in orange jumpsuits.
Gabriel sat in his glass-walled corner office, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he finalized the regional emergency response budget for the next fiscal year.
The door opened, and Arturo Vargas walked in, wearing his full federal uniform, his gold stars glittering on his shoulders. He set a thick, leather folder stamped with the seal of the Federal Judiciary on Gabriel’s desk.
"The final signature came from Mexico City this morning, Captain," Vargas said, sitting down in the metal chair across from him. "The divorce is certified under the fast-track domestic violence clause. The parental rights have been permanently severed. Lorena’s name has been erased from the family register at the central archive."
Gabriel picked up the folder. He didn't look at the certificates; he looked at the small, red stamp at the bottom of the page that read: SOLE CUSTODY - PERMANENT AND NON-APPEALABLE.
"The trust has been completely cleared of her name too," Gabriel said, closing the folder and sliding it into his bottom drawer. "The bank finished the clawback yesterday morning. The twenty-eight thousand pesos she spent at the spa have been recovered from her mother’s secondary property register in Metepec."
"You don't leave anything behind, do you, Mendoza?" Vargas smiled, a note of deep, professional respect in his voice.
"When you leave a remnant on the field, Arturo, it becomes a vector for a secondary infection," Gabriel said, turning his back to the highway map. "I don't like secondary infections."
The radio console on the wall suddenly crackled with a loud, urgent burst of static.
“Base, this is Unit Three. We have a multi-vehicle collision at Km 182 on the Libre highway. One heavy commercial rig overturned, two passenger cars trapped beneath the trailer. We need the heavy extraction gear and a coordinator on scene immediately.”
Gabriel tapped his radio handset. "Unit Three, this is Mendoza. I’m moving with Unit One in two minutes. Get the hydraulic lines ready before I touch the dirt."
He walked out of the office, his heavy boots making a sharp, confident rhythm on the concrete floor of the bay. As he reached the lead rescue truck, he turned to where Thunder sat by the entrance gate, his harness clean, his eyes alert as he watched the young crews scramble toward their vehicles.
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"Stay here, boy," Gabriel said, pressing his hand against the dog’s broad chest. "Watch the house. The kids will be home from school in three hours."
The dog gave a single, deep bark, then sat down flat on the concrete, his nose pointed toward the highway entrance, his posture completely solid, completely unyielding—the ultimate sentinel for the family that had finally learned how to build a wall that no one could break.
