As they reached Sacapulas, Maribel saw that it was bigger than she had first assumed. It was a vibrant little city with new buildings under construction, a modern hospital, a big well-kept grade school, a high school, and even a small television station. She had expected a sleepy little village, but this was actually a growing city with modern conveniences. Buildings were painted in bright colors as was common in Central America.
The entire town was nestled between mountain ridges on what appeared to be a broad flood plain for the Chixoy River. Due to this geography, the town was spread out in a narrow band mostly along the south side of the shallow river. To the west were fields, growing a variety of produce in various states of completion, mostly corn and beans during the rainy season. Another six weeks would bring downpours. She was curious to see how high the river would get during that time.
The streets of the city itself were paved with fitted cobblestones, making the ride bumpy but far better than the mud of the smaller towns. They bustled with cars, tuk-tuks, motorcycles and pedestrians, mostly in good repair. Her vehicle drew stares, but mostly for the tinted glass windows that made people wonder who was inside.
At her request, Luis drove her around town. She saw the modern government office building, the city park across from the big, well maintained Catholic Church. This was the park where the community markets were held on Thursdays, Luis told her. Even now there were people with stalls of fruits and vegetables, she even saw a man with a little wooden pushcart selling ice cream cones. A police officer with the bright yellow swatch across his shoulders walked through the park, his official blue and white pick-up parked across the street.
"Across the river," he said, "there is one of the town soccer fields, and two gas stations. One of them is called the Maria Isabel Gas Station."
"You're joking with me, Luis," Maribel laughed.
"No, no. I would not. It's the truth."
She asked about the hotels, and Luis gave her his opinion of their quality though he had never used them, being from the area.
She tilted her head and raised her brows. "I thought you were from Peru. If you're from here, how did you come to work for my father so far away?" She felt a little foggy, like it was something she should know, but couldn't quite get a grasp on it.
Damn, Luis thought to himself, I have to maintain the cover story. "I was born here and lived here as a child. We ended up in Peru after my father had some trouble here and had to move away with his family. He left everything behind to keep us safe. He never told us any more than that. One of my childhood friends from here and I sometimes still chat online."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories."
"No, it's fine. It's been many years," he lied.
"Would you like a little time off to visit your friend?"
"No, duty first. We're not that close after all this time, we just chat occasionally."
"This is the place," Luis informed her as he pulled the Prado up beside an old wooden warehouse. She would have thought it was the worst building in the city, if she hadn't seen some of the crumbling cement constructions without roofs, long empty and falling in on themselves, that were scattered around the city.
"Not very impressive, is it?" Maribel commented.
"Perhaps, more impressive when the farmers are picking up the yields from processing their corn. They are doing the complete nixtamalization here now. The farmers don't have to buy lime or have someone else do it. Again, the yield seems to be much better than the old processes," Luis countered. "With the new software update, it can even dry freshly picked corn in minutes, nixtamalize it, remove the hulls and grind it into masa all in one step. Or go one step further and produce finished tortillas, ready to eat."
"Yes, they told me the machine is the best new technology out of the United States. Some university research project that is not fully public yet. We are one of the first field trials. They wanted it tested someplace where the press wouldn't notice until they are ready to make their announcement. But don't tell anyone about that, I'm not supposed to tell," Maribel confided conspiratorially.
Luis parked the car and went around to let Maribel out, scanning the area for potential threats as he walked from the driver's side around to the rear passenger door. Maribel took his offered hand and stepped out of the vehicle. She smoothed the wrinkles from her crisp navy-blue pant suit. She wore a turquoise silk blouse beneath the formal jacket, which was buttoned once over her stomach in the fashion of a man's formal suit. It was well-tailored but modestly cut and not form-fitting. At 5 foot five, she was very tall for a woman in Guatemala and about average height for a man. Altogether, she was an impressive figure as she stood in the parking lot.
Two men were walking toward them, smiling, perhaps too much. They seemed nervous, This would be their first time, meeting the boss. She knew her appearance would be intimidating for them, even if she was a woman, or maybe even more so because she was a woman.
"Good morning Francisco, Juan Carlos. I am honored to meet the men who have been running things so well here," she said nodding to each in turn. She recognized them easily from her study of the personnel files. She reached out a hand to shake.
At her words, their smiles grew and were suddenly more genuine rather than forced. They puffed up a little with pride. Francisco shook her hand, then Juan Carlos did the same.
"Welcome, Miss Flores. We are happy to have you visit the facility. It is not much, but we have been making some improvements as we can," Francisco announced. Maribel could tell that he had practiced the words before her arrival. It had the ring of a memorized script. He wanted to make a good impression, she thought. Not so much for himself, as for the whole crew and the work they were doing. She smiled warmly.
"Thank you. I have had only good reports from the two men relaying my instructions while I was busy handling other business." She wanted it made clear that although they had been getting orders from two men via radio and video conference, she was in charge, and those two were subordinate to her. This was her operation. "I plan to take a more active role, going forward. Shall we take a look inside?"
Maribel made a mental note to have the outside of the building made more presentable. Fresh paint, at least, or perhaps some new siding… appearances mattered.
"Yes, of course, right this way," this time it was Juan Carlos who answered. It seemed he did not want to be left out of the conversation or thought to be Francisco's subordinate. They were co-equal after all.
Yes, thank you, Juan Carlos, I would be happy to follow your lead," she said smiling and gesturing for him to show the way.
They walked over to the wooden front door. As he pulled it open, he said, "of course, as you instructed, the door is kept locked from the inside, and only unlocked during the workday. It is guarded 24 hours a day, Manuel is on duty now. Luis, as you know, was one of our guards here until he went to assist you yesterday."
Something in her head had trouble processing this. Luis had been with her since she arrived in Guatemala, and before that he had been with the family in Peru. Luis must have noticed her confusion, he quickly cut in and seemed to give Francisco a sharp look. "Of course, Francisco means to say that they have just received several new guards in the rotation while two of the previous guards have been reassigned. For operational security, names, identities, and other details of security personnel assignments should not be discussed publicly, as per instruction from Mr. Flores."
When she heard the words, 'as per instruction from Mr. Flores' a calm acceptance seemed to fill her mind, she seemed to sense the truth and importance of his words, completely unaware that those specific words triggered what she might call a post-hypnotic suggestion, implanted with her personality imprinting to allow Luis and Carlos, who should be with her whenever she was in public, to correct and hide any inconsistencies that might confound her implanted false memories. Otherwise, a cognitive dissonance might build up, breaking the imprinting or causing a condition mimicking schizophrenia where she began to doubt reality and feel that she was being manipulated and controlled by mysterious forces in her head. Of course, she was being just that, but with her prior permission for the purpose of her undercover work on this mission.
The interior of the Food First facility was as unimpressive as the outside. The experimental processing machine was being manned by two workers, one feeding raw corn cobs onto a conveyor carrying them into the machine, and the other offloading and packing the finished product, currently tortillas. There were shelving and bins for stored raw produce and finished product, each labelled with the name of the farmer who supplied it, or to whom the finished product was owed. Another area was reserved for the 10% share that Food First retained, by contract, for distribution to the target villages.
There was not much to see, but the two supervisors carefully told her about everything. Walking her over to the shelves and showing how everything was organized. They showed her the meticulous record-keeping which detailed exactly what was brought in by whom, how much they paid for the processing, and what they received in return. The yield of the machine was carefully recorded, as she had instructed through her intermediaries so the machine's performance could be tracked. Records of the charitable distributions, each with signed, itemized receipts from the locally designated coordinators for each place. The receipts were carefully compared to the manifests created as each vehicle was loaded to prevent pilferage.
After 50 minutes, 20 minutes too long by her estimation, they had exhausted everything they could tell her about the operation. "Shall we all go to lunch? I'm sure Jacinto and Horado would like a break from their work," Maribel offered gesturing to the two men working the machine. The two men started and glanced at each other as she mentioned them by name.
Francisco appeared a little uncomfortable with the idea, but agreed, as he did not want to upset the boss. He told the two men to wind it down so they could all head to lunch.