The Colombian Rogue

by Matt Herrmann

  “Pshh. Yeah. Get that all the time. The guys at the precinct like to really give me hell about it, but hey, what can I do? It’s a common name. How many other Juan Santiagos do you think there are in Cartagena alone?”

  Cali said she didn’t know.

  “C’mon, guess.”

  “Twenty?”

  The man laughed. “Try two hundred and ninety. I checked the database once. Oh well. Say what you want about him, but I wouldn’t mind meeting the guy if given the chance. He really helped cut our troubles when there were less homeless people on the streets. It’s seeing the kids that really gets me. It’s not their fault they’re born into poverty. Anyway, I’ve held you up too long, señorita. Gotta respond to the call. Real bloody one, by the sound of it. Probably some rival gang member or something.”

  Cali’s heart hiked up her throat as she wondered where Paul had parked. If the policeman spotted Paul’s car parked next to her apartment with blood all over it, her trouble would only just be starting.

  “Well, buena noches,” he said as Cali hopped in front of him and opened the door in such a way that it wouldn’t fall off its hinges.

  “Noches,” she said, and waited out on the porch as the man got into his police car and drove off down the street, his siren whooping again. Soon the flashing of alternating lights disappeared around the corner of a building.

  She jumped as a warm hand fell on her shoulder. On blind instinct, her left arm slashed backward, the bone of her palm connecting with the neck of the person behind her. She drew her right foot just short of the attacker’s crotch as she realized it was only Paul behind her.

  She watched dispassionately as Paul fell sideways into the hall tree and then backward to the ground. He looked up at her with stunned eyes—she had delivered a chop to the carotid artery in such a way that it normally caused the target to black out.

  “What was that for?” he said, barely choking out the words.

  “Get out.”

  “I can’t go back to my apartment. It’s being watched.”

  “You’re not staying here.”

  “And here I thought we made a good team. Your quick talking, my hiding the evidence and cleaning off Schwarz’s paws . . .”

  Schwarz’s head jerked as he heard his name called. Then he saw that it was the man his mistress suddenly didn’t like. He gave a low growl as he placed himself between the threat.

  “I’m not going to let you bring this trouble down on me. I can’t believe I’ve been so blind. You’re the same person you used to be. Always thinking of yourself. A damned rogue.”

  The look on Paul’s face would have been comical had the situation been different. And had Sam not opened Cali’s eyes.

  “I’m being serious,” Paul said. “I can’t go back to my apartment. At least two different people are trying to kill me.”

  “Always excuses. I don’t care about your fucking excuses.”

  Schwarz’s ears flattened behind him; his lips rolled backward away from his white canines.

  Paul looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck.

  “What?” she said. “Not used to being in the doghouse?”

  He looked down again at his bloody clothes. It looked like he had already wiped his face and arms clean—Probably on one of my towels! “Fine. If that’s how you want to play this,” he said.

  “It is.”

  “Then can you please give me a pair of pants and a shirt? And a bag for my bloody clothes?”

  Cali huffed and stormed off into her bedroom, flipping on the light and loudly throwing clothes about. She came back out into the foyer a few minutes later, and Paul changed in the bathroom. Thirty seconds later, he came out holding a plastic shopping bag stuffed full of his own bunched-up clothes. He looked ridiculous in the clothes she had selected for him.

  She had no sympathy for him.

  He looked up at her and tried to meet her eyes, but she wouldn’t let him. She kept looking forward at the door. He dropped his shoulder and turned to leave.

  “And that’s why this will never work,” she said as he stepped out the door.

  He turned back. “I don’t even know what we’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Cali said.

  She could see the vague outline of Paul’s car parked in the shadows alongside the apartment where it was completely hidden from the street. She heard Paul wrench open the car door and slam it shut behind him. As he backed up, she saw that the car was missing the front windshield and the top and trunk were dented in as if something heavy had been dropped on it and scooted backward. The hood was riddled with a curving line of bullet holes.

  “You’re better off without him, honey.”

  Cali turned. It was the kindly lady who lived next door on the first floor.

  Cali didn’t say anything, just blinked at the red taillights turning the opposite way the policeman had gone.

  “Like my mamá always said: You can usually judge a man by what he drives. And that, my dear, is a piece of shit.”

  Cali watched him go. She thought calling him out like that would make her feel better.

  It didn’t.

  FRIDAY

  28

  Rest for the Wicked

  Only when he was finished counting the stars in the sky did Juan close his eyes. This, of course, was after he had pushed his car into a lake. If he was fortunate, it would not be discovered until after he had passed from this life. He hadn’t seemed to have much fortune as of late.

  Maybe curses were real.

  “Still alive,” he said aloud just to hear the sound of a voice. Although he was lying against the sloped ground under a bridge, he found that only a few cars passed by overhead at three in the morning.

  He had walked a few miles from the lake to this spot, a thirty-minute walk from the joint ops center. His plan was to sneak into the building in a few hours before anyone else got there and change out of his Victoria’s Secret sweats and baby doll t-shirt that didn’t even cover his navel.

  He’d be the laughing stock of the police force and team if they saw him wearing such an outfit. Although the pants fit him decently enough with the elastic waistband, the shirt was clearly not made for a man. He had turned it inside out so that the word “Cutie” couldn’t be seen by anyone he passed.

  When he took a step back in his mind’s eye, his situation was more than a little funny, and he even managed to laugh a couple times as if things weren’t so bad. Then he remembered that his money was gone, he was being hunted by killers, Cali hated him, Ricky Serrao was still in the wind, and there was a cult was out there scheming unknown terrors for this world.

  He settled back against the ground and listened to the sound of a creature scuttling near the bottom of the slope. Probably a scorpion.

  His mind just kept replaying Cali’s final words to him. Why had she kicked him out like that? He had thought that things were solid between them. And then she had said . . . What exactly was it? Something about this being over.

  What was over?

  They were just friends.

  Right?

  He’d watched enough American TV sitcoms to understand what she had said. But why? It was like the two of them were on two different pages of two different books. Running a hand through his burnt, dirty hair, he realized he’d have to take a shower at the precinct as well in the morning. It was a hot night, and he’d busted his ass disposing of the car while making sure he wasn’t being followed.

  Not for the last time he checked his gun to make sure the safety was off before setting it by his side where he’d be able to draw it if someone came around the concrete support wall.

  He was in deep.

  It seemed like he was the actor in a bad movie. How many more things could go wrong? Would Aguilar finally draw him into a conference room today and try to strangle him?

  Thinking of Aguilar got Juan thinking about the Vaquero trial later today. Hopefully all would go well so that Aguilar could chill out and g
ive them a break. It was Friday, and if everything went smoothly with the witness, that would be one less thing the team had to worry about.

  Juan had enough to worry about with the mystery person from his past who had knocked him and Boraita out at the safehouse and tossed the fuel-air explosive into the stash house. As much as he thought it over, he still couldn’t figure out who it might have been. Maybe if he could identify the female assassin on the motorcycle, he’d have a lead. Before he sank the car in the lake, he’d wrenched the head from the helmet and determined it wasn’t Anita. Now it lay at the bottom of a lake, so he hoped fingerprints came back from her body. He’d have to check with his police resources in the morning.

  Although the thought of the ELEPHAS cult was not to be ignored, Paul was the main issue occupying Juan’s mind. His brother had attempted to kill him in broad daylight yesterday and wouldn’t stop until his mission was completed. If he somehow succeeded in nonlethally stopping Paul the next time he tried to kill him, how was he going to get his hands on a cure?

  Rockwell promised he’d have answers in a few hours. Juan was counting on the man to be true to his word, because he was out of ideas. If only he’d been able to apprehend Paul back at the nightclub, his current worries would be halved. He’d been so close. If only he’d been quicker. It’d be easier if he knew where Paul was hiding out, but the man seemed to appear from the shadows when he least expected it, or in a disguise. His brother had better training—it was only a matter of time before Paul succeeded.

  Juan breathed deeply, focusing on his breath to ease his frenetic mind.

  For some reason, he thought about Cali’s dog and how he didn’t even know Cali had a dog until he kicked in her door for what turned out to be no reason at all. And it kind of hurt how even the dog was growling at him when he was leaving. What had he done to deserve this? He had gone to her house to make sure she was okay. Because of the texts . . . Which weren’t even hers, because . . .

  Because she had lost her phone.

  And where could she have lost her phone? She probably had it on her when they were called to the scene of his dead accountant and that prostitute who had pepper-sprayed him . . .

  Since Cali hadn’t gone out with the rest of the team, Juan figured she had probably gone to a yoga or CrossFit class in the afternoon. He could check both places today to see if they found her phone. He doubted it would turn up since someone other than Cali had clearly used it last night, but if he did manage to find it, maybe it would earn him back some goodwill with her.

  She’ll probably just accuse me of stealing it, he thought. Oh well. Got to start somewhere.

  At least he had some direction now for the coming day: shower, talk to Rockwell, the Vaquero trial, identify the female assassin, Cali’s cell phone. He set his cell phone alarm to wake him in a couple hours so he could arrive at the joint ops center early but not too early. Then he closed his eyes.

  He must have fallen asleep; the next moment his alarm was going off, and he felt like he had gotten no sleep at all.

  29

  Busy

  He managed to shower and change his clothes before most of the office personnel arrived at the joint ops center. Afterward, he waited, alternating between standing outside Rockwell’s office and sitting in the break room.

  “Uh . . . you alright?” Sanchez asked as he came into the break room for his morning coffee.

  “Yeah. Peachy.”

  “Peachy? What’s that mean?”

  “Means good,” Juan said.

  He stepped outside in the morning sunshine for a few minutes and then waited in the command room. When Cali walked in, he tried to catch her eye, but she walked to the opposite side of the table and looked ahead as Aguilar strode into the room.

  Where the hell is Rockwell? Juan thought as his fingers tapped the table. He said he’d be here early.

  “Today is the day,” Aguilar said. “This has to go flawlessly. Understand? I don’t want any mess-ups. We’ve got the chance to nail a big player today. Focus, focus, focus. A convoy will be escorting the witness to the courtroom in about an hour. Sanchez, Boraita, Agostino, you’re all assigned to the detail. Ramírez, Merin, Echevarría, you’ll all be at the courthouse ensuring everything is secure. Everyone understand their parts?”

  Everyone nodded. This was no time to joke around with their captain.

  “Any other questions?”

  Silence.

  As people started filing out of the room, Aguilar called Juan to the side. “Where is Commanding Officer Rockwell?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Juan said. “I actually hoped you’d know.”

  “Well I don’t.”

  “He didn’t tell you anything?”

  “Nothing. Didn’t even leave a note, and it’s starting to worry me. Rockwell disappearing on today of all days? It can’t be a coincidence.”

  “I’m a little worried myself,” Juan said.

  “I can’t have anything go wrong today. You sure you don’t know anything?”

  “No. You can ask the rest of the team, and they’ll tell you the same thing. What do you think he’s up to?”

  Aguilar clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the ceiling. Juan saw Cali leave the room along with Sam and CG. “Rockwell’s got a record almost as clean as mine.”

  Juan didn’t say anything.

  “Of course, Captain Ramon Roca had an even cleaner record than the two of us combined, and look how he turned out.”

  “We’re only human, sir,” Juan said.

  “I’ve gone through the man’s records. Rockwell hasn’t had an unexcused or questionable absence in ten years. He rarely takes vacation days.”

  “Maybe he’s just got some personal business to take care of. You think he’s in danger?”

  “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m sure Rockwell can take care of himself.” I hope. He better not have tried to go after Paul on his own . . .

  “That’s the thing with you Americans. Men have to know their limits. You Americans seem to think you don’t have a limit until you find that you do. And then it’s too late because you’re lying dead in a gutter.”

  “A harsh examination of life, sir. Want me to try to find him?”

  “I want you and your team to take your assigned position at the courthouse. Now. Is that understood?”

  “Yessir. Wouldn’t want anything to go wrong with the witness.”

  “You’re damn right.”

  They took one car to the courthouse. Sam drove.

  “He was just expressing his concern over Rockwell,” Juan said.

  “As he should be,” CG said. “It’s not normal for Rockwell to disappear like that.”

  Juan yawned. “We’ll look into it when we get back from the courthouse. Who knows, maybe he just slept in late. Maybe he’ll show up.” He didn’t have much hope of that, though.

  The courthouse plaza was already full of reporters and bystanders who wanted to catch a glimpse of the accused drug kingpin who looked like a librarian.

  CG stared out the back window of the car as Sam parked. “Don’t these people have anything better to do?”

  “Guess not. Look alive,” Juan said as he got out.

  With the assistance of several other officers already gathered on the courthouse steps, it took fifteen minutes of careful inspection before they deemed the building safe.

  They had split up for the inspection so when they all met up at the front of the courthouse, Juan approached Cali, raising his hand to say something. He opened his mouth but didn’t say anything when Cali opened hers. Juan shook his head and said, “About last night, there’s something I want to say.”

  “Me too,” Cali said.

  They were far enough off to the side that no one should have been able to hear unless they were purposely trying to hear, which was what CG was trying to do when Sam interrupted them.

  “Convoy’s coming in. Paul?” he said over the comms, even
though they were close enough to shout to each other.

  “Everyone on alert,” Juan said, guessing this was an adequate response. He immediately regretted it, knowing it was what the lead man in every action movie said right before all hell broke loose.

  They watched as the convoy of identical armored SUVs approached the building and came to a stop. Aguilar got out of the lead vehicle and was intercepted by a man in a suit who was waiting for him at the sidewalk. They conversed animatedly for over a minute.

  CG scratched his chin. “Whatcha think they’re talking about? Sports?”

  “Politics,” Juan guessed.

  “The weather,” Cali said.

  They watched a bit longer, and then CG drew in a breath through closed teeth. “Ouch. Look at that. Getting back in his car. What? They’re leaving. The cars are leaving. What’s going on?”

  Juan started down the steps, turning and falling in step with the man in the suit as he returned up the steps. “What’s going on here?”

  “The witness isn’t going on the stand today,” the man said simply, as if that was all the explanation required.

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “The defense has new evidence they’d like to go over today. They asked for a recess, and the judge granted it—probably because the case is so high-visibility right now. Got people in the US, China, and Great Britain watching the proceedings now. Judge can’t afford to make a mistake or seem partisan to either side.”

  Juan looked at the man. Under his fancy suit, he looked young and skinny. “And who are you?”

  “What do you mean who am I? I’m the lead prosecutor’s assistant.”

  Juan stopped and watched the young man climb the courthouse steps, wondering how he was supposed to know who the man was. Why was it that people kept expecting him to be able to read their minds?

  Juan called all the policemen and his team together outside the courthouse doors. “The witness isn’t going on the stand today. Apparently some new evidence came up.”