The phone rang a second time.
'Whoever it is can wait to talk to you,' Buchanan said. 'In fact, why don't we talk to him in person? Let's go back to Castle Hills.'
10
On his tilted mattress in the rear of the van, Duncan Bradley kept watch on the television screen that showed the magnified area in front of the Mendez house two blocks away. Simultaneously he listened to his earphones, although the audio transmissions from the target area had stopped thirty minutes ago, shortly after the man who called himself Jeff Walker had been forced from the Mendez house. The wife had argued with the husband about what he had done, about how the stranger might have been able to help find their daughter. The husband had told her to shut up, that the stranger was obviously no different than the other imposters who had asked about Juana. They'd gone to bed in sullen silence.
While he listened, Duncan kept trying to telephone his partner. Twice now, he'd let the phone ring ten times before canceling the attempted call. Tucker's failure to answer troubled him. Granted, there might be a reasonable, non-threatening explanation. Tucker might have followed Jeff Walker into a hotel, for example. But Duncan's unease prompted him to pick up the cellular phone yet again and press the button that would automatically dial Tucker's number.
He never had a chance to press the number, however, because movement attracted his gaze toward the second television and green-tinted, night-vision images of what was going on behind the van. The movement he'd seen was Tucker's Jeep Cherokee stopping behind him. The jeep's headlights went off. Duncan exhaled. Something must have gone wrong with Tucker's car phone. That was why he'd come back to tell him in person what he'd learned about Jeff Walker.
As the monitor showed Tucker getting out of his jeep and approaching the rear door of the van, Duncan raised himself off the mattress, crawled on his hands and knees toward the back, heard Tucker's knock, and opened the door.
'What happened to your phone? I've been trying to-' Duncan's throat clamped shut. His mouth hung open in stunned surprise as he saw a man next to Tucker. The man must have been hiding in the jeep. The man was Jeff Walker.
The man had a gun.
Oh, shit, Duncan thought.
11
The persistent ringing of the doorbell made Pedro Mendez angry.
For a lot of reasons. Worry about his daughter, confusion about Jeff Walker, and apprehension about the microphone in the bathroom's light-switch socket had made him so restless that it seemed he would never get to sleep. What was Jeff Walker going to tell him when they met at the garage tomorrow morning? Tense, Pedro had squirmed beneath the covers until at last, impossibly, mercifully, he'd somehow managed to doze, and now somebody was pushing that damned doorbell.
'Anita, stay in bed,' he ordered as he fumbled to his feet, put on a housecoat and slippers, grabbed a baseball bat from the closet, and stormed downstairs. Through the front door's window, he saw the shadow of a man on the murky porch. By God, if this was someone else looking for his daughter, Pedro intended to make very sure that the man explained what was going on.
But when Pedro turned on the porch light, his determination wavered when he saw that the man was Jeff Walker, who gestured impatiently for Pedro to unlock and open the door.
Pedro obeyed to a certain extent, making sure that when he inched the door open, he didn't release the security chain. 'What do you-?'
'Hurry. I have to show you something.' Jeff Walker pointed urgently toward the street.
Staring past him toward the darkness, Pedro noticed a small van at the curb. 'What are you doing here at-?'
'Please,' Jeff Walker said. 'It's about Juana. It's important.'
Pedro hesitated. But only for a moment. There was something about Jeff Walker that insisted on being trusted. Compelled, Pedro stifled his misgivings and opened the door.
Jeff Walker was already off the porch, moving quickly toward the van.
Pedro ran to catch up to him. 'What do you want to show me? Whose van is-?'
For the third time, Pedro was interrupted, this time because Jeff Walker opened the back of the van and turned on a flashlight.
Two men. naked, their hands tied behind them by their shirt sleeves, their ankles tied by their pant legs, their mouths stuffed with their underwear. lay on the floor of the van. They were lashed together by their belts. When the light revealed them, they squirmed.
'I know it's hard to be sure under these conditions,' Jeff Walker said, 'but are these two of the men who came to your house and asked about Juana?'
Pedro took the flashlight and stepped closer, aiming the beam from one face to the other. 'Yes. How did-?'
'They've been watching your house,' Jeff Walker said.
Pedro aimed the flashlight beam toward shelves of electronic equipment along the right side of the van. A television monitor showed a green-tinted, magnified image of the area in front of his house. Several tape recorders were linked to audio receivers. So it wasn't only one microphone that had been planted in the house, Pedro thought in dismay. The whole house must be. His knees felt weak. The pavement seemed to tilt.
Jeff Walker removed the gag from one of the men. 'Who else was working with you? Where do I find him?'
The man had trouble speaking, his mouth dry from the absorbent cloth that had been taken from his mouth.
Pedro flinched as Jeff Walker shoved a pistol against the man's testicles and asked, 'Who was the third man who came to Pedro's house?'
But as unnerved as Pedro felt, he leaned closer, desperate to learn everything he could.
'Somebody. somebody working for us part-time. We only used him one day. He went back to.' The man seemed to realize he was saying too much and shut up.
'Back to where?' Jeff Walker asked. When he didn't get an answer, he sighed. 'I don't believe you are taking me seriously.' He shoved the underwear back into the man's mouth, took a pair of pliers from an open tool case, and yanked out a clump of pubic hair.
The man screamed silently, tears welling from his eyes.
Pedro was shocked. At the same time, he was so afraid for Juana that a part of him wanted impatiently to grab the prisoner's head and bang it against the van's floor, anything to get answers.
Jeff Walker pivoted toward the second man, removed the underwear that gagged him, and sounded very reasonable when he said, 'Now I'm sure you wouldn't want that to happen to you. After I plucked every inch of your hair, I'd use some of Pedro's matches to singe the stubble. By the time I was through, your groin would look like the neck on a well-done turkey. But I've never liked the neck. I always.' He made a cutting motion as if he had a knife.
The first man continued to thrash in pain.
'Where did your part-time employee go back to?' Jeff Walker asked. 'Your accent isn't Texan. Where's home base for you?'
Jeff Walker brought the pliers toward the man's groin.
'Philadelphia,' the man blurted.
'You're watching this house to find Juana Mendez. Why?'
Yes, Pedro thought. Why?
The man didn't answer.
'Pedro, go get your matches.'
Pedro's angry resolve surprised him. He turned toward the house.
'Wait,' the man blurted. 'I don't know. That's the truth. I really don't. We were told to watch for her, to learn where she was.'
'And if you saw her? If you found out where she was?' Jeff Walker demanded.
Pedro listened intently.
The man gave no response.
'You're disappointing me,' Jeff Walker said. 'You need a reminder.' He leaned toward the first man and used the pliers to yank out more pubic hair.
Pedro suddenly began to appreciate Jeff Walker's tactic, realizing that the pain Jeff Walker inflicted on these men wasn't physical but psychological.
The first man thrashed, his tear-streaked face contorted by another silent scream. Since the two men were lashed together, every time the first man jerked, the second man was jolted.
'Care to try again?' Jeff Walker asked th
e second man, whose eyes bulged with fear. 'What were you supposed to do if you saw Juana or found out where she was?'
'Phone the people who hired us.'
'Who are they?'
'I don't know.'
'You don't know why they want her. You don't know who they are. It seems to me there's an awful lot you don't know. And it's making me angry.' Jeff Walker pinched his pliers into the skin of the second man's groin.
'No,' the second man pleaded.
'Who hired you?'
'They used an intermediary. I never had a name.'
'But you know how to get in touch with them.'
'On the phone.'
'What's the number?'
'It's programmed into.' The second man pointed his chin toward a cellular telephone on the floor of the van. 'All I had to do was press the recall button, number eight, and send.'
'Do they know I came to the house?'
'Yes.'
'What's your check-in code.'
'Yellow Rose.'
Jeff Walker picked up the phone. 'I hope for your sake that you're telling the truth.' He pressed the three buttons as instructed, placed the phone against his ear, and waited for someone to answer.
It took less than half a ring. Pedro was close enough to the phone to hear a seductive male voice say, 'Brotherly Love Escort Service.'
What Pedro heard next astonished him. Jeff Walker mimicked the second man's voice.
12
'This is Yellow Rose,' Buchanan said into the phone. 'That guy who came to the Mendez house tonight still worries me. Have you got anything more on him?'
The male voice lost its smoothness. 'Just what I told you. His name isn't Jeff Walker. It's Brendan Buchanan. He rented the Taurus in New Orleans, and. Wait a minute. Something's coming in on another line.' The connection was interrupted.
Buchanan waited, disturbed that these people had been able to learn his real name so fast.
The connection abruptly resumed, the voice strained. 'It's a good thing you called. Be careful. Our computer man found out that Brendan Buchanan is a captain in Army Special Operations, an instructor at Fort Bragg.'
Damn it, Buchanan thought.
'So I was right to be worried,' Buchanan said. 'Thanks for the warning. We'll be careful.'
Troubled, Buchanan pressed the END button. Throughout the call, the number he'd contacted had been shown on a display at the top of the phone. Now he took a pad and pencil from the floor of the van, printed the number, tore off the sheet of paper, and put it in a shirt pocket.
He studied the second man, deciding what further questions to ask, when suddenly he heard approaching footsteps. Whirling, he saw Anita Mendez crossing the lawn toward the van. She wore a housecoat. Her face was contorted with worry, puzzlement, and fear.
'Anita,' Pedro said, 'go back in the house.'
'I will not. This is about Juana. I'm sure of it. I want to know what it is.'
As she rounded the back of the van, she stopped abruptly, startled to see the naked, bound men. 'Madre de Dios.'
'These men can help us find Juana,' Pedro said. 'This is necessary. Go back to the house.'
Anita glared. 'I'm staying.'
Fatigue made Buchanan's headache worsen. 'Does Juana have an office here in town?'
The interruption made Anita and Pedro look at him.
'Yes,' Anita said. 'At her home. Although she is seldom there.'
'I don't have time to wait until morning,' Buchanan said. 'Can you take me there now?'
Pedro frowned. 'You think she is at her home? You think she is hurt and.'
'No,' Buchanan said. 'But maybe her office records can tell me why someone in Philadelphia wants to find her.'
Anita started toward the house. 'I'll get dressed and take you.'
'We both will,' Pedro said, hurrying after her.
At once Buchanan turned to the second man where he lay bound on the floor of the van. 'If Juana's home is in town, you must have other sentries watching the place.'
The man didn't answer.
'The easy way or the hard way.' Buchanan showed him the pliers.
'Yes, another team,' the man said.
'How many men?'
'Two. The same as here.'
'They alternate shifts?'
'Yes.'
The tactic was flawed, Buchanan knew. Thorough surveillance wasn't possible if only one man at a time watched a target site. Suppose Juana showed up. The spotter would phone for help. But how could the spotter be sure that a team would arrive in time to trap her?
As Buchanan brooded, the shadow of a long object secured horizontally to the van's left wall attracted his attention. He shifted the flashlight's beam to see what it was.
His stomach felt cold. Seeing the object made him realize that the surveillance tactic did make sense. In an efficient, deadly way.
The object on the wall was a sniper's rifle equipped with a state-of-the-art, night-vision, telescopic sight. The intent of the surveillance wasn't to capture Juana. It was to kill her the minute she was spotted.
13
Juana's home was in the hills south of the city, along the western bank of the San Antonio River. They took forty-five minutes to get there, Pedro driving the van while Buchanan sat in back and guarded the captives, Anita following in the Jeep Cherokee. En route, Buchanan used the pliers again, forcing the first man to give him the telephone number that would put him in touch with the sniper who watched Juana's home.
The telephone barely made a noise before a man's gravelly voice answered, 'Yellow Rose Two.'
'It's Frank,' Buchanan said. Trained to mimic voices, he made himself sound like the first man. 'Anything doing?'
'Quiet as hell. No sign of movement here for the past two weeks. I think we're wasting our time.'
'But at least we're being paid to waste it,' Buchanan said. 'I'm going to stay with Duncan and watch the Mendez place. Meantime, I thought I'd better tell you I'm sending a guy out there in my jeep.
That's how you'll know he belongs. He's going to pick the front lock and go in to check a few things we're beginning to think we missed, especially some stuff in her files.'
'I'm not sure that's a good idea. If she's watching the house, debating whether to go in, she'll get spooked if she sees anybody.'
'I agree. The thing is, it's not like I have a choice. This wasn't my idea. These are orders.'
'Fucking typical,' the sniper said. 'They pay us to do a job, but they won't let us do it properly.'
'Just let the guy I'm sending do his job when he shows up,' Buchanan said.
'No sweat. Be seeing you.'
Sooner than you expect, Buchanan thought as he broke the connection.
14
A little after one in the morning, Pedro warned Buchanan that they were about a mile from Juana's home.
'Close enough. Stop right here,' Buchanan said.
After Anita pulled up behind them, he got out of the van, told Anita to wait with Pedro, and drove Tucker's Jeep Cherokee over a murky rise, proceeding the rest of the way along a winding, partially wooded road. His headlights revealed mist drifting in from the river. They also showed new streets and the start of construction on houses for a new subdivision.
Juana won't like that.
What you mean is, you pray to God that she's still alive so she'll be able not to like it.
Pedro and Anita had described the house, which for the present was one of a very few along the river, so Buchanan had no trouble finding it. Wooden and single-story, on stilts in case of flooding, it reminded him more of a cabin than a house as he passed a cottonwood tree and stopped in the gravel driveway. Quaint, rustic. If Juana's dog had still been alive, Buchanan imagined how much Juana would have enjoyed running with it along the river. had still been alive.
Man, you sure are thinking about death a lot.
You bet, with a sniper watching me from God knows where.
Buchanan's back felt tense as he opened the screened porch and approached th
e main door. With the mist coming in from the river, the sniper might not have been able to recognize the car whose headlights had veered toward the house. What if he came down to investigate?
Play the scenario you described to him, Buchanan thought.
He picked the two dead-bolt locks and entered, smelling the must of a building that had not been occupied for quite a while. Feeling vulnerable even in the darkness, he shut the door, locked it, felt along the wall, and found a light switch. A lamp came on, revealing a living room that had a bookshelf, a television, a VCR, and stereo equipment, but very little furniture, just a leather sofa, a coffee table, and a rocking chair. Obviously Juana hadn't spent much time here. Otherwise, she would have paid more attention to its furnishings. Also, few furnishings suggested that she seldom had company.
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