by Lacy, Shay
“I didn’t see anyone at slip 42,” Alfonso said.
“No activity at all,” Charlie agreed. “Keep walking.”
They strolled along five more piers before they hailed a cab.
“What does it mean?” Ricarda asked. “If he called from there, someone should be there.”
“True,” Charlie said.
“If he was watching the pier,” Juliana mused, “he can guess Hessler is either you or Alfonso.”
“Or that I’m not Hessler,” Charlie replied.
Juliana and her cousins looked confused, so Charlie explained. “If he knows what Hessler looks like, and if we’re the only ones who went down that pier, then he knows I’m not Hessler.”
Juliana gripped his arm. Her eyes were wide. “What are we going to do?”
“We’ll set up around that slip. Then at midnight, I’ll arrive with the sculpture, and we’ll capture him.” Charlie knew it was simplistic. Mexican officials probably wouldn’t prosecute Gutierrez. U.S. law enforcement was also constrained. But he couldn’t stop now. He had to go forward.
He instructed the taxi driver to take them to the market. They wandered around for an hour before he felt sure they hadn’t been followed. Then he guided his little group home.
Fifteen people sat around the table for dinner. An expectant hush fell while they ate. They wanted this to be finished. Charlie glanced at Juliana’s beloved face. He didn’t want their time together to be over. Maybe after they caught Gutierrez... Would he have proven himself worthy of happiness then? He had to because being with her again had showed him how empty and lonely his life was. Glamorous California paled beside the vibrant colors with which Juliana filled her life. And the excitement of being surrounded by Hollywood stars and glittering events failed to move him like the shining love in Juliana’s eyes when she looked at him. The same way she’d looked at him for years and he’d taken it for granted. Never again.
At nine-thirty, four of the young Sanchezes left for the pier. They took Charlie’s baseball bat, assorted iron bars, pipes, and lengths of wood with them. The clock ticked the minutes away. The tension in the house was thick and uncomfortable. Felipe played quiet Spanish music on his guitar. It made the waiting a little more bearable.
Hessler’s phone rang, and Charlie nearly jumped out of his skin. He wasn’t the only one. Felipe hit a jarring note.
Charlie looked at the phone, saw Gutierrez’s number and opened it. “Hessler.”
“We both know you are not him.” Gutierrez sounded smug.
Charlie covered the mouthpiece. “He knows.”
“What is your game?” Gutierrez asked.
“Power. The same as yours.”
“It is funny you should say that. I have someone here who wants to speak to you...Mr. Sanchez.”
“Charlie, don’t do what he says!” Alfonso yelled on the other end of the line, his voice trumpeting into the room.
Felipe and Rosita looked stricken.
“You think children can outsmart me?” Gutierrez sneered. “You have one hour to produce the Hunahpu before I kill them. You understand?”
Charlie’s stomach tied in knots. “Yes.”
“Same place. Come alone. Bring the Hunahpu. Leave it and walk away.”
“Yeah, and you’re such a nice guy you’ll let them go.”
“You do not have the power in this negotiation. I do.” A scream of pain nearly shattered Charlie’s eardrum.
Rosita and Felipe clutched one another. The rest of the Sanchezes paled.
Gutierrez continued in a conversational tone, “The little girl just lost a finger. If you do not bring the sculpture, she loses her life and the others, too.”
“Bastard!” Charlie snarled.
“You are out of my league. Do what you are told, and your young friends live.” Gutierrez severed the connection.
“Gutierrez has them.” Anger and fear washed over Charlie in hot and cold waves. God, his fault again.
The Sanchezes gasped, cried, and moaned. Juliana clutched his arm.
“He says he’s going to kill them if I don’t bring the sculpture to him in an hour.”
“Holy Mother of God! Give it to him!” Rosita cried.
“He’ll kill them anyway,” Charlie said.
“If there is a chance . . . ” she cried.
“There isn’t. He’s evil. He glories in other people’s suffering.” He had to stop Gutierrez.
Rosita sobbed, and Felipe tucked her against his chest. He turned to Charlie. “Who screamed?”
“Ricarda. He . . . hurt her.”
Rosita cried out as though she’d suffered the hurt herself.
Felipe’s eyes hardened, making him look more like Captain Sanchez than ever. “Then he must not get away with it. No one hurts a Sanchez without repercussions.”
“I can find Ricarda and the others,” Juliana said into the tense silence. “Their clothes are here.”
“Then do it,” Rosita cried. “I cannot tell their mothers they died.”
“We’ll be going where an unknown number of men are armed and on the alert,” Juliana warned. “It will be very dangerous.”
“Just get me close enough,” Charlie said, “and I’ll take it from there. None of you need risk yourselves further.” He’d get the young people out or die trying.
“We’re going with you,” one cousin said.
Another nodded in agreement. “You need us.”
Charlie shook his head.
“I’m coming, too.” Felipe’s look dared Charlie to argue. “You don’t have to prove yourself alone.”
“No!” Rosita clutched him.
“I have to go, amore. They are my blood.”
Charlie swore he’d bring everyone back alive. He’d been an extra in enough war movies and watched enough hours of film to have at least Hollywood’s version of going up against bad guys. “I have two guns. Anyone else have one and know how to use it? I don’t want to get shot by friendly fire.”
Felipe stood. “I have guns in the cellar.”
“I have a knife and can use that,” one cousin said.
Charlie rose. “Let’s go.”
Juliana gathered cast-off clothing from the four cousins. Charlie armed himself, and had her tape the sculpture to his chest once more. Felipe and the others climbed the stairs from the cellar, tucking guns into waistbands and pockets.
At Charlie’s raised eyebrows, Felipe said simply, “I have not always managed a hotel.”
The cousin’s knife turned out to be a wickedly sharp Bowie knife, ten inches long.
Where had these Sanchezes gotten weapons like this and why? What had Felipe done or been in the past? Charlie didn’t ask for details. This wasn’t the United States; the government here was different.
They piled into two cabs. Charlie sat beside Juliana in the first car. White-faced, she clutched the clothes and called out directions to the driver. The cab turned onto the waterfront and headed for some warehouses, where she told the driver to stop.
They exited, and the taxis drove away. Charlie could just see Pier 80 from where he stood. Everyone huddled in the shadows.
“This warehouse?” Charlie asked, keeping his voice low.
“No. The last one we passed. I didn’t want to stop there.”
“Do you know where they are inside?”
“Toward the back. I need to get closer.”
Charlie didn’t want her any closer, but he needed the hostages’ exact location. “C’mon.”
Their group crept to the warehouse two abreast, making no sound. Juliana led them into the alley between the two buildings. When they were two-thirds of the way to the end of the structure, she halted.
“Here.” Her voice was a wisp of sound.
“How close to this wall?” Charlie asked.
She cocked her head. He could barely see her in the crescent moonlight. “Ten feet?”
“Not close enough.” He led the group around the back of the building, past a door, and r
ounded the next corner.
“They’re closer on the other side,” Juliana whispered.
Charlie stationed Felipe and two cousins at the back entrance. He and Juliana and the rest trouped back to where she’d sensed the captives were closest. There were windows in the wall. Two young cousins boosted a third up.
“I see them,” the slender young man hissed with excitement. He tried the window, then signaled to be let down.
“The window is locked,” the cousin reported. “We could break it, but that would make noise. They’re sitting in a circle with their hands and feet tied.” Anger laced his young voice. “One man is guarding them with a gun.”
“He didn’t see you, did he?” Any second Charlie feared an armed attack.
“No, he was facing away from the window. But Alfonso did.”
“I pray to God he doesn’t give us away,” one cousin said with fervor.
“Let’s go talk to Felipe,” Charlie said.
The cousin reported what he’d seen.
Felipe said, “There are two doors in the front, one of which is a truck door, one in the back, and windows on the side. This door is locked.”
“The front may be locked too.” Charlie looked at his watch. “We’re running out of time.”
“There’s a forklift parked in the field behind us,” the cousin named Estebon said. “If I can get it started, I can operate it.”
“A frontal assault?” Charlie asked. “Ram the front gates?”
“Excellent idea,” Felipe said. “I can shoot the guard through the window.” What was it like to live in a seemingly modern, civilized city and yet know how to defend yourself and the ones you loved like he planned to do?
“We shoot through the windows as we ram the front door. Two people remain at the back door to prevent anyone from escaping,” Charlie summarized.
The Sanchezes nodded.
“I’ll go with Estebon and the forklift,” Charlie said. Juliana looked at him with wide, fearful eyes.
“I’m going in the front,” another cousin, Jose, volunteered.
“Me, too,” offered Lorenzo.
“Estebon, try the forklift,” Charlie ordered.
Time passed. Muffled night sounds floated from the direction of the pier. Louder and closer was someone’s sneaker scuffing a stone. Salt brine tickled Charlie’s nose, along with food smells and sewer gas.
When the engine fired, its growl split the night. Most of their little raiding party jumped. Charlie’s heart thudded in his chest. Estebon raised a fist in triumph, then he put the forklift in gear and headed toward the side alley. The two cousins guarding the back door pulled out their guns and took their position.
The engine echoed loudly in the confined alley. Charlie held his gun ready for trouble. He made sure Juliana was behind him.
They left Felipe, three cousins, and Juliana at the window. Charlie gave her a quick kiss. She gripped his hand hard. Then he, Jose, and Lorenzo ran after the forklift. It moved faster than he’d thought a machine like that could. Before he was ready, the forklift turned the corner around the front.
Under the single weak overhead light, Estebon turned the forklift to face the warehouse. The truck door was a wooden one that rolled up.
Estebon gunned the engine and raced for the door. The forks crashed through the wood with satisfying ease, destroying the majority of the door with a crack that resounded over the water. Charlie followed the forklift through the hole and dived for cover behind a stack of wooden pallets. Jose followed him and tucked in behind Charlie’s back. When the forklift engine shut off, the silence was deafening. There was a pop, and something thudded into the wood to his left. Gutierrez’s men were shooting at them. With his gun ready, Charlie peered into the dimness but saw no one except Estebon crouching behind the two-high stack of crates across from him.
Lorenzo somersaulted through the smashed door. In front of the forklift, one of Gutierrez’s men rose from his hiding position. Charlie fired at him. With a cry of pain the man fell back. Lorenzo slid in beside Estebon.
“We need to get behind them,” Charlie whispered to Jose. The young man nodded. Charlie signaled to Lorenzo and Estebon.
They darted forward to a stack of shipping crates. A gunshot sounded, and wood splintered above their heads. Lorenzo returned fire with two quick shots.
Charlie and Jose scrambled for the next crates in the row. Charlie signaled Lorenzo forward, then took aim so Lorenzo could move.
From the back of the warehouse, gunshots boomed. It didn’t sound like there was return fire. Charlie prayed Felipe’s group had gotten the hostages out of the way. At least Juliana was outside in relative safety.
Charlie’s trio leapfrogged deeper into the warehouse. He heard a cry of pain from the hostages’ location, and his chest tightened. Please, God, not a Sanchez!
A shape appeared from behind a stack of crates to his left. Charlie couldn’t turn in time! Suddenly Jose pointed his gun over Charlie’s shoulder and fired. The man fell backward out of sight.
“Thanks,” Charlie breathed.
“No problem, cousin.” Jose’s smile flashed white in the darkness.
They scrambled forward to find a man clutching his chest. Even as they watched, his arms and hands relaxed and his eyes closed.
Silence echoed in the warehouse. Charlie waited with his gun ready. Across the open space, Lorenzo raised his hands in a questioning gesture. Cautiously, the four of them rose. Charlie saw no movement. He pressed forward, the three cousins beside him. They met no resistance, so they kept moving. A dark head appeared around a stack of crates. Their guns aimed toward it, but a hand waved at them, and Alfonso appeared from the dimness.
“Are we secured?” he whispered.
“Don’t know yet,” Charlie replied.
Felipe appeared behind Alfonso with a group of dark-haired cousins, including the hostages. “We got two of their guys.”
“We did, too,” Charlie said. He jittered. He didn’t like being here. “Got everybody?”
“Yes. We came in through the back door, so no one’s left guarding it.” Felipe’s gaze darted around the warehouse. “Let’s get out of here.”
They turned toward the front.
“Sanchez!” Gutierrez’s voice boomed. “I want the Hunahpu.” A man appeared in the wrecked warehouse doorway under the light. He had an arm wrapped around Juliana’s throat, with a gun pointed at her head.
Shit, not Juliana! Not the woman Charlie loved.
CHAPTER 22
Juliana strained at Gutierrez’s hold around her neck. She’d been so stupid to openly peer into the warehouse because she was worried about Charlie. Now Gutierrez would hurt both of them, because of her. She’d just regained the love and light of her life, and Gutierrez intended to take that away.
No! This time she’d defy fate. She wanted more time with Charlie. She struggled against Gutierrez.
Felipe and her cousins aimed their guns at Gutierrez, at her. Their faces looked strained.
Charlie aimed at Gutierrez’s forehead. “Let her go.”
“A bunch of amateurs cannot defeat me. I’ll kill her.” He jammed the gun painfully into the side of her head.
She needed Charlie to know how she felt, before it was too late. “I love you, Charlie.”
Charlie’s eyes gleamed. He advanced on them, still aiming at Gutierrez. “You harm her, and you’re dead. I have no compunction about killing you.”
“You are weak. All of you. And I am strong. I hold a power base you cannot even dream of.”
“I hold the Hunahpu with hundreds of years of power,” Charlie said. “A power that belongs to me now.”
“No!” Gutierrez snarled. “It is mine.” His gun swung toward Charlie.
No! She wouldn’t let him hurt Charlie. Juliana threw all her weight against Gutierrez’s arm. The gun discharged, the boom deafening in her ear. She tore herself out of Gutierrez’s grip, her momentum turning her 360 degrees. There were a dozen return shots from her co
usins, the noise thunderous in the warehouse.
Charlie clutched his chest and fell backward.
“Charlie!” Juliana screamed. God, no! She lurched toward him.
Felipe and her cousins ran toward her through the haze of gun smoke, but she had eyes only for one man. She fell to her knees by Charlie. There was a small round hole in his T-shirt.
“Charlie, please don’t die! I love you. Please!” She tore at his shirt. Her cousins knelt around Charlie, their faces creased with worry. She heard Felipe moving behind her, by Gutierrez.
There was no blood. Her desperate fingers searched around the sculpture’s edges. Where had the bullet entered?
“The sculpture stopped the bullet,” Alfonso said, sounding awed. His hand snaked past Juliana’s to touch the sculpture, now clearly cracked.
Metal reflected the light. Juliana’s shaking hands touched the hot bit where it lodged in the sculpture. Her seeking hands found unbroken skin underneath. “Thank God.”
Charlie groaned. “What hit me, the forklift?” He rubbed his chest and slowly sat up. “This damn thing.”
“That damn thing saved your life.” Her voice quavered.
The cousins laughed nervously.
“It stopped the bullet,” Alfonso said.
Juliana and her cousins pulled Charlie to his feet. He staggered to Gutierrez’s body. “Is he dead?”
“Yes,” Felipe confirmed with savage satisfaction, rising from the body.
“Bastard,” Ricarda spat. The hand she gripped to her chest had a strip of colored cloth torn from the bottom of her shirt wrapped around it.
“Who killed him?” Charlie asked.
“Does it matter?” Felipe asked. “He’s dead.”
“I don’t want any of you to get in trouble.”
“And you want it to be you,” Juliana guessed.
Charlie nodded, his face expressionless. “Yeah.”
“The Hunahpu killed him. That and his greed for it. Give me the sculpture.” Felipe held out his hands.
Charlie ripped the two chunks from the tape and handed them over.
Felipe held them overhead and hurled them to the cement floor where they smashed into pieces. His smile was viciously satisfied. “No one else will have to die for this thing. We’d better move. Someone had to have reported gunfire by now.”
