by Scott McEwen
By the time he emerged from the bathroom, he’d made an important decision: he would follow Billy Jessup’s example and attempt to live a normal life. Maybe he’d move to Thailand. Or maybe he’d stay in Mexico; buy a fishing charter up in Baja. That seemed a relaxing way to live. One thing was sure: he didn’t dare go back to the States.
Hancock grabbed his ruck from the chair and pulled out two unopened bottles of tequila, which he took into the bathroom and poured down the toilet. He dropped the caps into the trash and set the empty bottles on the back of the commode.
He was finished drinking, but he wasn’t finished killing. Chance Vaught was still loose in Toluca, and Vaught could finger him for the Downly hit. If he was going to have any shot at all of leading a normal life, he’d need a clean slate. Otherwise the stress of watching over his shoulder for the FBI would drive him back to the bottle, and he’d eventually end up right back where he’d been the night before: with a gun stuck up under his chin.
52
BERN, SWITZERLAND
16:10 HOURS
Lena Deiss sat across from Sabastian Blickensderfer at his personal table in Bellevue Palace, the most exclusive restaurant-hotel in the city. Still unable to understand what had happened in China, she had drunk nearly three glasses of wine and barely touched her plate.
After rushing her out of the Zhangjiajie hotel, Gil had almost dragged her around back to the parking lot, where he’d delivered her into the arms of three waiting Chinese men, saying only, “Go with them! I’ll meet you in Chongqing.” The men had hidden her in a small van and raced off for the airport. A small plane flew her on to Chongqing, where Nahn had met her to break the news that Gil had crashed off the bridge and was killed.
“He spoke English,” she muttered in the same language.
Blickensderfer looked up from his plate of rippli, a smoked pork loin. “Was hast du gesagt?” What did you say?
“The Vietnamese guide,” she replied in German. “He spoke English. But Gil always spoke to him in Vietnamese.”
“Well, he didn’t want you to know what they were talking about.” He sat chewing. “It’s obvious they were using you as cover for a mission of the CIA. I told you, Lena, Americans cannot be trusted.”
She looked at him. “He saved your life.”
The Swiss banker forked more food into his mouth and kept chewing. “To win your confidence, my love. Are you so blind? And now that he’s dead, we’ll see how long before Herr Pope sends another assassin to my door.”
She didn’t want to believe she’d been used, but what Sabastian was saying made perfect sense.
He sipped his wine. “Are you coming back to me, or was I simply your easiest way out of Thailand?”
She demurred for a moment. “I need time, Sabastian.”
He reached across to touch her hand. “The American gave you an adventure—an adventure I admit I could never have given you—but such adventure could not have lasted. You know that, my love. The man was a runaway train, and a runaway train will always jump the track sooner or later. I’m just grateful he was decent enough to have you spirited out of China before getting himself killed. It might have taken me months to win your release.”
“Not to mention a great deal of money.”
He put down his fork and looked at her. “When have I ever complained about spending money on you?”
“Never,” she said quietly, averting her eyes. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I would have spent whatever it took to get you back.” He picked up his fork and began to eat again. “You’ve embarrassed me, but for me to forgive you is the easiest thing I know how to do.” He paused for a drink of wine, setting down the glass. “By the way, I never got around to canceling our wedding, so . . . well, the plans are still set.”
“If I agree,” she said, “no more dealings with terrorists. I insist.”
“There is no need to insist. The surest way for me to end up dead at the hands of the CIA would be to resume with those affairs. I’ve already been to death’s door once. I have no intention of going back anytime soon.”
They ate in silence over the next couple of minutes.
“There’s something we’ve never spoken of.” He wiped his mouth. “During our time apart, I realized I would like for us to have a child. How do you feel about that?”
She swallowed, the notion slightly appealing. “I’ll consider it.”
During the limousine ride back to his house, he put his hand on her thigh and nuzzled her ear.
Though Lena realized she would never be truly in love with him, Sabastian had always treated her with affection, and she was a woman with needs like anyone else. She put her hand over his and rested her head against his. “Don’t cancel the reservations.”
He kissed her hand. “I’ve missed you.”
I’m sure you have, she thought to herself, heartbroken with the realization that her only chance for true happiness had crashed off a bridge in Hunan, China.
53
MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
18:00 HOURS
The neighborhood around Agent Mike Ortega’s house was mostly untouched by the earthquake, but the damage to the shopping plaza just a few blocks away had been considerable, and electrical power still hadn’t been restored to the area. Even cellular service remained spotty at best.
“You gotta be smooth,” Crosswhite warned Vaught, the two of them sitting in a car just across the street. “This woman won’t be a pushover. I’m sure Ortega’s told her how to keep an eye out for kidnappers.”
“I’ll be smooth enough.” Vaught got out of the car and shut the door, hating why he was there.
A few seconds later, he rang the bell to the Ortega house.
Nancy Ortega came out and stood inside the locked gate. She was tall, a Mexican American with short dark hair. “Can I help you?” she asked in Spanish.
Vaught offered his badge and identification to show he worked for the Diplomatic Security Service. “Mrs. Ortega,” he said in perfect English, “I’m agent Vaught with the DSS. I’m afraid there’s been an emergency involving your husband, Mike.”
She stepped forward and took his identification, examining it carefully. “What kind of emergency?”
“He’s been abducted. We’re not sure by who yet, but I and another agent are here to bring you to a safe location.”
She handed his credentials back to him and took her phone from her back pocket.
“Mrs. Ortega, before you do that—”
She looked up, her gaze fearful.
“It’s not likely you’ll get through to Mike, but if you do, keep in mind we don’t know who might answer his phone. The abduction hasn’t been made public, so you could jeopardize our chances of getting him back. Please take that into consideration.”
Nancy Ortega was in a quandary, holding a wrist to her forehead as she tried to decide the best course of action. “We’re not supposed to leave the house if there’s an emergency. We have security measures built in.”
“I’m aware of that,” he said easily. “But so are the police—and they’ll find a way in. Believe me.”
“The police?” She glanced around warily. “Are you saying he was taken by the police?”
“Nancy,” he said, deciding to make the conversation personal, “Mike was working with us to catch Alice Downly’s killer. We’ve discovered that corrupt police officials were involved—and, yes, that’s who we think took him, but we don’t know for sure. That’s why it’s imperative we get you and your children out of here as soon as possible.”
“But . . .” She glanced at her phone. There was no signal. “But we’re not supposed to leave if anything happens. We’re supposed to lock down the house, and . . .”
“And what?” he asked patiently.
“Wait for help from—from the government,” she said lamely.
“Nancy”—he pointed across the street to Crosswhite and then back to himself—“that’s who we are. I’m sorry we’re not the US Marines, but that kind of rescue would probably cause an international incident.”
She stood biting the inside of her cheek. “I can trust you?”
“Of course,” he said, feeling like shit. He and Crosswhite were taking on a huge responsibility using Ortega’s wife and children as pawns.
“Where will we go?”
“To a safe house in Toluca. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s out of the way. We’re working very closely with the police there.”
“And you trust them?”
“Ninety-nine percent.”
She allowed a thin smile. “I didn’t know any police in this country could be trusted to that degree of certainty.”
Vaught felt even more like shit. “We’ve been working with these men to fight the cartels. They’re very brave and very dedicated.”
“I need some time to get my children ready.”
“Ten minutes,” he said. “No more than that—please.”
“Okay.” She went inside.
Vaught went back over to the car. “She’s getting the kids ready.”
Crosswhite glanced at the rearview mirror. “So she bought it?”
“For now, but if she gets a signal on that phone, she’s gonna call Ortega. I saw it in her eyes.”
“Even after you told her it might get him killed?”
Vaught nodded. “She’s already breaking protocol by leaving with us, and she knows it.”
“Well, this way is better than going in there and taking them against their will.”
“Nothing happens to them,” Vaught said, pointing his finger. “You got that? Nothing!”
“Relax,” Crosswhite said. “They can stay with Paolina and Valencia. I’ll give Pao the same cover story you just gave Ortega’s old lady, and they’ll get along like peas in a pod. The kids can eat pizza and chase around after the puppy.”
“Shit!” Vaught hissed, having second thoughts. “After this, I’m a goddamn kidnapper; for the rest of my life I’m a goddamn kidnapper.”
“Hey, champ! Do you wanna let Serrano get away with having Downly and your whole fuckin’ team blown away? Get in the fuckin’ car, and let’s go.”
Vaught remembered seeing his men rocketed and shot apart before his eyes, and the anger of that day came back in a rush. True, the gringo sniper, the Ruvalcabas, and the crooked cops had all played their part—but the operation itself had been Serrano’s call.
“We’re gonna have to disable her phone,” he said quietly. “We’ve got cellular service in Toluca.”
“I’ll take care of her phone,” Crosswhite said. “Just get ’em in the car, so we can get back. The last thing we need is to run into a narcobloqueo after sundown.” A narcobloqueo was a common type of roadblock set up by narcotics traffickers to create civil panic and disrupt emergency services.
54
TIJUANA, MEXICO
18:30 HOURS
Mariana decided to meet with Clemson Fields in a public gymnasium, where a girls’ volleyball tournament was taking place on two separate courts. Lorena and Tanya, whom she had come to think of as “the twins,” were seated three rows behind her, wearing gaudy, sequin-studded LA ball caps pulled low over their eyes.
Fields came up the stairs to the second tier and took a seat beside her. “I didn’t know you were a sports fan,” he said dryly.
“Really? I’m surprised you didn’t see it in my file. I only played volleyball all through high school and college.”
Noting her self-assured tone, he took a casual glance around to see if they were being watched. There were a few other Americans in the crowd, but they were obviously caught up in the games being played simultaneously down on the floor.
He handed her a slip of paper. “Jessup has been staying at that motel. He sleeps most of the day and goes out around nine. Those are the clubs and bars he likes to hit.”
She folded the paper away into her pocket without looking at it, waiting to hear what else he had to say.
Fields attempted briefly to wait her out but then realized she was intentionally keeping her counsel. “It will take a little time for him to open up to you, but—”
“Oh, do you think so?” she said, taking her eyes off the game. “You mean he won’t just blurt out the sniper’s name and location the second I let him buy me a drink?”
“Do you understand how important this is?” Fields asked, restraining the impulse to raise his voice.
Mariana was beyond tired of being spoken to in the peremptory tone that CIA men took with her. “What I understand is that you think I’m going to fuck this guy for information!”
He turned his head toward the game. “Lower your voice.”
“Or what?”
He looked at her, seeing the defiance. “Do I need to remind you I’m the only one looking out for your interests at the moment—as well as those of your friend Crosswhite?”
“No, you don’t, but how many other operatives do you have lined up to take my place?”
She had him on that point. There was no one else in-country he could use for what he had in mind. If all he was looking for was a woman to fuck Jessup for information, Tijuana was full of hookers who were far better qualified than Mariana. “I’m not a man to trifle with, Mariana. I warn you.”
“I’ll call you when I have something.” She got up to leave.
He took her by the wrist. “I want daily reports.”
She jerked free of his grasp. “I said, I’ll call you when I have something!” With that, she walked to the end of the aisle and disappeared down the stairs.
Watching her leave, Fields pondered her smart mouth, realizing that she must be in contact with Crosswhite, but he couldn’t think of how that accounted for the sass he was getting. She’d been more intimidated by him back in Texas. Something had changed, and he needed to find out what before that something bit him in the ass.
Feeling uneasy, he got up and trudged down the stairs.
The twins followed after him at a safe distance.
They trailed him to a rented car. Catching a taxi, they told the driver to follow the blue sedan. They stopped at a motel a couple of miles from the gymnasium, watching from the backseat as Fields got out and knocked at the door to room 11. A handsome Mexican man answered, and the two stood talking.
“I WASN’T ABLE to find out where she’s staying,” Fields said. “I couldn’t work it into the conversation.”
“I probably should have followed you and tailed her,” the Mexican replied in perfect American English. His name was Villalobos. He was a pipe hitter out of Phoenix, a former marine with three tours in Iraq. “Why couldn’t you work it in?”
“She’s different now.” Fields scanned around for anyone watching. The cab at the curb with two nattering young women in it didn’t register as much more than a blip on his radar. “She’s grown a spine somehow.”
“She’ll be easy enough to reacquire,” Villalobos said. “I’ll keep an eye on Jessup every night. Then tail her back to her hotel after she establishes first contact. Don’t worry. This prissy bitch isn’t gonna fuck him on the first run.”
“She isn’t gonna fuck him at all.”
There was a hint of concern in Villalobos’s eyes. “You’re sure about that?”
Fields nodded. “Initially, I thought I could intimidate her into taking one for the team—Jessup’s not a bad-looking guy—but like I said, she’s different now.”
“This means I’ll have to be creative when the time comes. And I might not have a chance to call you before I make my move.”
“I trust in your powers of improvisation,” Fields said. “That’s why you’re here and not those two clowns from Baja.”
THE TWINS WATCHED a
s the men finished talking. The Mexican stepped back into his room, and Fields returned to his car. Twenty seconds later, he was pulling into the street.
“Do you want me to follow?” the cabby asked. A wolfish-looking fellow in his early thirties, he was staring at them in the rearview mirror.
“We’re getting out here.” Lorena locked eyes with him as she crushed $500 worth of pesos into his hand, easily a month’s salary. “Don Antonio Castañeda is grateful for your service. He always remembers those who help him—and he never forgets those who fuck him!” She gave the drug lord’s name a few moments to sink in before releasing his hand.
The cabby felt his urine turning to ice water as he attempted to push the money back into her hands. “Please, I don’t need your money!”
“Keep it,” she told him, getting out after Tanya. “And remember: you’ve never seen us!”
55
MEXICO CITY, MEXICO
21:15 HOURS
With a quarter of Mexico City’s streets still blocked, it was tough to make good time, especially at night. The city was a huge, sprawling metropolis, and neither Crosswhite nor Vaught made the best navigators.
“Is it just me,” Crosswhite said, “or does every part of town look the same in the dark?”
“Are you lost?” Nancy asked from the backseat, with her children seated on either side of her: a boy of six and a girl of eight.
“More like disoriented,” Crosswhite answered.
“You can get off at the next exit,” she said. “Then cross through Colonia El Mirador.”
Vaught looked over the back of the seat, seeing that Nancy was keeping an eye on her phone, watching for a signal. “How well do you know the city?”
“Pretty well,” she said, thumbing the touch screen. “I take it you’re both new in town?”
“Me more than him,” Vaught said. “He at least lives here.”
