The Traitor

by Jo Robertson

  She'd made it clear that Santos wouldn't talk to her unless he was certain he couldn't be overheard. Or recorded. She carried her cell phone ready to speed-dial for help, and although she didn't feel completely safe, she wasn't really concerned that Santos would harm her.

  Killing an ADA was an audacious, but stupid move, and Santos was too crafty to let emotion rule him. She was relying on that. In fact, she suspected that it'd been Santos who'd kept Diego Vargas in check these last few years.

  Anyway, El Diablo, as she'd heard Santos called, had made the contact this time.

  At this hour of the day, the area was lively with bikers and dog walkers, and Bella waited at the place Santos had designated. She heard him before she saw his bulk looming through the shadows of the trees, even though he trod carefully. She guessed he didn't want to startle her.

  As he approached, he searched the area around them with those fathomless black pits. He reminded her of the gigantes y cabezudos of the Spanish festivals of her childhood. His face had the same wooden features of the papier-mâché figures as he patted her down, careful not to touch her intimately.

  Afterward, he began without preliminary. "I have decided to tell you everything that you want to know."

  Her surprise must have shown. "What caused you to change your mind?"

  His pause was so long, she thought at first that he might not answer.

  "I have been with Diego Vargas since I was a young man," he explained, "over twenty years."

  At the word twenty, she jerked involuntarily, telling herself the years meant nothing. Santos worked for Vargas twenty years; her sister had been missing twenty years. It was nothing but coincidence, nothing but an agony of decades for her and her family. And for Santos? She didn't know.

  Bella shifted her stance, looked away. "So? What do you want me to say? That you've worked for an animal like Diego Vargas for enough years that you've become an animal, too?" She hadn't intended to vomit up the pain so caustically.

  A faint smile carved his beautifully damaged mouth, but he said nothing.

  "I've drafted a deal. Are you ready to look at it?" she asked sharply.

  After a long silence, he said, apropos of nothing, "I have a picture. You look very like her."

  Bella trembled and covered her mouth to keep from crying out. She didn't pretend not to understand and was furious about the possibility that a man like Santos had a picture of her beloved sister.

  Silently she held out her hand while he reached inside his pocket and placed a snapshot carefully in the center of her palm, closing her fingers over the worn edges.

  She peered at the photo, not really able to make out the features. Perhaps it was a picture of Maria. Or it could be her mind playing tricks on her.

  "How did you get this?" she demanded.

  "I will tell you that later," he said, "after our agreement is complete. I can tell you what happened to her. I imagine that information would be very valuable to you."

  "I can't bargain with you for personal reasons," she answered even as her fingernails dug into her palms and the beginning of a plan scurried through her mind.

  "But you can bargain with me to get El Vaquero. Consider the information about Maria a bonus. And perhaps you will feel generous enough to give me a bonus in return during your negotiations."

  She knew he spoke the truth when he mentioned her sister's name. "You bastard," she whispered as he retrieved the photo from her lifeless fingers.

  "Yes," he said, "that is true, for my father never married my mother. Think about what I can give you. Not only Diego Vargas but ... "

  He spread his hands in an old-world gesture and smiled with those beautiful white teeth, but the look in his eyes reminded her of a snake ready to strike.

  #

  "Uncle Santos?" The voice over the cell phone was small, quiet, and sounded very, very young and frightened.

  Santos was shocked to hear Cory's voice on his cell number because only Diego and a few close advisors contacted him by this means. "Ay, Cory, mi pequena muchacha querida. ¿Cómo estás?"

  "Okay, I guess." She sniffled. She had been weeping.

  "How did you get this number, little one?"

  "I have Papa's phone," she whispered. He could imagine the small girl, slender and dark like her mother, hunched over the phone, fighting back tears she could not quite control.

  "Where is your papa?"

  "He's sleeping. He snores real loud." She paused and then rushed on in a tumble of words. "Uncle Santos, he's been drinking ... a lot."

  "Where is he, Cory?" he repeated.

  "He ... he's in my bed," she sobbed, "and I can't go to sleep because he's so loud."

  A rage wholly unfamiliar to Santos squeezed his chest. Rage mixed with a helplessness also alien to him strangled his breathing. Pinche cabrón, he ranted silently as he had many times before about his boss.

  But this time, he vowed silently, the pig would be stopped.

  #

  Rafe followed the directions Max had given him to the house in South Highland Heights.

  Max greeted him at the door of a ramshackle stucco dwelling whose lawn needed mowing and whose trim needed painting. "So, the Vargas case is a mess, huh? Good thing I'm here to solve it for you."

  "Yeah, man, I could use a fresh set of eyes." Rafe looked around the porch landing at the general air of neglect and lifted his eyebrows in inquiry. He knew Max was a neat freak.

  "Uh, listen, this is my grandma's place. She's in a nursing home, but her only son, my Uncle Brian, hasn't gotten around to selling the house yet. He's letting me bunk here for a while in exchange for keeping an eye on the place."

  "Sounds great. I'm in that lousy extended-stay motel."

  "Hey, Hashish, why don't you grab your stuff and stay with me? It'll be great, just like old times at Stanford."

  Rafe hesitated, wanting to spend time with Isabella, but wondering if they'd complicated matters by moving their relationship up a notch. On the other hand, maybe distance would be good until the case settled.

  He wasn't ready to share his feelings about her with anyone just yet. Even with his best friend.

  And, on top of everything, at the far back of his mind, that little warning jiggled. "Hell, why not?" he finally answered.

  He left Isabella a voice message, giving her details of where he'd be, explained that his old friend needed him, and he'd contact her after she sealed the deal with the informant. Caution made him leave out Gabriel Santos' name.

  This would buy him time, he told himself. He'd know when he looked Max directly in the eye. His old friend couldn't lie straight to his face and get away with it.

  But the cold suspicion that maybe he'd been betrayed chilled his heart.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Very early the next morning the second meet with Santos took place in Bella's office at the courthouse. She hadn't seen Rafe since yesterday, but he'd left a cryptic voice message. She'd deal with that after she solidified the negotiation with Santos.

  John Sanderson, who normally filled the desk clerk duties, had taken temporary command of the sheriff's office since neither Slater nor Harris had recovered sufficiently to resume his duties. Sanderson arranged for extra guards to be assigned at all the courthouse entrances.

  After Santos had been patted down, carefully searched for weapons, and secretly admitted through a side entrance, he was led past the metal detectors to the stairs leading to Bella's office on the second floor. She was determined no one would know about the clandestine meeting with Diego Vargas' second in command.

  Two armed guards stood at attention outside her office along with Sanderson. His bald head gleamed wetly in the overhead lights while his ebony face reflected his disapproval of Santos' presence in his precinct.

  After the formalities, the two attorneys measured one another across the expanse of Bella's desk. She retrieved a sheet of paper from a military green file folder and slid it carefully across the desk. Santos relaxed in the comfortable a
rm chair as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  He narrowed his eyes and reached for the paper, never looking down, but piercing her with a sharp, cunning appraisal. "What is this?" he asked.

  "The terms of your plea bargain agreement." Bella leaned back in her desk chair, her elbows on the arm rests, her fingertips bouncing lightly against one another. She had taken the death penalty off the table.

  Like yesterday, she was oddly lacking in fear around Santos, even though a general air of malevolence hung around him like a carnivorous bird of prey. She'd recovered from the shock of seeing Maria's photo, and today she felt in control. She recognized the last rolling momentum of the case against Diego Vargas and knew it would lead to a triumphant end.

  Santos would not refuse the deal.

  She didn't know why she was so certain of this. Perhaps it was the pallor that showed beneath his dark skin or the erratic drumming of his long fingers on the desk that made her sure.

  Something had tipped the scales in her favor and Santos was ready to cut a deal. He had made the first overture. He had shown her the photo.

  When she'd called him this morning, she had detected an unfamiliar air of resignation in his voice.

  "ADA Torres." His gravelly, formal voice had wafted over the phone line. "Verdad. I had just intended to call you."

  "Really?" Bella forced coolness into her voice, desperately wanting to maintain control. "I'm glad to have saved you the trouble, Mr. Santos."

  His deep rumble over the phone line sent chills down her spine and reminded her of Rafe's warning that she was dealing with a dangerous animal. To her surprise Santos had readily acquiesced to joining her here, on her home ground, instead of his own territory. She wondered briefly what story he'd spun for Diego Vargas, or if he'd kept the clandestine appointment a secret from everyone.

  "He thinks I am conferring with some of our associates," Santos offered as if he had read her mind. "Import associates."

  She didn't pretend not to understand the tacit admission of drug dealing. Or that he kept secrets from Diego Vargas. "That was judicious of you."

  Santos barked out a sound that was a cross between mirth and menace. "Ay, I am a wise man."

  She nodded and waited for him to pick up the paper lying on the desk in front of him. When he did, he read the document with what seemed deliberate languor.

  "And since I am a wise man," he continued, "not given to foolish bargains, tell me, Ms. Torres, why should I consider this offer?" He dropped the paper and waved a negligent hand over it, conveying the paltry insignificance of her carefully-constructed agreement.

  So he wanted to play games first? Bella tightened her lips. "It's a good deal. You should consider it."

  Plea bargaining on felony charges was a tricky negotiation at best, much like bartering in an Egyptian bazaar. She made an offer, he countered, and they parried and thrust until they came to mutual agreement.

  He surprised her with his next words. "A good deal, but not an excellent one."

  She allowed a modicum of impatience to show in her expression. "Mr. Santos, if my office brings charges against you, they will likely be multiple counts of murder, conspiracy, and drug trafficking, not to mention kidnapping and human trafficking."

  "Charges you cannot prove," he countered.

  "Maybe, maybe not." She waffled her fingers in a so-so gesture. "But I think you want something more than exoneration from the charges."

  She leaned forward across the desk and lowered her voice, navigating solely on instinct. "I think Diego Vargas is out of control and you'd like to rein him back into the parameters of sanity."

  "Bueno, for one so young, you are very sure of yourself, but Diego is El Vaquero. I am merely his lieutenant."

  "I doubt you have ever been merely anything."

  He nodded in acknowledgement of the veiled compliment.

  Bella pushed back from the desk and swung her legs around to the side before rising. She turned her back to Santos and gazed out the wide expanse of her office window to the courthouse lawn below. She would not be the first to mention the picture."What would you consider an excellent deal?" she asked reflectively.

  "Complete immunity," Santos replied without hesitation.

  She spun around, ready to show her scorn, and bumped into the wide, iron behemoth of his body. He'd approached her unawares.

  "You're joking," she said breathily as she retreated a step and crossed her arms in front of her.

  His scarred face remained impassive. "I never jest about money or prison time."

  "There's no way I can grant you complete immunity."

  "Naturalmente. But of course you can."

  "What are you offering?"

  But she already knew. He was offering something so much more important to her than convicting Vargas. And the thought of it nearly made her weep.

  Santos turned silently to glance at Sanderson still leaning against the wall, his hand resting on his revolver. He jerked his head toward the deputy, a clear indication that he wouldn't speak further with someone else in the room.

  Within seconds of Sanderson leaving the office, Bella's desk phone rang. She stared stupidly at it for several moments, hating to break her rhythm by answering it.

  Santos nodded toward the jarring sound. "You should answer the telephone, counselor." He rose and patted his jacket pockets. "I will step outside to have a cigarillo and give you privacy."

  Bella grabbed the receiver. "No smoking in public buildings," she said automatically to his retreating back.

  Santos smiled, his large white teeth flashing in his scarred face. "But of course. I would not want to be charged with so significant a misdemeanor." He stepped quietly into the hall and closed the door softly behind him.

  "Hello, hello," Rafe's voice sounded faintly over the line before Bella lifted the receiver to her ear.

  "Hi," she breathed into the phone, happy to hear his voice, grateful to get a break from the oppressive weight of Santos standing inches within her personal space.

  "You sound flustered. Is everything okay?" Rafe asked.

  "Yeah, well, sort of."

  "Is Santos still there?"

  "He stepped out for a minute." She hesitated and then plunged on. "He's going to be a hard nut to crack." She hadn't told him how Santos had shown her a photo of Maria, and wondered why she'd kept this from him.

  "I'll come right over." His voice was decisive and she knew he'd rush right in and fracture the fragile progress she was making with Santos.

  "No, no, it'll be fine."

  A heavy pause hung weightily, dead space over the line.

  Rafe cleared his throat. "Okay, then. Well, I called to let you know I'm going to stay with Max for a while."

  "Max Jensen?"

  "Yeah, his grandmother's house has been empty for a while. He's staying here." He rattled off a quick address in Highland Heights.

  "Oh." She felt an unexplainable chill. "How convenient."

  "Are you sure you're okay?"

  "Of course. Look, I've got to finish this meeting, seal the deal."

  Bella stared at the phone long moments after she'd hung up. Jensen had relatives in the area. A house to stay in. Why did that situation seem strange to her?

  Why did she suddenly remember the knowing look on his face when she'd encountered him in Rafe's L.A. office waiting room? What had sparked that sense of unease then, so brief she'd nearly forgotten it?

  Deputy Sanderson escorted Santos into the room, and when the lawyer had sat, the deputy took up watch again, this time outside the door.

  Santos and Isabella Torres measured each other across the desk like two warriors lined up for battle. He could tell by the set of her pretty jaw that she had no intention of letting him win. She believed she had right and the law on her side.

  Santos had long ago put such foolish ideas aside, but the ADA was young enough to believe in them still. Nevertheless, he regretted being the one to burst the bubble of her idealism.

  Her da
rk eyes serious, her lips lushly red, she very much looked like the woman whose picture he kept in his inside jacket pocket. A new picture today, a more focused image, one that Isabella would have no trouble identifying.

  "Tell me about Diego Vargas." The aura of an avenging angel blazed about her.

  He examined his hands and thought how to measure the impact of his words. "First, let me tell you a story, Isabella."

  "Ms. Torres," she corrected him, narrowing her eyes.

  Ay, she would do serious battle with him. But he believed her need for vengeance would win. It was the way of the human condition.

  "I'm not interested in fairy tales, Mr. Santos. I deal in the truth, nonfiction if you will. What's the truth about Councilman Vargas?"

  "I will give you the complete truth, but only for full immunity."

  "You know I can't do that, even for ... "

  Santos laughed softly, enjoying the righteous indignation on her face. She held so much power in those small hands, that slight body. "Ah, but of course you can."

  She looked at a spot over his left shoulder, her face smooth and completely devoid of the turmoil that must rage within her. To capture a man like Diego Vargas was a professional coup and a personal victory. But she would not want to let Santos himself go without punishment. To free him would rankle her to no end.

  When she remained silent, looking as if the answer to her dilemma lay on the wall behind him, he decided to make the situation more complex. He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out the second photograph, the vivid colors speaking louder than any of his words. Turning it face down on the desk, he pushed it carefully across the smooth wood until it touched her splayed hand.

  He noted the tremor in her fingers as she tapped the edge of the picture. She knew. At some instinctive, primal level, she understood the significance of the photo.

  "I've already seen this," she said, easing one corner toward her.

  "Not this one. It will change your mind," he said simply, not bothering to keep the sorrow out of his voice. He received no pleasure from telling her about the picture. From showing it to her.

  Slowly she turned over the photo, confusion furrowing her brows, a look of puzzlement in her dark eyes. He recognized the exact moment when the truth dawned on her.