“Here it is, ”Rosha said, reading a paraphrasing. “A little over three hours ago the Gillespie County Sheriff's Office got a call to the Thrush ranch on Schumann Creek. It just says that they responded.”
Titus experienced a sensation of being somewhere else. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and then the seat of a chair touched the back of his knees. He sat down. He heard the computer keys snapping snapping snapping. He was weak. Shaky. He listened to them talk as if he were not in the room. He wasn't aware of looking at anything or even of seeing anything. He wasn't aware of himself at all, in any kind of context.
“Here it is, ”Rosha said again. “Speer Funeral Home. Accepted the body of Charles Thrush from the Gillespie County EMS half an hour ago. Cause of death: ranching accident.”
There was an awkward quiet in the room. They didn't know the man. They didn't even know Titus. What did he expect from them? Weeping? Charlie's death was as removed from them as a weather report from the Azores.
Burden was the one who broke the silence, his voice soft and edgy at the same time.
“You see how this is going to work, ”he said.
Titus could feel his face burning. His emotions were indescribable, a swarm of embarrassed fear and anger and panic. There was nothing here he could identify with. The indictment of his responsibility in Charlie's death was unavoidable. Burden had even asked him if Luquín had forbidden the security sweep. Titus remembered his feeling of claustrophobia at imagining he would have to live with Luquín listening to every word he spoke. He remembered saying, I can't live like that. Well, apparently he could have. And should have. But now, how in God's name was he going to live with this?
He worked his mouth for moisture.
“Rita's with Louise Thrush in Venice, ”he said. “I've got to get them back here. ”Then, before he had the last word out of his mouth, he looked at Burden in panic. “Jesus Christ. Luquín knows that, doesn't he.”
He listened to the connections going through, then the phone ringing. It was two-thirty A.M. in Venice. After their conversation she wouldn't go back to bed.
Burden's women had made themselves busy, turned away to terminals or absorbing paperwork, a gesture of privacy that he appreciated even though it was only symbolic. Burden himself waited in a chair at the next desk. He had not turned away; he wanted to hear the conversation.
“It can only be you, Titus, ”Rita answered from the edge of sleep.
“I'm sorry, ”he said.
“I know you know what time it is here, ”she said huskily, and he imagined her looking at her watch on the bedside table. “You know, hon, if you'd waited just a few more hours, I would've been awake anyway.”
He didn't really know how to try to make himself sound. It didn't much matter. In a few more words she'd pick up on it anyway, hear it in his voice.
“I've got some bad news, Rita, ”he said.
Pause. He imagined her going suddenly still in the dark, factoring in his words, his tone of voice.
“What's the matter? Are you okay, Titus? ”Her voice was calm, her “I won't panic no matter what he says ”tone of voice. Firm, prepared. She would be sitting up in bed now, frowning in the dark, straining to pull the words out of him.
“Yeah, I'm fine, ”he said. “It's Charlie.”
“Oh, no … ”She was holding her breath.
“He was in an accident today, out at the ranch. He's dead, Rita.”
“Oh, no! ”She repeated it. And then she repeated it again. And then again.
He hated this more than anything, doing this to her at so great a distance, handing to her the responsibility of telling Louise, of getting them both packed and on a plane, comforting her for thousands of miles on the way back home.
They talked for half an hour, and he told her the truth: He didn't know much. He'd try to get more information. He didn't tell her he was in Mexico, of course. He'd work all that out later. He lied to her, comforted her, planned with her. Rita was best if she was planning. It calmed her; it helped her deal with the unknown, with the unavoidable but frightening unravelings of life.
He told her he was going to charter a private plane to bring them home. She thought this was unusual but didn't protest too much, and he said he would make the arrangements and get back to her with the details.
It was a strange and wrenching conversation, made all the worse for Titus because he was among strangers. And worse than that, because he knew the truth.
Chapter 16
The subdued tempo that followed the confirmation of Charlie Thrush's death didn't last long. It was nearly dusk as Mattie, Titus, and Burden followed the loggia around to Burden's study. The doors and windows of the large room were still open as before, and it was lighted only by a few scattered table lamps and the low, eerie illumination of the long photograph of the nude widow.
As soon as they were inside, Titus turned to Burden.
“I'm flying back tonight, ”he said. “That pilot had better not think he's going to be spending the night here.”
“No, ”Burden said. “He's ready.”
“Okay, ”Titus said, “then let's get down to it. As far as I'm concerned, you can go after Luquín any way you want to. Just tell me what you need, what I'm supposed to do.”
Burden turned to Mattie. “Will you get the telephones for me? And bring back Titus's laptop.”
As she walked out the door, he turned back to Titus.
“Look, ”he said, “the first thing I want you to understand is that Luquín and I have this much in common: Silence is our mantra. We have to keep him in the dark about this meeting. He can't know that you've contacted someone for help and that you're being advised. He needs to believe that your responses to his demands are yours alone, and that you're totally focused on getting the money he wants. He needs to believe that you're paralyzed, holding your breath waiting for the next word from him.
“He must not know that we know he's in Austin. Any hint of that, and he'll vanish. Keep in mind: The people he works with are very good. They've probably been in Austin several weeks getting ready for this. We're at a great disadvantage, so we have to be smarter. Unflinching. And absolutely silent. Without that we don't have any hope of success here.
“Second thing: You can't undo this once it gets started, Titus. You understand that, don't you?”
“I hadn't thought about it, ”Titus said. He paused. “But now I have. Do what you have to do.”
Burden nodded. “Let's talk about where you think this is going. Ultimately.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what do you think is the end of this, Titus? Where is this headed?”
“I want this guy out of my life, ”Titus said without thinking. “I want this ordeal to end. I just told you.”
Burden had been standing near the bookshelves by the doorway, and now he moved slowly around the room, again roaming through the pools of light, disappearing into the dusky corners, easing along the unlighted spans of the booklined walls, slipping through another pool of light. Finally he stopped and came over to Titus, who had continued to stand near the library table.
“Keep in mind, ”Burden said, “that Luquín has set the rules, and they're non-negotiable. Go to the police: People die. Don't pay the ransom: People die. Keep the whole thing secret, or people die. He's defined the rules of the game. We don't have much room to operate.”
The two men were looking at each other.
“Okay, ”Titus agreed.
“Let's say you pay the full ransom Luquín's demanding,” Burden continued. “Will that be the end of it? Or will he want something more? And if he's willing to just walk away with what he's got, are you okay with that? Even though he's killed people in the process?”
“Then you believe him when he says—even though he has his money—he'll come back and kill people if I disclose what's happened? If I go to the FBI after the fact?”
Burden leveled his eyes at Titus. “He wants you to understand, Titus, that he's in
total control here. That's what Thrush's death was all about. It was a demonstration of your new reality. He's gone to elaborate lengths to cover all the bases. You turn this over to the FBI after it's over, and you're signing death warrants for a hell of a lot more people. He's told you. I'm telling you.”
Burden ran his hand through his hair. “Keep repeating that to yourself, Titus. You either accept his conditions or more people die. Then ask yourself this question: If I agree to keep it all quiet, to save a lot of lives, am I okay with this guy just disappearing when it's all over … with the money … and having killed one, two, three? four? … of my friends?”
“Just get to the damn point, ”Titus said. By now he had a raging headache, and he was agitated and furious and afraid. But he knew what the point was. He really hadn't thought this through to the hard questions yet. He just wanted to be rid of it all, assuming, in the back of his mind, that in the end, even though he might lose millions of dollars, justice would ultimately be done. As in a movie, the good guys would come in and take care of it.
“The end could get rough, ”Burden said. “I'll take the responsibility for that. But if I do this thing for you, I don't want you coming to me with pangs of conscience when it's looking scarier than you'd imagined it would be. Once I start, I won't stop.”
Titus's heart began racing. It was dark outside. He hadn't had much sleep in the last twenty hours, and the stress he'd been under made the little sleep he'd had feel like none at all.
He moved toward Burden until they were an arm's reach apart.
“Is there some chance I could end up in prison for what's going to happen once you start this?”
Burden stared into Titus's eyes. “None whatsoever.”
“Then the pangs of conscience you're talking about, that has to do with what might happen to Luquín?”
“That's right.”
This time it was Titus who hesitated a moment before he spoke, but when he did, there was no hesitation in his voice.
“Then you don't have anything to worry about. I'm not going to have any pangs of conscience over that.”
They were looking at each other in silence when Mattie entered the study from the balcony, carrying the phones and Titus's laptop.
“It's all ready, ”she said, walking past them and placing everything on the library table.
The two men moved to the table, and Burden picked up one of the cell phones and handed it to Titus.
“Don't ever let this out of your sight, ”he said.“It's encrypted. Mattie will give you the dial codes. It connects you to me, and to Mattie and the others. It's your lifeline.
“The laptop's ready. Mattie will give you encryption codes for this, too. We'll use both the phones and the laptop to communicate.
“For the most part, you just do whatever you have to do to comply with Luquín's demands. Keep in mind, there's going to be some surveillance. There's nothing you can do about it without more retaliation from Luquín, but be aware that it'll be there.”
“How much? What kind?”
“Not a lot. Luquín's people don't want to attract any attention. So they're not going to be swarming. Most of it will be mobile. A van cruising, trying to pick up snippets of cell phone traffic. Maybe some photography. But it'll be very discreet. He's not going to be all over you, but he's going to be watching.
“As of right now, I'm committed to moving as quickly as possible to try to save lives. And that'll save money, too. Remember this: Just because you're not hearing from me doesn't mean I'm not there. There's a hell of a lot to arrange. I won't be getting much sleep. Communicate as often as you want. You won't always get me, but you can always get Mattie. I'll get back with you as soon as it's possible for me to do so.
“Okay, Mattie's going to finish briefing you on communication procedures. I'm going right now to arrange for the pilot. Someone will be here to pick you up within the hour to take you to the airstrip.”
Titus nodded. His mind was already moving so far and so fast ahead that he was almost carrying on two conversations in his head simultaneously. All he could think about was the logistics of getting Rita out of Europe and on her way home.
Chapter 17
AUSTIN
Luquín paced slowly back and forth along the deck that was perched on the edge of the cliff, one hand in his pocket, smoking his cigarette, the smoke a blue breath drifting away from him into the darkness. Now and then he paused and looked out into the night.
There was nothing much to see in the direction he was looking. Far below the sapphire surface of the wide river twisted through the cobalt darkness, and on the other side the long slope of the rising land ascended to black hills with sparsely scattered lights glinting through the dense woods. Occasionally a light would flicker and stretch out and die, the headlights of a car negotiating the narrow, unlighted lanes that rambled through the thickly wooded hills. The house that held his attention was straight in front of him, a mile and a half away as the crow flies.
“We'll hear from him tomorrow, ”Luquín said. “How many bugs have they taken out?”
“Half a dozen, so far.”
“I told you, ”Luquín sneered, “he is going to be so predictable, arrogant bastard. So fucking confident. Nobody's going to bug his place and get away with it. I wish I could have seen his face when he realized what he had done. ”He shook his head in amusement. “I would have had to find another excuse to kill Thrush if Cain had left the damn bugs in place.” He snorted. “It's going to be a pleasure working this asshole.”
He smoked. “But I can't figure out why we haven't picked him up on any of the bugs that are still in there. We haven't even heard him coughing or pissing or anything.”
“We're picking up the technicians.”
“I know that, Jorge. But we're not picking up Cain. What's he doing?”
“You've scared the shit out of him, Tano, ”Macias said. “He's probably not even breathing in there.”
Jorge Macias was Luquín's Mexican chief of operations. In his mid-thirties, Macias was barrel-chested and handsome in the Latin lover sense of the term. He was self-assured and selfcentered and easy with violence.
When Luquín had business in Mexico or Texas, it was Macias who saw that it ran the way it was supposed to. His teams laid the groundwork. His teams ran the intelligence. His teams provided the brutality when brutality was required. (It was Macias's people who had smuggled Luquín across the border in the top of Benny Chalmers's truck.) And from years of experience, he had become deft at passing down the bad news to the lower ranks. If they made blunders, he gave them one chance to rectify their mistakes. Another failure, and they disappeared. Others took their place with the full knowledge of what had happened to the men before them. Predecessors’mistakes were never repeated. There were no exceptions.
“What about the guys sweeping the house? ”Luquín asked.
“Just technicians. Our guy on the ground hasn't picked up any guns. Cain has a very high quality security system at CaiText, and he probably knew these guys through those connections. He runs a very tight operation. It looks like routine sweeping, just what we anticipated. Nothing more than that.”
“And you think these are the guys he called from the pay phone.”
“Probably. He couldn't stand it. Wanted to do something about it as fast as he could.”
Luquín planted his feet firmly apart, drew slowly on his cigarette, and stared across the night river. A boat moved steadily over the water, going away from the city. Its lights reflected off the sapphire, and the sound of its engine grumbled off the sides of the cliffs.
“I'm trying to imagine, ”he said, as much to himself as to Macias, “what he must be thinking. The man is careful. He doesn't make big mistakes. He weighs the pros and cons, follows the rules, and makes safe, reasonable decisions. He is predictable, as we have seen. Now, how does he react to the realization that he is responsible for his friend's death?
“He's going to go over and over in his head how
this happened, ”Luquín went on, answering his own question. “He's going to reconfirm in his mind that I didn't specifically say: Don't sweep the house. So then he's going to think, My God, I've got to try to feel my way through this. That son of a bitch Luquín is unpredictable. I've got to read his mind. How in the hell am I going to do that!”
Luquín smoked, resting his elbows on the deck railing as he peered into the night, as if the tiny lights of the houses in the distance were a fortune-teller's cards and he could see there the answers to all of his concerns.
“And then, ”Luquín said, “he is going to begin to get crazy. A careful man finds it very stressful to deal with unpredictability. He sees no fucking way to figure it out. And that begins to wear on him. It begins to eat at him. And that's good.”
Jorge Macias listened to Luquín talk. The man had no equal at what he did, and working for him was always an education in perversity. Over the years, Luquín had evolved from being just another assassin in the drug wars, a culture that bred assassins like maggots and treated them with just about as much respect, to being a kind of philosopher of the business of death. The amount of time Luquín put into knowing the psychological biography of the person he focused his attention on was extraordinary in this business. That was why he was so greatly feared by those who knew enough to fear him. And that was why he was so effective.
Macias would become a wealthy man from this one job alone. But there was a price for it. When you worked with Luquín there was always a price. The man didn't feel he was getting his money's worth out of you if you didn't pay a price, and that usually meant some kind of suffering. Before this was over, Luquín was going to require him to do something that would be anguishing, either physically or emotionally, and that was why Macias had already sworn to himself that this would be the last time he would work with this madman.
Macias's cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket and turned away from the deck railing. With his head down, listening, he began walking idly around the lighted pool. Luquín turned and watched him. He liked telephone calls during an operation like this. It meant action. Things were happening near and far to his advantage. The wheels turned; the plan moved forward.
The Rules of Silence Page 9
