The Rules of Silence

by David Lindsey

  “Time to go, ”he said.

  Titus embraced Rita and held her very tight. He felt his throat thicken with emotion. He couldn't say a word. But he knew that she understood exactly what this embrace meant. It was a thing they did. And then she said what she always said when he did it.

  “And I love you, too, Titus Cain.”

  And she kissed him, and he walked away with Kal into the shadows.

  Chapter 47

  The Dodge van sat in the empty parking lot of the small, green glass office building overlooking Bull Creek Road. The van had been there twenty minutes. At ten-thirty at night, the office had been closed a long time. When the gray van arrived, it had pulled around behind an island of trees, preventing it from being seen from the street in front of the building.

  In the back of the van were three communications technicians wearing headphones and small mikes. One of the technicians checked in with Macias every half hour as required. Their job was routine at this point, just listening mostly, making sure there were no breakdowns in communication between Macias and the other teams. At the moment they were listening to transmissions between the Pathfinder and Macias's blue Navigator, which was just now pulling away from the house on Las Lomitas. Macias was making sure the Pathfinder was pulling in to cover the house while he was gone. Macias didn't say where he was going. Aside from Tano Luquín, he was the only man on the job who didn't have to explain himself to anyone.

  When the black Lexus came into the lot off the street, the three men in the van froze. One of them slowly got up and moved forward and sat behind the steering wheel. He intently watched the Lexus through the darkened windshield.

  The car's lights went off, and for a second nothing happened. Then the driver's door opened, and in the light that came on in the car's interior, the man in the van saw a petite blonde sitting behind the wheel. She wore a light tank top and shorts and was digging through her purse.

  “Whoa, will you look at that, ”the man said, and he leaned over and picked up a pair of binoculars from the passenger's seat while his two companions peered through one of the large windows darkened by one-way glass.

  “What's she doin', Del? ”one of the guys asked, a set of headphones dangling around his neck.

  “Looking for keys, I guess, ”the driver said.

  Del was Anglo, the other two were Mexican Americans. All three were from Juarez.

  The woman got out of the car and slung her purse over her shoulder. She punched the remote car lock on her key chain and headed for the front of the building at a brisk walk.

  “Woman on a mission, ”Del mused to himself. “I got a mission for her.”

  “She forgot something. Working at home, ”one of the other men said, shrugging.

  “Look … at … that … ass, ”Del said. The nightvision binoculars brought her up close, way close.

  The two men in the back glanced at each other.

  “Pull your eyeballs back in, Del, ”one of them said.

  The woman went to the double glass doors and put a key into the latch. She had her back to them now, fiddling with the lock.

  “Looks like it no workey, ”Del said.

  Frustrated, the woman headed back to the car. Her body language said she was pissed. As she approached the car, she reached out and punched the remote lock again, and just as she was swinging the door open, she stopped. Slowly she leaned to the side and looked down at her left rear tire.

  “Uh-oh, ”Del narrated, “look at thiiis. Oh, baby, we got a flat tire.”

  “What? ”The two guys in the back of the van leaned over again to look out the window, ignoring for the moment the bank of monitors in front of each of them.

  “You got to be kidding, ”one of them said.

  The woman stood and stared at the tire, dumbfounded.

  “Watch her whip out the old cell tele, ”the other one said.

  But she didn't. Instead she slammed her purse on the ground and kicked the side of the car.

  “She pissed! ”Del said.

  “She left the thing at home, ”one of the men speculated. “She just ran up here real quick to grab something, and she got the wrong keys and left the cell on the table at home. There you go, ”he said, “that's how life does you. Man, it was supposed to have been so simple … just run up there and get this thing …”

  “She can't change the damn tire, ”Del said. “Fifty bucks says she can't do it.”

  The woman raised her arm again and pointed the remote at the trunk and the lid came open. She went around to the back and looked inside. She just stood there and looked in. Then she turned and looked at the drive that led up from the street.

  “No help in sight, ”Del narrated, still peering through the binoculars, still going over her legs, savoring the size of her sweeties. “Shit, ”he said, “duty calls.”

  “What! ”both voices cried in startled unison.

  “What the hell are you talking about! ”said one of the techs.

  “No way! ”the other one added.

  But Del was already putting down the binoculars, grinning.

  “She'll freak out, Del. Man, you'll get us killed. Macias will kill us.”

  “Who's going to tell him? ”Del asked, looking back at them. “What if you could get a piece of ass for changing a flat? Is that worth it, or what?”

  “What are you talkin’about, man? She's not gonna put out to get her flat fixed, you stupid fuck.”

  “She's gonna run screaming, ”the other one said.

  But Del was already opening the door.

  She wasn't fifty meters away, but she hadn't seen the van. Del knew she could freak out, so when he came around the front of the van he called out, “Hey, lady! ”and kept walking.

  The woman flinched and spun around. He could see her face—astonishment—rape written all over it.

  “I was just over there in the van waiting for friends I'm supposed to go fishing with, supposed to meet here, and saw your situation … ”He wanted to keep talking, that would calm her. “I'd almost dozed off and you drove up and … I don't mean to scare you, but I can change that tire for you if you want… .”

  The woman lunged for her purse and scrambled and came out with mace or pepper spray or something like that, and she held it up to him, backing away.

  He stopped. “Hey, no. ”They looked at each other. “Look, ”he said. “A proposition. You hold that spray—here, you stand over here—you hold that stuff on me, and I'll change your tire, and then you get in the car and drive off.”

  She thought about it, glancing past his shoulder toward the van to see where he'd come from. One beat. Two beats. Three beats. Four … And she started moving away from the car, clutching her purse under one arm, holding the aerosol can of whatever it was at him as if she were holding up a cross in front of a vampire.

  “Yeah, that's good, ”he said, gradually changing positions with her. “Don't squirt me, now. Just get on over there. I don't blame you for being scared, but what was I supposed to do, just sit over there and watch you?”

  Now that he was closer, he saw that she really was a goodlooking woman. And as he came in closer, moving to the back of the car as she orbited around him, holding up the mace, he noticed something else, too. Woman was wearing a tiny head mike, the little pea-size mouthpiece just at the side of her face, partially hidden by her hair. He began to process what that meant.

  As the two men in the back of the van stood up from their seats, crouching, peering out the window at the stupid spectacle Del was causing, the back door of the van flew open and a man stood there, pointing an automatic the size of a loaf of bread at them.

  “Don't touch a thing, ”he said. “We're okay here, ”he said into his mike.

  At the Lexus the blonde asked, “What's your name?”

  He said, “Del, ”feeling dumb and busted, but not really understanding yet just how thoroughly he'd screwed up.

  She reached into her purse again, pulled out an oversize automatic, and pointed it at h
im. “Well, Del, let's walk over to the van.”

  Chapter 48

  Calò and Baas arrived at La Terrazza an hour before Titus was supposed to meet Macias. The Italian restaurant was a stoneand-terra-cotta tile recreation of a Tuscan inn tucked into the oaks and cedars on the western slope of one of the hillsides. It was a popular place in the evenings, and most afternoons people gathered there for drinks after work as well, because its stone-walled courtyards provided cooling shelters against the falling sun.

  The parking lot was a cluster of small multicar pockets carved out of the dense cedars and connected by a gravel drive. There were no lights in the parking area, so as soon as you left the ambit of the restaurant's illumination, most of which was provided by lanterns hanging in the courtyards, you were gradually absorbed into the darkness.

  At nine-thirty, when Calò and Baas drove into the parking area, the restaurant was in full swing, a typical Friday night. They drove through the parking area looking for either of the Navigators, but neither was there. They found a parking spot that afforded them a view of the entrance to the restaurant as well as the approach from the highway, turned off the motor and lights, and settled in to wait.

  “Okay, we're in place, ”Calò said into his mike, then got a confirmation through his earpiece. He leaned forward and adjusted the LorGuide mapper under the dash. He could see the yellow signal of Macias's blue Navigator headed toward them and Titus's yellow signal on the way as well. But he was behind Macias.

  “Okay, the first screwup is shaping up, ”he said sarcastically. “Looks like Macias is going to get here first.”

  “Wonderful. ”Baas had nightvision binoculars pressed to his eyes and was concentrating on the long tunnel of trees that led from the highway.

  “Macias has turned off the highway, ”Calò said.

  “And there he is, ”Baas said. “Blue Navigator.”

  Calò put his binoculars to his eyes as well.

  “Two … three heads, ”Baas said. “Yeah, definitely three.”

  Silence as they watched the Navigator roll into the parking area, hesitate, and then begin making its way toward the back spaces, where they slowly pulled into a spot and cut the engine.

  “They're talking, ”Calò said, slumped down in the car, his eyes glued to the binoculars as he peeped over the dash.

  The Navigator's front passenger door opened and the bodyguard got out.

  “Shit! He's hand-holding night goggles, ”Baas said.

  The man began walking along, looking into the cars.

  “Okay, ”Calò said, “we get out, let him see us, nothing to hide. We just go in, go to the bar, and wait until Macias comes in.”

  They opened the doors and got out, talking normally, ignoring the guy walking along behind the cars. He froze when he heard them coming along to his right on the other side of an island of trees. They passed him by, ignoring him.

  They sat in the bar where they could see the front door and waited for Macias.

  “They're going to sit in the car with the windows open,” Calò said, elbow to elbow with Baas at the bar. “With that gravel, we'd never be able to get close to them. Got to do it another way now.”

  It didn't take the bodyguard fifteen minutes to check all the cars in the lot, and in twenty minutes Macias came through the front door of the restaurant. But one of the bodyguards was with him.

  Calò moaned under his breath.

  “No problem, ”Baas said, and watched the bodyguard as he stopped at the courtyard door and waited until Macias had found a table. The guard quickly surveyed the other patrons in the courtyard and then stepped into the bar and took a small, round bistro table from which he could watch both Macias and the front door. Calò and Baas paid and returned to their car.

  Inside the car they took a few moments to check out the Navigator again through their binoculars. The remaining guard sat behind the steering wheel. They fiddled a little with their equipment, and then Calò backed out of their parking space and started around toward the front of the restaurant. The turns in the gravel drive were tight, and negotiating the parking area was a slow go. As they approached the rear of the blue Navigator Calò slowed to a crawl and finally stopped when the rear of the car was just past it. He put it in reverse and backed up to straighten the car into the turn. Forward again, then reverse again. Suddenly he plowed into the rear fender of the Navigator.

  For a second nothing happened. He and Baas sat in the car, waiting. Then Calò put the car in gear again, pulled a foot or two forward, reversed it again, and crunched into the Navigator's fender a second time. This time the driver's door came open, and they could see the guy getting out in the red glow of Calò's taillights. Calò got out, too, leaving his door open as he stepped to the back of the car.

  “Shit, ”Calò swore. “What the hell? ”He looked at the driver. “Man, you're sticking out two feet here.”

  The man said something in Spanish as he threw his arms out and gave Calò an incredulous “What the hell's this? ”look.

  “Yeah, two feet, ”Calò said, deliberately avoiding Spanish, “you're sticking out two feet here, for Christ's sake. ”He kicked the Navigator's bumper.

  Now Baas got out, too, walking around the front of the car, putting him on the same side of the crunched fender as the bodyguard.

  “Oh, man, ”Baas said, his eyes fixed on the damaged fender.

  “What're you going to do? ”Calò said to the driver as he looked at his fender. “I got damage here, too, you know. You're sticking out two feet, for Christ's sake.”

  The bodyguard moved up, looking at Calò's fender.

  Then Baas spoke to the guard in Spanish from the other side of the car. Swearing at him. The guard took a step toward him, bringing him within arm's reach of Calò.

  Without warning Calò swung his arm around and slammed his fists squarely over the Mexican's heart. The force of the blow drove a needle into the Mexican's chest and simultaneously penetrated a cyanide pellet inside a gas canister hidden in Calò's closed fists. The propellant drove home the drop of cyanide.

  The Mexican fell to the gravel between the cars as if he'd been dropped from the sky. Calò jumped into the car and pulled it around to another parking spot to avoid drawing attention, then rushed back to help Baas load the man into the back of the Navigator.

  Chapter 49

  Just before he turned off the highway, Titus received a phone call from a very calm Herrin, telling him that Macias had beaten him to La Terrazza. No problem, Herrin said. It might have been an advantage for Titus to have been there first, but it wasn't crucial.

  Fine, Titus said. He knew they didn't want to rattle him. He figured it would have to be pretty bad before they'd let him hear them actually get excited. Be flexible, he told himself. Just breathe deeply and be flexible.

  He drove through the parking lot, wondering where Macias's two bodyguards would be and wondering when Burden's men were going to deal with them and how they would do it. Quietly, he knew that much. How, then, would they deal with Macias? All questions that Titus hadn't been able to get answers to. It wasn't part of his job. His job was keeping Macias at that table until he got a telephone call.

  He found an open parking spot and headed for the restaurant, going through the front courtyard, through the bar, and out into the large courtyard in back, where tables were scattered about under the trees. Macias wasn't hard to spot, a very handsome Mexican dressed in a stylish linen shirt and trousers. And alone.

  Titus headed straight for him, and as he approached, he was taken aback to see Jorge Macias smile in recognition, stand, and stick out his hand to shake as he said, “Titus, it's great to see you.”

  Titus had a flash of Charlie Thrush being ripped to pieces by a chain saw. A flash of Carla fighting someone—how, exactly, had that happened?—and then dying slowly of anaphylactic shock. He couldn't do it. He couldn't touch the guy, much less shake hands with him. He sat down immediately, leaving Macias to make the best he could of his hand hang
ing in the air. Macias sat down, too.

  “You've got to play along with this, Mr. Cain, ”Macias said in a low voice, still smiling. “We cannot attract attention to ourselves. We have to be civil.”

  “No, I don't have to be civil, ”Titus said. “What do you want?”

  There was a bottle of wine on the table that Macias had ordered and was already drinking, and he poured some in the other glass and pushed it an inch toward Titus.

  “Drink it, ”he said. “It might make this a little easier to do.”

  Titus did, taking in Macias as he turned up the glass. He was disconcertingly handsome, a neat haircut, manicured nails, a close shave around a perfect mustache. His shortsleeved shirt revealed a trim build with muscular shoulders and arms.

  The tables around them were filled with people, but Titus hadn't noticed a single one of them. Macias had chosen a table well situated for a quiet conversation. He took a drink of wine, too, and his smile fell away.

  “Permit me, please, ”he said, and just above the edge of the table he produced a small black device the size of a cell phone and pointed it at Titus. It threw a thin red horizontal bar across Titus's chest. Macias slowly moved it down Titus's body to the top of the table, then moved the device below the table and finished going down Titus's torso to his feet. Macias looked unobtrusively at the dial on the instrument.

  He nodded. “Very good, ”he said, and put the device away. “I have a proposition that is very straightforward and simple: You deposit ten million dollars into a certain account in the Caymans, and I will give you Cayetano Luquín. You can stop him and save forty-four million at the same time. And, of course, you will save lives.”

  For the second time, Titus was caught off guard. Where was the interrogation he had been cautioned about so much? Where was the wily measuring of words, the calculated reading between the lines? If Titus said yes, would that be the end of it? Would they stand and walk away?

  He remembered Burden's instructions: Just keep Macias there as long as you can. Say whatever you have to say. Just keep him there until you hear from Kal.