Ray leaned back into his chair, the pool reflecting in his lenses. “We’re almost out of Sonora. There’s fighting around San Luis.” The Nortes’ last Arizona crossing. He switched his focus to Luis. “McGinley tell you about Federico?”
“Yeah. He’s all spun up about the Zetas moving west. He’s also hot on the Cartel moving terrorists, which I think he thinks means anybody Muslim.”
“Like your client,” Ray said. Your client, not our client. “Why’d he tell you all this?”
“Maybe he likes the sound of his own voice.” Tell him? Luis flipped a mental coin. “But mostly because he wants me to feed him intel.”
Ray took a deep, loud breath, then nodded. He examined the tabletop.
“Look, Ray, if it was just me, I’d tell him to take his best shot. But he threatened Bel and my folks.”
That got Ray’s attention. When he looked up, Luis could see the anger in his tight mouth. “Chingado. Let’s just get rid of that pendejo. I can do it easy.”
He’d said that as casually as he’d say “hello.” “That’d just make things worse. Someone else would come after me, and they’d probably figure you or Tavo had something to do with it.”
Ray sat there for a long minute, elbows on the table, staring into space. The silence was the worst part. What was he thinking? Who he could get to kill McGinley? Who could kill Luis? Ray had always been able to “make things happen,” but Luis had never thought of him being able to make that happen. Not until now. Not until it might happen to him.
Ray pushed out of his seat and drifted toward the patio’s edge, hands in the front pockets of his white churidars. A stylized black sketch of an eagle took up most of the area between Ray’s shirt yoke and belt, perched on an outline branch. Its head swiveled back and forth, then it shook out its wings. Ray’s shirt cost more than Luis’ house payment. Nice threads, compa.
“What have you told him?” Ray finally asked.
Luis reluctantly crossed to his side. “Nothing. I wanted to get with you first, see how you want to play this. I guess we could feed him fake intel if it looks good enough.”
“Good. Good call.” Luis felt a tiny bit of tension leak away when Ray said “good.” He might survive this. “Tell him Tavo’s alive and we’ve got him hid. El Tiburon used a double sometimes, maybe they’ll think Tavo did, too. If it gets back to the Zetas, maybe it’ll give Tavo a break, who knows. ¿Comprendes?”
And move the crosshairs off Ray? “Claro. I doubt he’ll buy it, but whatever.”
“He’ll buy it if you sell it.”
“Sure. Got anything I can give him on the Zetas?”
“I guess. I get intel reports on the fighting every day. I can slip you the ones that are a couple days old. Nobody’d care.” They stood quietly for a moment, gazing out at the town and ocean. “What’s next with the bruja? How you gonna get her out now?”
“I’m working it. Security’s tougher since I did this last.” Luis looked straight into Ray’s dark glasses. “Promise me something, will you? If you think Bel’s in danger, don’t wait, let me know. And make sure you take care of Salma. The women don’t deserve to get dragged into this.”
“I’ll take good care of Salma, don’t you worry.” Ray turned and clapped Luis’ shoulder hard. “Be careful, hermano. There’s sharks in this water. But if you swim right, even with sharks you can come out okay.”
“Yeah, or I can end up as lunch.”
Ray shrugged. “That’s the thing with sharks, you know? I’ll call you. Keira’ll show you out.” He paced toward Pancho, tapping his ear pod. For the first time Luis could remember, Ray didn’t shake his hand before he left.
29
MONDAY, 10 MAY
Nora stood in her penlight’s faint blue glow, watching through the master bathroom’s door as the kids slept in the tub. They curled up together on a couple of the cheap beach towels Juan had bought for them. No rats or rabid dogs would get to them in here. They might escape unnoticed if someone came through the front door.
What was I thinking?
She should’ve quit the Bureau when they chained her to a desk. Most of the other Muslim agents had. But no, she had to be stubborn. She’d grown up with superpatriots for parents and had “duty” and “honor” and “service” pounded into her skull from the time she could walk. Nobody was going to chase her out, not after everything she had to go through to get in.
So she’d dug in, took all the crap the Bureau could pile on her and powered through the everyday humiliations and frustrations. Never quit, Dad had always told her.
Then he quit. The abuse finally got to be too much, even for him and Mom. Nora could still see the heartbreak on their faces as they walked into Dulles that last time on their way to exile in France. Now the bill for her own stubbornness had come due, and the most important people in her life were paying for it.
She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of shuffling feet on carpet. Paul’s undershirt reflected the penlight as he neared. He yawned, rubbed his eyes. “Kids okay?”
“They’re fine,” she murmured. “I guess they really can sleep anywhere.”
“Too bad grown-ups can’t, huh?” His arms looped around her waist, pulled her back against him. He kissed her ear. “Are you okay?”
Nora nestled against Paul’s reassuring warmth, wrapped her hands around his. “I can’t sleep.”
“What else is new?”
“No, really. It’s worse here. I hate not being able to see outside. I can’t tell if…”
“If zombies are coming for us?”
“Zombies I can deal with. It’s the QRT I worry about.” She flung a hand toward the bathroom. “Look. Our kids have to sleep in a bathtub so they don’t get shot or eaten. Mom and Dad told me about how they did that in Beirut in the civil war.” Nora swallowed a catch in her throat. “We should’ve left when they did. I was so stupid—”
“Shh. You’ll wake the kids.” Paul squeezed her hard. “We decided to stay. We decided. Both of us. You and me. So don’t go putting it all on yourself, I’m in there too.”
“It was stupid, and this is even worse.” She trapped a sudden sob in her throat before it could escape. No, not now, not here. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“For this.” She waved her arm around them. “For putting you and the kids in danger. For handing our lives over to some narco. For…”
“Doing the right thing?” Paul’s voice was firm but not unkind. He kissed the back of her head. “Don’t apologize for that.”
“Is it the right thing? Is it going to matter? Will anyone care?” Nora twisted in his arms to face him. He was only a dim shape, even up close, and she wished she could see into his eyes. They could never lie to her. She’d fallen in love with his eyes before she’d come to love the rest of him. “We’re fugitives. We have no country anymore. Everything we own is in those backpacks. I’ve ruined our lives.” She squelched another sob before it broke.
He tilted up her chin with a thumb. “Stop. You’re not the only one who makes decisions around here. Remember our wedding contract? Decisions we make together belong to us both. We can’t renounce them unless we both do, and I’m not changing my mind about this one.” He bent his neck until his forehead touched hers. “Yes, it’ll matter. Yes, people will care. Besides, if we stop doing the right thing, what are we?”
Nora sniffed and frowned up at him. “Leave it to a lawyer to bring up a contract.” She nestled against him, thanking whatever force had brought her this man who was the good part of her, the one who kept her from living alone in a fog of distrust.
Paul held her close, stroked her back and hair, rocked her gently the way she would Hope or Peter. He began to murmur something so low she couldn’t catch the words, just the sound. After a few moments, she understood: he was praying.
She tried to pray, but after everything she’d seen and done, it was so hard to believe anyone listened. Allah had abandoned them all: her and her fam
ily, all those poor people in the camps, the wretches she’d seen dying by the roads in Somalia, all His children. She kept asking Him questions, but He never answered. Had He given up on this world in disgust?
30
I hereby further authorize and direct the Secretary of Homeland Security and the said Federal agencies to take such other steps as he or the appropriate agencies may deem advisable to enforce compliance with the restrictions applicable to each Homeland Security Area hereinabove authorized to be designated, including the use of Federal troops and other Federal Agencies, with authority to accept assistance of state and local agencies.
— Homeland Security Presidential Directive 266, 19 December 2019
TUESDAY, 11 MAY
The skanky twenty-something guy chunked cash down on the counter for a film job on his truck’s windows. Based on the guy’s glazed eyes and runny nose, Luis figured cooking zip had paid for this and the new pickup, too. Luis pulled out his burner when it buzzed in his pocket and held it between his ear and shoulder as he counted the money. “Hello?”
“Lucho?” Salma’s voice, urgent. “Did you see it? What have we done?”
“Hold on.” He got rid of the ziphead, opened a browser on the office slate. “What am I looking for?”
“Go to Fox.”
Luis brought up the Fox News page and recoiled at the pulsing red “TERROR ALERT” banner at the top of the screen. He tapped it, wondering what sad sack got crossways with Homeland Security today.
The headline said, “Wanted by FBI: Nura Amad Fakhir al-Khaled.”
Below it glared Nora’s face.
Luis stared through a gap in the back fence at the El Cajon cottage where he’d stashed Nora and her family. It had taken him over two hours to get here from work; a good thing, since he’d had time to cool down and get thinking straight.
The “alert” was typically light on details: Nora was “wanted for questioning in connection to several major anti-American terrorist plots over the past ten years.” It said nothing about her being an FBI agent. The picture looked like a mug shot—Nora after a three-day bender, nothing like the buttoned-up woman Luis knew.
His first reaction had been panic. He’d never had a celebrity traveler before, especially not one like this. He could see SWAT busting through the shop’s front windows, FBI agents hog-tying Bel at the hospital. A bad few minutes flew by with Luis pacing a circle in the office, his brain spinning at the speed of light.
He’d started to think again in the Cartel-loaner Toyota. Was this true? It was the kind of thing the FBI would do if it wanted to catch someone, terrorist or not. On the other hand, maybe Nora was a good actress. Maybe she was a behind-the-scenes type, moving money or weapons. He remembered her in the showroom last Thursday night, watching over the kids like a mother hawk, the moments of affection between her and Paul. He hadn’t seen an ounce of political or religious fanatic in her. Hardass, sure, but no more than some platoon sergeants he’d known.
But even if she wasn’t a terrorist, she wasn’t innocent. She’d done something. That wasn’t Paul’s picture on the news, and that circus around the hotel last week hadn’t been there to lock up some desk jockey. She had a lot of explaining to do.
A mental news flash: he was the only person who knew where Nora was. Who was more of a threat to him—the FBI…or her?
Luis rolled this over in his mind. After a few moments’ debate, he stood, drew his pistol, and stepped through the fence gap into the safe house’s back yard. In case she was bad news and was waiting to jack his car, he’d go in heavy; he could dial down faster than he could dial up.
He quick-stepped through the weeds, unlocked and edged through the side door into the garage, tested the knob on the kitchen door. It turned. Here goes.
He entered, leading with his weapon. Nora’s startled eyes locked on him through a doorway into the living room. She knelt on a beach towel, hands on her thighs, a green-and-white patterned scarf tied over her hair. The harsh, bluish-white light of an LED lantern washed the color out of the left side of her face. Her lips formed an “O.”
Luis stopped, surprised. The headscarf reminded him why she was supposedly on the run. It was then he noticed her long pants and long-sleeved shirt. It was past one—mid-day prayers?
“Honey, what’s wrong?” Paul’s voice asked. His upper half appeared beyond the kitchen pass-through when he stood. He saw Luis and froze. “What is this?”
“Where are the kids?” Luis asked.
“Right here.”
“Take them to the back.” Luis cleared his throat to break up the tension in his voice. “I have some business with your wife.”
“What are you—”
Nora held up a hand toward him. “Paul, please do it. It’s okay.” She glared at Luis. “I’ll be fine.”
Paul scowled at Luis, then gathered up the kids and herded them down the hall to the bedrooms, leaving behind a trail of “Do we hafta?”
“Can I stand?” Nora asked. Luis glanced at her holstered pistol resting on the kitchen counter, then nodded. She carefully stood, keeping her hands visible at all times. She was barefoot, making her seem more vulnerable than he’d ever seen her. Her angry eyes balanced out that impression. “Are you going to explain this?”
“Since you’re the star on Fox, I’ll ask you the same thing.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Her reaction might tell him which way to go. He pulled his phone from his pocket with one hand while the other covered Nora with his pistol. He thumbed on the phone, laid it on the dusty, medium-blue living-room carpet, then stepped back. “This. Nice picture.”
Nora plucked the phone off the floor, checked the screen and winced. Once she scanned the story, she heaved out a huge sigh. “I can’t believe they did that,” she finally murmured, half to herself. “That’s my ID photo. Someone doctored it, probably Fox.”
“You’re taking this pretty well. Want to explain what’s going on here?”
She looked up, startled. “You don’t really believe this, do you?”
“That you’re a terrorist? Not sure. That you did something? Yeah.”
“So you’re going to shoot us now?” Paul demanded as he re-entered the living room. His voice and face were equally angry.
“Not unless I have to.”
When Paul reached Nora’s side, he asked, “What’s the problem?” Nora handed him the phone. Luis watched his eyes get big and his anger bleach into shock. “Oh, shit.”
Luis took back his phone from Paul—who looked stunned—then aimed his pistol at the floor. “Now talk,” he said to Nora. “We’ll start with something simple. What’s your real name?”
“Real?” She folded her hands around Paul’s. “You mean, my official name? The alert got it right for a change. But I’ve always been just Nora.”
“The ‘al-Khaled’ part’s my family name,” Paul said. “We all have Arabic names. Mine’s ‘Boulus,’ Peter’s ‘Butrus,’ Hope’s ‘Raja.’ We don’t use them, not the way things are now.”
“You’re not really Juan,” Nora said.
“I’m not on Fox, either. What did you do?”
“I told you,” she snapped. “We’re leaving before Paul can—”
“Stop.” The more she danced, the darker the picture Luis’ imagination painted. “This isn’t about Paul. This isn’t about them thinking you’re going to defect. It’s too big for—”
“They’re desperate to find us,” Nora continued. Her hands held Paul’s so tightly, her knuckles shone white. “They’re getting their shots in now—”
“What did you do?”
Nora glanced up at Paul, then shook her head. “You really don’t want to know.”
Luis’ frustration exploded inside him. “Bullshit! I’m tied to you until you’re in Mexico. If they did this to you—” he held up his phone “—what’ll they do when they find out about me? The same thing? No thanks.”
Nora broke away from Paul, clenched
her arms across her chest and started stalking back and forth across the room. “If I tell you—if they know you know—you’ll be a target, too. More than you already are. Just leave it alone and do what you’re being paid for.”
Murder? Espionage? Treason? Luis had even come back to thinking she might actually be tied up with some terrorists, crazy as it sounded. “Remember what happened to that guard in Tecate? That’s what’s gonna happen to anybody with you if they catch you. You tell me what this is really about, or I drive away and you guys find your own way south.”
She stopped pacing and glared at him. “Your boss won’t like losing our money.”
“Less than an hour’s take in L.A. If it keeps us away from a terrorism beef, they’ll figure it’s money they can do without.” He closed in on her, grabbed her arm with his free hand. The surprise jolted her features. “Last chance. I have a family, too. I almost got killed last time I did this. Something you’re hiding just made you famous. That flashes all kinds of red lights for me. Talk or I’m gone.”
“Honey?” Paul took a step toward her, then stopped when Luis twitched his gun hand. “Tell him. He’ll find out eventually. He should know.”
Nora met her husband’s eyes. “That’s our insurance! What’ll stop him from—”
“Tell him, or I will. We need him.”
Nora and Luis both gaped at Paul, who glowered back at them, fists on his hips. Luis hadn’t thought the man had those kind of cojones. Good for him.
Nora deflated. After a moment, she closed her eyes and sighed. “Okay,” she whispered. “Can you get my slate?”
Paul threw a half-angry look at Luis, then hurried down the hall to their bedroom.
While they waited, Nora untied her scarf, rolled up her sleeves, and slipped on her shoes and fedora. She stood at the pass-through, gripping the faux-marble counter’s edge so hard, all the veins and sinews in her hands popped. Finally she said, “Thank you for not scaring my children.”
Luis holstered his pistol. His shirt was drenched with sweat. “Whatever you did, I figure it didn’t involve them.”
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