It felt scaly.
He blinked his eyes and saw that his mouth was pressed up against a black snake’s, its hooded viper eyes housed in slits, watching him, waiting to strike. The black maw opened, twin fangs like dual curved snake knives opened, closed around his face, the knife fangs piercing the taut skin of his cheek as he was caught in mid-scream—a silent scream, for he no longer seemed capable of making sound with his mouth, and the fangs tore into his face, ruined his face, splattered blood over his lap, over the back of the driver’s seat, over the side of the car door, shook him like a dog with a dead bird in its mouth, shaking to tear him apart, to rend him to shreds.
Juan shot up in his seat, his palms searching, brushing against Cali’s knee next to him.
She swatted his hand away.
Hearing the commotion, Agostino said, “Whoa. What’s going on back there?” And then, “Shit!” and the car swerved.
Metal brushed metal.
A spotlight flashed over the car as they drove past.
Agostino floored it, pushing the car as hard as it would go, his passengers Ken and Barbie dolls in a plastic car being pushed along an uneven road in a harsh jigsawing motions. “Hold on,” Agostino said. “Asshole’s behind me now. Aw shit, that light. They’ve got guns!”
Juan, Cali, and Sam leaned forward toward the floor of the backseat as the rear windshield crunched and shattered.
Juan felt for the shotgun between Cali’s feet, found it, and twisted around in his seat. His finger squeezed the trigger, blowing a tight spray of pellets into the hood of the black car behind him. He fired the semiautomatic shotgun again and again into the car’s center of mass until his back was pressed backward against his seat by Agostino’s sudden acceleration.
The man was driving faster than any sane person ought to dare drive at night on such brutal back roads.
Shoulders and knees and heads were jostled and bruised and bumped against each other and the sides of the car until, at last, Agostino took his foot from the accelerator.
In the rearview mirror, Juan saw the black car’s headlights sinking into the blackness of the night behind them.
When he looked out the side window, he saw the full moon staring back at him high above the passing trees and clouds.
It seemed to be laughing at him.
No. Not laughing.
Hissing.
33
Recovery
Sam told everyone they could stay at his place for the night since it was so late.
When they got there, they piled out of Agostino’s tiny car like drunken ants in formation. Sam tapped out the door code, and they went in. The interior was mostly bare—there weren’t even chairs around the kitchen table. Juan did, however, see a coffee maker on the counter by the sink.
Sam dimmed the lights in the living room and grabbed some covers and pillows from a closet.
“I’ll take the couch,” CG said.
“There is no couch,” Sam said, and thrust a cover and pillow at his chest.
“At least tomorrow’s Saturday,” CG said.
“Yeah. Too bad Paul and I have witness protection detail tomorrow afternoon,” Cali said.
The safehouse . . .
Juan lowered himself to the living room floor and leaned his back against the wall.
I’m not ready, he thought. There’s too much going on. If ever there’s a place that Paul is going to come to finish me off, it’s there. In the middle of nowhere.
Had Paul been with the people who had kidnapped Rockwell at the Shed? That’s what Juan had decided probably happened. Rockwell was always saying how he had trained Paul and knew how he thought. Well, Paul knew Rockwell, too, so it stood to reason that they’d both showed up at the Shed to confront each other last night.
And Paul had brought company, had hung around in case Juan and his team showed up to investigate.
That’s what happened.
Another troubling thought struck Juan. Was Rockwell . . . dead?
If so, surely Paul would have left the body behind for Juan to find, as a taste of what was to come.
Which meant Rockwell was probably still alive.
Juan looked up from his thoughts and saw Agostino talking to Sam.
“It’ll infuriate Aguilar, but I won’t update him until the morning about what happened last night. Give us all some time to figure out what story we want to spin.”
Sam looked at him. “You’d lie to the captain?”
“I don’t have to lie,” Agostino said, the corner of his eye twitching slightly. “But I don’t have to tell him everything that happened.”
“Isn’t that a lie of omission?” CG said.
“When you put it like that . . .” Agostino said, and dropped his head. “It’s just that I almost feel a part of the team. Your team. I don’t want to get you guys in trouble, or worse.”
“Rockwell will know what to do when we find him,” Sam said. “Just tell Aguilar you hung out with us all night and had some drinks.”
Sam pulled out a bottle of Aguardiente from a kitchen cupboard and poured a couple shots. He handed one to Agostino and downed the other himself. “There. Now it’s not a lie.”
Agostino looked at Sam, grinned, and threw back his shot.
Sam yawned. “I’m gonna shower and then get to bed.”
Juan lay on the hardwood floor of the living room, but he couldn’t sleep. Every time he began to doze off, a black snake head lashed out at him like the snapping of a wrist and struck him in the neck or belly or thigh with the remnant of an evil hiss escaping its throat. Finally, Juan sat up and brought his knees to his chest, wrapped his hands around them.
He thought of all their injuries and how lucky it was that they survived the night. CG had been hit in the arm by a bullet, Cali had a gash across her thigh and a cut on her head, and Juan had cuts everywhere. The only person to come through relatively unscathed was Sam, and Juan figured this pissed Sam off, as he was the type that sought out battle scars so he could wear them proudly.
Agostino’s arm wound didn’t look so bad now, but he had a nasty bump on his forehead and walked somewhat with a limp. He said he would be better in the morning. Juan didn’t think so, but inwardly commended the man for his bravery under pressure. Maybe the guy wasn’t so bad after all. If he hadn’t shown up with a getaway car when he did, Juan doubted that any of them would still be alive right now.
After sitting in the darkness for half an hour, Juan got up and let himself out onto the front porch. Whenever he was stuck in one place for too long, he sometimes got stuck in his head. The only way to escape the cycling thoughts was to get up and move around.
The air felt good outside. He didn’t mind the hot humidity of the early morning. Every now and then an almost chilly breeze would whisper through the railings of the front porch and tickle the bare skin of his legs and chest.
He stood there in the dark just listening to the sounds of nature and savoring the smells of nature. The grass and flowers, the damp earth. He still didn’t feel tired, so he sat on the swing suspended from the ceiling of the small porch. It was surprising that Sam had a porch swing—there was more furniture on the porch than inside the house.
Juan chuckled to himself and pushed off gently with his bare feet, the swing making easy, ovalish movements under the roof.
Again, he started to doze.
He wakened when the porch swing chains protested with the burden of additional weight.
Paul . . .
Juan’s heart raced. He felt for his gun and realized it was in the house.
A warm hand touched his wrist.
He opened his eyes and saw Cali sitting next to him. He scooted a few inches away from her, up against the arm of the porch swing.
“Need some more space?” she said, a sad smile on her face.
Juan wondered if her face was going to morph into a snake and try to pierce his flesh again. “Hell of a night,” he said, and closed his eyes. He let his head rest backward agains
t the swing.
“Yeah,” she said, and took a few breaths. Then, “Are things okay between us?”
He kept his eyes closed. If he couldn’t see her, she couldn’t turn into a snake. She couldn’t bite him. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. I know you went away for a couple years, and then there was Mika . . . But I always felt that . . . you know, we had some kind of connection.”
“I had a dream about you,” Juan said, his eyes still closed.
“Oh.”
“You turned into a snake and bit my face off.”
“Are you joking?”
“No.” He opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’ve got a lot going on. We all do. We’ve got to find Rockwell. And don’t forget, Ricky’s still in the wind and could come after me at any time. Then there’s the Vaquero trial. Oh, and someone else is trying to kill me, there’s a hit squad that might be following us, we’ve got a new guy on the team, and . . .”
Cali leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips.
The front door opened, and Agostino came out onto the porch.
Cali moved against the porch rail as if she were inspecting the rock garden in front of the house.
“You guys can’t sleep either?” Agostino had a beer bottle in one hand.
“Nah,” Juan said, his eyes flicking from Agostino to Cali and then back to Agostino.
Agostino took a sip. “I thought I’d be able to sleep after all that action. I mean, my body is exhausted, but my mind just keeps reliving it. Replaying what happened. You know what I mean?”
Juan nodded.
Cali excused herself and went back inside.
“I keep seeing the gunfire. Those men all in black. The glowing snake eyes on their facemasks. That man getting up after I shot him point blank. I mean, what the hell did I stumble upon? What is Rockwell messed up in?”
“Still trying to figure it out,” Juan said.
“I mean, what the hell am I gonna tell the captain in a few hours? I know what Sam said, but I can’t lie to him. He’d know. Plus, he should know, right? Right?”
Juan gave him a dead look. “Sometimes it’s better to fix things outside the law. I’m not saying this might be one of those times. But it might be.”
“Shit. That’s what I was thinking. But think what could happen if those men started pulling off terrorist attacks or hit the precinct?”
“You’ve got to remember they’re just men,” Juan said. He punched his fist into the palm of his other hand. “And men die.”
Agostino crossed himself. “Maybe these men don’t.”
“That’s what they want us to think,” Juan said.
“You sound so sure.”
“It’s a tactic. Same as the cartel killing someone’s family and friends. Shows power. Strikes fear into those who’d go against you.”
“You have any leads on Rockwell?” Agostino said, changing the subject. It sounded as if Agostino was prying for information instead of attempting small talk. Maybe the scared newbie persona was all an act.
“Not yet, but something will turn up.”
Agostino took another sip of beer. “Well, I’ll let you rest, man. You know, Aguilar said I might learn something from your team, but not to get too close. You Americans might corrupt me.” Agostino laughed. “I think it might be too late for that. Anyways, thanks for the talk.”
“You did good,” Juan said, and clapped the man on the shoulder.
Juan went back inside to lie down. He needed at least a couple hours of sleep so he could think in the morning. It was going to be a big day today.
Never before could he feel his brother’s presence from afar. But now he could.
Paul was coming for him.
He needed to be ready.
SATURDAY
34
Friend
Since it was Saturday, Juan didn’t go into the joint ops center. He knew that he and Cali were slated to be at the jungle safehouse at 2 p.m. today, and Cali was going to drive him in her jeep since his car was still . . . at the bottom of a lake.
He spent the majority of his morning walking the tourist-flooded streets of Cartagena so he didn’t have to sit in one place and deal with all the thoughts in his head. While he was glancing up at the stone fortress walls of the Old City in the distance overlooking the sea, his cell phone rang. The screen said Blocked Caller.
“Hello?”
“Today’s the day,” Paul’s voice said. He sounded terse and choppy, as if he was perhaps shivering or fighting off a cold.
“I know,” Juan said.
“You’re dead.”
“We’ll see. Where’s Rockwell?”
Paul laughed and then gave a wracking cough.
“Is he okay?” Juan asked.
“He’s okay. For now.”
“Who’s doing this to you?”
“See you soon.”
The line went dead.
Juan cursed. His brother did not sound well at all. Maybe he could use it to his advantage. Maybe the effects of the serum were wearing off. Maybe there was still a chance he could disarm Paul and take him in alive so they could try to find a cure for him. He had to try. Paul might be their only link to Rockwell, whom he believed knew something about ELEPHAS that he wasn’t saying. Juan felt that whatever he knew was the key to everything.
Juan dropped his head and shoved his hands in his pockets as he continued his aimless stroll.
At least this would all be over soon.
When Juan looked up, he realized he was about to walk past Mika’s apartment building. It was funny how he hadn’t even been thinking where he was walking. He was trying to figure out where to go next when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.
He turned.
It was Mika.
“Hello, Paul.”
“Wh— How— Um— Yeah . . .” Juan scratched behind his neck. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“What’s it look like?”
“I . . . don’t know?”
Juan realized that Mika was smiling.
“It’s good to see you,” she said.
Juan shuffled his feet on the sidewalk. “You too.”
She walked up to him and hugged him and then stepped back. Juan was too surprised to say anything. “I know you’ve been keeping tabs on me,” she said.
“What? No, I haven’t . . .”
“You’re not as suave as you think, Paul. I’ve seen you at lunch a few times.”
“Must have been someone who looks like me.”
“You know, I’m not the same person I was before . . . that happened. I’m more aware of my surroundings. I’m not as defenseless as you think. I’m not helpless.”
“I’m not saying you are.”
“Your actions say otherwise.”
There was a sadness in her eyes that Juan could barely stand to see. He wanted to console her, but she had purposefully stepped back out of his reach. She wanted him to know that she didn’t need him.
“You’re looking good,” he said. “You look healthy.”
“Cuts eventually heal,” she said. “And fingernails regrow.”
Juan looked guiltily at Mika’s arms, concealed by the long-sleeved navy shirt under her nurse’s attire. Then he looked at her fingers. Some of her fingertips were still bandaged up. Juan shuddered as he wondered—not for the first time—what it must have felt like for Mika’s fingernails to snap backward as she had clawed at the vinyl floor of the safehouse a couple months ago, trying to escape her captors.
He couldn’t understand the gentle smile still on her lips. What was she trying to tell him?
“Now the psychological damage . . .” she said. “That’s another story. But I’ve got a psychiatrist and others in my life I can talk to. And going back to work has helped. I enjoy what I do.”
“That’s good.”
She looked at him. “Do you still enjoy what you do?”
“I think so. Somedays I’m not so sure what
I’m trying to do anymore.”
“But you’re better for doing it, right? Placing yourself in danger in order to help others. Tracking down the bad people who’d hurt others.”
“I guess.”
“You’ve got a good team backing you up,” she said. “I really enjoyed getting to know them.”
“They like you, too,” he said. He was about to say something else, but she spoke first.
“It was nice talking, but I’ve got to go.”
“Your cat, right?”
“I’ve got . . . a friend coming over in a little bit.”
Juan swallowed. Mika suddenly seemed uptight, as if she was holding something back from him so she wouldn’t hurt him. It was like he was the one who was still hurt, and she didn’t want to hurt him.
It frustrated him.
But he really didn’t want to hear her say that her boyfriend was coming over.
She raised a hand and gave him a little wave as she walked off.
I miss you, he wished he could say, but couldn’t.
His heart stopped when Mika paused and turned back. “By the way, how is your relationship with your brother going?”
Juan blinked. She remembered that? “We’ve communicated.”
“Give him another chance. He might surprise you.”
“He’s more likely to kill me,” Juan said, not meaning it as a joke.
She laughed and said, “Boys will be boys, I guess.”
“I guess.”
“Well, take care of yourself, Paul.” She turned again and walked off before he could even say, “You too.”
Juan stood there for a moment and checked his watch. He didn’t have much time. He’d grab a quick lunch and head to Cali’s place.
35
Cards
“You really don’t look okay.”
“I really don’t feel okay.”
Cali looked at him from behind the wheel of her jeep. “Cheer up.” She punched him in the arm, and he flinched.
“Ouch.”
The Colombian Rogue Page 23