by David Cole
What do you want me to do?"
"Confirm what's in those documents."
"I do so."
"And?"
"I cannot prosecute. Embezzled monies, perhaps we can recover them from the offshore accounts you have identified. The men themselves? I am powerless."
Frustrated, she jammed the smoldering cigarette into the ashtray and quickly lit another. She inhaled deeply, like a marijuana smoker, and slowly let out the smoke.
"You know about El Chapo?" she asked.
"Guzman? The drug lord who bought his way out of prison?"
"Yes. Some people in his cartel financed Zamora's maquiladora. From the start, the entire plan was to build a model maquiladora, one that your government would hail as a champion of NAFTA. From the start, El Chapo's men planned to use the buildings as a base for smuggling. From the start, it was meant to be drugs. But in the past few years, major money has been made by smuggling people. Zamora brought his entrepreneurial spirit to smuggling women. He realized that you Americans have many appetites. Drugs is one of them, sex another. Tell me, Laura. I may call you Laura?"
"Yes."
"You must have suspected me."
"I did."
"You went to Kykotsmovi. You asked if anybody knew a young girl named Pinau. But that was a family name, almost a secret name. I dreamed of having my butterfly hairdo, I dreamed of the ceremony. People died. I was taken to Mexico. I'm not surprised that nobody remembered my secret name."
Her cell phone burred, a slight sound, almost like an insect.
"Yes? She's with me now. I'll call you back soon."
"What can you do?" I said once again.
"Do you play poker?"
"Played at it. Nickel, dime, nothing more."
"I've just raised somebody an enormous amount of face."
"Face?"
"Men. Mexican men. As I said before, men tolerate women like me. Especially men in power. They tolerate women in general, but they don't really want women to have any power outside of the home. My husband died five years ago. I've given my life to Mexico. And I play a truly vicious game of poker."
"I don't understand what you're telling me."
"In Mexico, there are both official and unofficial ways to get things done. All too often, money works in unofficial ways. But sometimes, those of us who are true to our country, we use those other methods. I have just made certain that word is passed to the drug cartels that Francisco Zamora's smuggling operation is about to be shut down. Word has been passed that he took twenty percent of the profits off the top and diverted them to offshore bank accounts. The ones you've told me about. Ten percent might be tolerated, perhaps even fifteen. Those who steal twenty percent are punished. And now, I'm tired. If you'd be so kind, an old woman would like to crawl into bed."
"I still don't understand."
"If I've read all these documents correctly, there is a scheduled delivery tomorrow of another group of women to a ranch in the San Rafael Valley. By tomorrow, Zamora will know that the cartels no longer wish him to stay in business. In the short run, it will make a difference. In six months ... do you know much about these cartels that traffic in women?"
"I've talked with a few of the women in chat rooms."
"On the Internet? How interesting."
"Survivors. Helping each other. But only a small percentage of the women. As for the cartels, I only know what I read in that CIA report you told me about."
"By any conservative estimate," she said, "over one hundred thousand women were smuggled into the US last year. Zamora only worked a percentage of that. By tomorrow, the cartels will already have divided who gets the women supplied to Zamora. So. I'm tired. I think that's all. Oh. Please. Would you thank the woman I first contacted? The woman who hired you."
"I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"She died yesterday."
"Madre de dios!"
Pinau collapsed in her chair, made the sign of the cross.
"I am so sorry," she said faintly. "I think you should leave now."
"Can I have your guarantee about something?"
"In return for what you've given me? Ask. If I can do it, I will."
"Basta Ya. Let it flourish."
"The workers' union? For Indian women, mestizo women? I will try."
"Thank you," I said. "Thank you."
"Señor Johnny. Do I understand correctly, he was once your husband?"
"Yes."
"Was he a good man?"
"Once, a long time ago, I thought he'd hung the moon."
"Ah. My Cristóbal was that kind of man. I will do my best. I can't promise anything. Since the Public Ministry controls prosecution of Basta Ya, I can speak to some of the correct people. That's all you want? In return for what you've done?"
"Yes."
"If I were you" she said, "I would tell him to vanish for a while."
"He already has."
"If I were you, I would also vanish. The drug cartels will put Zamora out of business, but they will hate you for it. They have long memories."
"I am leaving tomorrow."
She stood and extend her hands, taking mine and squeezing them.
"Mexico thanks you, Laura Winslow."
Outside her hotel room, I leaned against the corridor wall, exhausted. My cell phone rang and I moved quickly away from her door.
"It's all set up," Rey said. "You say the word, I'll start the ball."
"Go," I said, and started to turn off the cell phone.
"Lock and load," I heard him say to himself. "Rock and roll."
37
We came in on horseback along a ridge two hundred yards above the ranch. While I tied the horses' reins securely to a large mesquite branch, Rey started glassing the ranch with his binoculars.
He wore total cammies. Hat, long-sleeve shirt, multi-pocketed fatigue pants tucked into cammie-patterned army boots. An M-16 slung behind his back, a Glock nine on one hip and on the opposite shoulder a Benelli M3 Super 90 combat shotgun.
During the night he'd shaved his head entirely bald.
Why? I'd asked.
It's an edge, he'd said with a shrug. A combat edge. They think they know what I look like. Now I want to show them that I'm the wrath of God.
"We early enough?" I asked.
"No truck yet. No people. Check that. Somebody just came out of the barn. Going back in."
I checked my watch, a new Timex I'd grabbed in Walgreen's when I realized that Meg had taken my old watch with the implanted tracking device.
"Seven. According to the computer records that Don Ralph found, the truck should be here by eight."
"I want you to stay up here."
"Can't do that."
"Then take the shotgun."
"Don't want to do that either."
"Damn it, Laura. You're just in the way here."
I went twenty yards away. We waited.
"Vehicle coming down the road."
"The truck?"
"A Suburban. Inside the fence, at the barn. People getting out."
"It's only seven-thirty. Who can it be?"
He lowered the binoculars suddenly, took a deep breath, raised them to his eyes.
"We've got real trouble."
Handing me the binoculars, he shook his head angrily. Zamora got out of the driver's door. I had to refocus and gasped as I saw Garza pull Alex Emerine from the car, and then Amada.
"Rey, look!" I gave him the binoculars. "What are they doing here?"
"I don't know," Rey whispered in shock. "The two of them were supposed to be driving to Scottsdale."
Rey unslung the Benelli shotgun, racked the slide, and reached into one of the pouches in his pants to take out another shell. Inserting it into the magazine, he handed the shotgun to me. I backed away.
"Two dirt bikes," he said. "I figure at least two other men in the barn. Zamora, Garza, two in the bam. I'll need you with a gun."
"I'm going to call for help."
"N
o time. This is a hostage situation."
"At least wait for the truck."
"Don't you get it? Laura, the truck's never going to show."
"What do you mean? It's scheduled."
"By who?"
"Zamora."
"And you trust him?"
"No, but..."
"The tanker's not going to show. My guess? They're here to torch the ranch. With Alex and Amada inside."
I took the shotgun by the barrel.
"Seven rounds in there. Deer slugs. Like a really big bullet, not like buckshot. You put one of those slugs into somebody, they're going down. And take this."
He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a small Beretta.
"Twenty-five caliber, nine rounds. If you have to do something up close, drop the shotgun and use this."
"Rey, you're really scaring me. Why don't we call the Border Patrol?"
"Because they might send Jake Nasso."
He started moving down the slope, keeping his body behind mesquite trees and creosote bushes. Twenty yards down, he turned to look at me. I hadn't moved. I was paralyzed. He came back up to me.
"Laura. That's my daughter down there. It's a hostage situation. I know how to handle these things, but I need you with me. And I need you now! Oh Christ!"
He raised the binoculars briefly.
"Those two guys in the barn, they just came outside with plastic gas cans. They're dropping the cans, they're picking up two more. Now, Laura. Now!"
"I don't think I can do this," I protested.
"It'll be over so fast you don't have to think about it."
"I am thinking about it."
"Don't think. First, last, only rule of dealing with a hostage situation. Don't take time to think. If you have to, just unload everything in that shotgun, take out the Beretta and unload everything in it. I'll be directing your fire, thinking for you."
"I can't kill somebody."
"Don't think about it. I'm going down there. Now. Be ready for me."
"Hello the barn!" Rey shouted.
A man stepped outside, recoiled when he saw Rey standing fifty feet away, and ran back into the barn.
"Hello the barn!" Rey shouted again. "Come on out here."
Garza stepped hesitantly through the door, a Tec 10 in his right hand. Zamora came out behind him, accompanied by two men in biker leathers. One of them had a pistol against Amada's head, the other had his arm around Alex's throat. Rey held up his arms, showed them the M-16, and laid it slowly on the ground. Reaching inside his shirt, he carefully removed a large, thick envelope and held it up.
"I've got all of Winslow's papers. I've got the tape recorder, I've got everything right here. No copies, no computer files, nothing except what I've got right here."
Zamora made a slight motion with his hands.
"You must be Villaneuva," he said. Garza started drifting to his right.
"Let's trade."
"Why would I trade anything with you?"
"All these papers, computer disks, the recorder."
Rey dropped the hand with the envelope. Garza had now fanned out twenty feet on Zamora's left side. The two bikers remained where they were.
"You're a fool. What could I possibly have that I would trade?"
"The girls."
"I've got two men up on the slope," Rey said. "You're in their sights. Any move other than to make this trade, they take you down."
Garza looked up to where I lay behind some rocks. He held his hand over his eyes against the sun behind me.
"Thirty seconds," Rey shouted, pumping his left arm up and down. "That's their signal. If you don't send the girls over in thirty seconds, they'll take you down."
"Can we talk about this?"
"Not with me. Twenty seconds."
"Give me a minute."
"Ten seconds."
"All right!"
Garza protested, but Zamora cut him off and motioned to the biker holding Alex. The biker lowered his pistol and shoved Alex forward. She staggered and regained her balance, not sure what to do. Zamora waved for her to walk toward Rey.
"Both the girls!" Rey shouted.
"There's a matter of trust here."
"Trust has got nothing to do with this. Hey, motorcycle guys. All that gasoline you've been spreading around, you realize that Zamora's going to burn you up?"
The bikers looked at each other, confused, looked at Zamora, who shook his head in disgust.
"No, really," Rey said to the bikers. "Let's talk trust here. Do you two really trust Zamora? You're nothing to him except the power you've got as witnesses."
Somebody else came out of the barn.
Jake Nasso.
He started talking to the bikers to reassure them.
"You believe Nasso?" Garza shouted. "He's Zamora's man inside the whole task force that broke up this smuggling ring. You think Nasso gives a shit about you two?"
One of the bikers started running, and the other raised his pistol. Garza shot them both with one burst from his Tec 10.
"Garza!" Rey shouted. "What kind of trust have you got for Zamora?"
"You know what?" Zamora said. "I think you're bluffing, Villaneuva. I don't think you've got two men up on the slope. You're a loner, that's what I've always heard. I think we're going to end this. Right now."
"Hoy!"
Shouting, I stood up. Rey had given me his cammie hat, and I'd tucked my hair underneath it. Holding the shotgun shoulder high, I started down the slope.
"There's one," Rey said.
"It's that fucking woman!" Garza shouted, and began firing at me.
Rey dropped flat against the ground, grabbing the M-16 and rolling sideways, firing on full auto as his body rotated entirely around. Garza dropped to his knees and Rey emptied his clip, throwing Garza backwards. Running straight at Zamora, Rey shucked the M-16 clip and rammed home another and fired without hardly a pause. Zamora grabbed Alex, trying to get her inside the barn as Nasso reached out and grabbed Amada, snapping her head back violently as he pulled her body in front of his. Zamora dropped sideways, and Rey emptied his clip and started to insert another. Zamora raised his gun and I ran toward him, shooting, the shotgun recoil throwing the barrel too high. I pumped the slide and fired again, the deer slug screeching across the ranch yard. Zamora saw that Rey had dropped the next clip, turned to me as I pumped the slide and fired again. The slug thudded into the barn wall and Zamora stood straight up, holding his gun in both hands and sighting at me as I pumped the slide and fired, missing him again as his bullet whistled past my left ear so I pumped the slide one last time, stopped running, held the shotgun to my shoulder and fired.
He dropped instantly. Like a stone in a deep well. No sounds at all. Just gone.
Alex disappeared into the barn. Nasso pulled a Glock from behind his back and held it to Amada's head as Rey rammed home another clip and leveled the M-16.
"We've got a deal," Nasso said. "I take the papers, you get the woman and the girl. Is that going to happen?"
"Shoot him, Dad!" Amada shouted.
"Let her go," Rey said quietly.
"So we've got a deal?"
"Only deal on the deck is that you let her go, I let you live."
"That's the only way out of this?"
"For Christ's sake, shoot him!"
"Live or die," Rey said. "Your choice."
"This is your daughter, man. Don't be foolish."
Rey jumped sideways and went into a full body roll.
Nasso moved the Glock over Amada's shoulder, pointed it down between her breasts, and shot her in the right thigh. She staggered, slipped through his arms as he brought the Glock level. Rey instantly began firing, and Nasso's head exploded. Amada slipped to the ground as Rey emptied his entire clip, the bullets whapping into Nasso's body so that long after he was dead, his body danced and shimmered.
I threw away the shotgun and knelt beside Amada, feeling fora pulse. Alex came out of the barn, sobbing, and knelt beside me. I realized Amada w
as alive. Alex hugged me, Rey knelt and put his arms around both of us as we sat in that happy circle.
38
"Come on, get into the car," Taá said, clearly surprised that I wasn't alone. I'd asked her to meet me at the airport. She was driving a white Caprice. It looked and smelled like a rental car, and underneath the passenger's seat I could see one of those protective sheets of paper that rental companies put out when the car is cleaned for another customer.
Meg climbed into the front seat, while I got in back.
"So it's done," Taá said.
"Done."
"Jake Nasso. Who would have figured?"
"You're surprised?" I asked.
"I knew somebody in our task force was bad. I thought it was Dance."
"He had too much to lose," I said as she pulled away from the curb.
"With all that money, anything's possible. Nobody's beyond corruption."
"Where we going?" Meg asked.
"Well. I was going to take Laura to AZIC, show her a batch of satellite intel that just came in. But I can't get you in there, so I'll have to drop you somewhere."
As Taá turned through the airport parking lot construction area, the Caprice bumped along a dirt road. Meg's head bobbled, most of it due to her agitated state. When I'd met her earlier, I could tell that she was heavily into a manic phase, her eyes totally open, muscles rippling up and down her face and bare shoulders and arms.
"Drop me," she sang. "Bop me, drop me, pretty baby, doo wop me."
Taá stopped the car and swiveled to look at me.
"She's out of her head, Laura. Why did you bring her along?"
"Along for the song," Meg said. "Sarong, baby, sarong."
I cupped both of my hands around the back of Meg's head, wanting her to be quiet. Sarong obviously started out in her head as so long and I didn't want Taá to get that idea. Not yet. Some things didn't quite seem right, I tell you. Taá worked with Nasso, but how closely, and were they just partners as law officers, or partners in crime? I wasn't sure, despite the data I had to show Taá. I realized that getting into the car with Taá was a mistake.
"She'll be okay," I said. "I'll just give you the last of the data, and then you'll never see me again."
"Just like that?" Taá said.
"Rat a tat tat, just like that."