by Tim Stevens
*
In the storeroom they found a box of plastic ties, and Harmony helped secure the still semi-conscious Franciscus to a chair in the same way he’d done to them. They bound Salazar’s man’s hands behind his back, too, though Venn left his legs free.
Venn turned to Harmony. “Take this guy and the kid and wait outside.”
“Venn -”
“I need to find out if Franciscus is worth taking in.”
She said, with a glance at the ruined window, “Salazar will be sending more men.”
“I know,” said Venn. “This won’t take long.”
He waited until he saw them out on the forecourt, some distance away, the prisoner stumbling ahead of Harmony, Clune shambling beside her.
Then he turned to Franciscus.
The man’s head lolled, jerking erect from time to time and then slumping again. Venn picked up one of the empty buckets that had been used to douse his head and went from room to room until he found a kitchenette. He filled the bucket and brought it back.
Franciscus stared blearily at him, blood from his torn scalp caked in his hair. He winced as his injured arm pulled against the ties.
“Franciscus,” said Venn. “My turn to do the asking.”
He tore one of the drapes off the rail above the window and threw it over Franciscus’ head.
“What... what are you doing?” the man muttered, his voice indistinct for all kinds of reasons.
“You know what this is,” said Venn. “Waterboarding. Simulated drowning. I don’t have time to waste.”
He hefted the bucket and tipped it. As the water began to trickle out, Franciscus said: “You haven’t asked me anything yet.”
Venn lowered the bucket, pulled off the drape. Franciscus looked weary.
“Why are you even bothering?” he asked. “You’re going to hand me over to the Federal authorities anyway. They’ll just interrogate me. Save yourself some time and energy, and leave it.”
“Two reasons I need answers,” Venn said. “The first is that I haven’t decided yet whether to take you in, or kill you right here. Your answers may influence that decision. The second, is that it’s insurance. If I take you in, and you cut a deal, or your protectors in government, whoever they are, organize a coverup, at least I’ll know the truth. And I won’t be silenced so easily.”
Franciscus nodded, as if this was sound reasoning.
“All right, Marine,” he said.
And he began to talk.
Venn listened to the story. About the Delta project and its hatching, almost a decade earlier. About how Franciscus got involved because he’d been stationed in San Antonio for close on a year and had taken an interest in the local drug scene and how Salazar’s cartel had it locked down. About Franciscus’ handling of Flowers, his bi-monthly trips to the office to get progress updates. His influence in the decision not to have Salazar killed when he’d taken out Flowers, but rather to allow him to remain in place while Delta continued to be rolled out.
“Where did O’Dell fit in?” asked Venn.
“We discovered Salazar had branched out to New York City recently,” said Franciscus. “He’s started selling his stuff there. So we extended the Delta project accordingly. O’Dell was the distributor for the drugs Delta was producing for the New York market. Kruger was the man selling them. He’d got them from Flowers. Again, the aim was to crowd Salazar out of the market, to beat him at his own game and drive him back to Mexico.”
“Why’d you kill O’Dell?”
“He was talking too much,” said Franciscus, grimacing again as his broken right forearm was tugged by his restraints. “Ready to give away Kruger, and who knows what else besides. He was small fry, O’Dell. He didn’t even know I was involved in the project. But he was a liability.”
“And why did Salazar kill Kruger?”
“That, I don’t know for sure,” said Franciscus. “Maybe he came to New York looking for Clune, and decided while he was there to get rid of one more of Flowers’ associates.”
Venn said, thinking aloud, “Or maybe Salazar realized Clune would go to Kruger for help, since he was the only person Clune knew in New York City. Maybe Salazar suspected Clune had given the Kruger the million dollars he stole, and wanted it back.”
He stood up. “Final question. Who’s your boss? Who exactly is it that’s behind the Delta project?”
“That,” said Franciscus, “I’m not going to tell you. Not if you waterboard me. Not if you do to me what I was doing to the Clune boy. And believe me, Lieutenant Venn, I’m doing you a favor.”
“Thanks very much,” said Venn. “But I’m not -”
“Think about it,” said Franciscus. “An enemy in a very high place, against whom you’ve got no hard evidence, is a dangerous thing to have. Even if I gave you a name now, I’d deny it later, and it would be your word against mine. But once you make an accusation against the person, you’re in danger. Forever. So is your family. So are your descendants.”
Venn looked down at Franciscus for a long moment. He said: “This is the part where you tell me why. Why you did what you did. Why you’ve been party to this grossly criminal abuse of authority for the better part of a decade. Why you’ve murdered and tortured and deceived.”
Franciscus’ expression didn’t change from the one of quiet resignation it had been set in ever since Venn had started questioning him. He said, “You know the answer, Venn. I did it all for the good of the nation. Of the American people. Yes, it seems repugnant now, in the short-term and on an individual level. But in the long run, it will lead to the controlling of this country’s drug epidemic in a way that’s impossible now. And when you control something, when you quarantine it, you can eventually get rid of it altogether.”
“My God,” said Venn. “You’re an all-out American hero. The kind every kid wants to become when he grows up.”
“The old rules have changed, Lieutenant,” said Franciscus quietly. “You know that yourself.”
Venn had had enough. He turned to the open window and called, “Harm. I’m done.”
She returned, shepherding Clune and the prisoner.
“He talk?” she said, looking at Franciscus as though he was a side of beef.
“Yeah. We’re taking him in.”
Harmony looked at Venn. “You sure that’s wise?”
“The hell with staying off the grid. This guy’s a gold mine of information. I’ll tell you all about it in a while. It’s time to hand him over to the Feds. Our work’s done.”
“How about him?” Harmony nodded at Salazar’s man.
“We leave him here. Cops can pick him up later.”
*
They reached the Subaru. It was, miraculously, unscathed apart from a shot-out headlamp. Even the car behind it, the one Franciscus’ men had appeared from to ambush Harmony and Clune, had taken several stray bullets through the windshield.
“Where are we going?” asked Clune.
“Back into San Antonio,” said Venn. “We’ll alert the FBI there.”
“What about me?” The kid’s voice held a quaver.
“We’ll figure something out. But you’re a material witness. You can’t get out of talking to the Feds.”
When Clune looked stricken, Venn said: “Look, kid. Salazar’s going to be a busted flush after Franciscus talks. I’m not saying he’s going to be no threat at all, but once they’ve mopped him and his men up, you’ll be out of danger. You’ll be kept in protective custody till then. And I’m not talking about a safe house, like the one Walter took you to. I’m talking a Federal facility.”
This time Harmony sat in the backseat, next to Franciscus, her gun trained on him. Clune rode up front alongside Venn.
As Venn started the engine, he felt exhaustion sweep over him like a wave crashing on a shore. There were lots of unanswered questions, ones he couldn’t even think clearly enough to formulate yet.
But there’d be time for that later. He needed to get Franciscus to the Feds in
San Antonio, and then they could all book a flight back to New York, and catch a little rest.
It was almost over.
*
They were just within the San Antonio city limits when Salazar played his trump card.
Chapter 41
The phone buzzed and Venn fished it out of his pocket and said, “Hello?”
“Joseph Venn?” said a man’s voice, lightly accented.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Somebody here wants to speak with you.”
There was a burst of static. Then: “Venn?”
A woman’s voice, with an edge of panic.
Beth.
If Venn hadn’t been driving, he’d have squeezed his eyes shut. Cold clamped his innards, threatening to twist them till they erupted.
With difficulty he said, “Beth? Are you -”
The man’s voice came back on. “The British man. Clune. A trade. Him for her.”
Beside Venn, Clune must have heard, because he sat up in alarm.
Venn said, “Are you Salazar?”
“Yes.”
“You son of a bitch.” He gripped the wheel so hard he felt the plastic creak. “You harm her in any way, I’ll rip you apart with my bare hands.”
“Deliver Clune to me, and it won’t need to come to that.” Salazar spoke flatly, as though he was an insurance salesman offering a choice of packages.
In the backseat, Harmony said, “Is it Beth? Ah, no...”
Venn said into the phone, “Where are you?”
“Currently airborne. We’ll be landing at an airfield near Brownsville, around three hundred miles southeast of San Antonio. Here are the GPS coordinates.” He paused.
Venn mouthed, ‘Pen. Pen,’ to Clune. Clune scrabbled in the glove compartment and found a chewed ballpoint.
“Yeah,” said Venn into the phone.
Salazar gave him the coordinates, and Venn repeated them out loud. Clune scribbled them on the back of his hand.
“You’re still near San Antonio?” said Salazar.
“Yes.”
“Then you can get to the airfield in four hours. I make it... seven fifty-five. You have until midnight. If you’re not there by then, the woman gets a bullet in the head, and I’ll be gone.”
“God damn you-”
“Midnight. No cops. It’s isolated out there. Sound carries. If I hear the trace of a siren, I’ll kill her and vanish. But I’ll still find the British guy, sooner or later.”
Before Venn could reply, the call was terminated.
Venn didn’t slow the car, didn’t pull over and pound the dashboard in fury and fear, even though he wanted to.
Instead, he swung the Subaru onto a tributary road in a howl of rubber on tarmac, and set off southeast.
*
“What are you going to do?” asked Franciscus from the backseat.
Harmony said, “Shut up,” and jabbed the gun into his side.
Venn drove as if he was the only car on the road, weaving through the evening traffic with only the bare minimum of courtesy, provoking punched horns and raised middle fingers.
Franciscus said, “You don’t know everything about Salazar.”
Venn glanced in the mirror, where Franciscus’ eyes met his.
Franciscus said, “He’s like you, Venn. He’s a Marine. A US citizen, who forsaked the land of his birth and returned to the land of his ancestors. He was dishonorably discharged from the Marines. And he’s got an enduring hatred of America as a result. Which is one of the main reasons he’s taking revenge on us, by poisoning our kids, one by one. Poisoning them with the narcotics he floods them with.”
Despite the frenzied terror that had Venn in its grip, he muttered: “And what you’re doing is different, is it? Poisoning the nation’s people in order to... what? Seize control of the monopoly on poisoning?”
“I didn’t mean to start a debate with you, Lieutenant,” said Franciscus. “I just wanted to let you know what you’re up against. Salazar is a fanatic. He’s obsessed with slights, and respect, and humiliation. He’s become a drug kingpin because he feels hard done by by the United States. He’s taken half of New York apart because he’s looking one insignificant kid who stole a miserable million bucks from him. He won’t be amenable to negotiation, to bargaining. Either you give him Clune, or he will kill your woman. And he’s a trained killer. He’s as expert at it as you are, Venn.”
“Lecture heard and understood,” said Venn. “Now please. Shut up.”
He floored the accelerator, desperate to get there as quickly as possible, yet at the same time wishing he could take his time. Because he needed time to think of a plan, and right now nothing presented itself to him.
Nothing at all.
Chapter 42
Salazar made the woman sit on the floor, because he didn’t want her signaling somehow to Venn when she saw him arrive.
Not that it would make any difference.
They were in the office of the airfield, a tiny facility with a single strip of runway and only a single airplane at the end. It was a private field, one Salazar didn’t own but had preferential use of. Usually he employed it to run shipments of product across the border. Today, it had provided a convenient venue for him to return to from New York.
He’d taken the Eclipse 500 light jet plane he used for longer trips across the continent. With one stopover for refueling, they’d made it to the airfield in a little over five hours. Salazar had been waiting here with the woman for the last thirty minutes.
As soon as he’d gotten the call from the watchers outside the office, the message that said they’d seen the kid, Clune, going in together with the two cops, Salazar had made calls to organize the plane, and had ordered ten men in to grab the kid. Shortly afterward, just after the plane was airborne, he got the call saying his men were dead, and Venn had gotten away with Clune.
But he had his ace up the sleeve.
The two men he’d left behind in Venn’s home had grabbed the woman as she’d returned that afternoon, around four p.m. They’d called Salazar, asking what to do with her, and he’d told them to keep her there. Only after he’d received the message about the sighting of Clune outside San Antonio had he ordered that the woman be brought to the plane at the airfield in Queens. Salazar met her there and put her aboard, together with her two guards.
He called ahead and ordered four men to be ready at the Brownsville airfield. He didn’t have all that many men in the vicinity, and his numbers were running a little low as he’d brought most of his manpower to New York and there was little chance of them reaching South Texas in time. But six men, plus the two on board the plane, ought to be enough.
Salazar felt the satisfaction of the end game approaching, a game he was certain to win. Venn had no option but to hand over Clune. Salazar would grab Clune, and then kill the girl, and Venn, and the black cop who was Venn’s partner. Then he’d make the short jump from Brownsville across the border into Mexico, where he’d be able to deal with the British youth at his leisure.
He gazed into the darkness beyond the perimeter of the airfield. There were no lights for miles around, the city of Brownsville itself a dim glow on the horizon to the south. Down below, under the arc lights, four of his men patrolled the tarmac, each one armed with that old standby of modern conventional combat, the AK-47 assault rifle. His two remaining men were with him in the control tower, their weapons handguns. Salazar himself carried his Colt.
The pilot was ensconced in a room in the main airfield building, with strict instructions to keep himself out of danger. He was one man Salazar couldn’t afford to lose, since neither Salazar nor any of his other men could fly the plane.
Salazar checked his watch. Twenty minutes to midnight.
He felt the tension spreading achingly, pleasurably through his nervous system, heightening his senses, sharpening his wits.
Venn would be there by the deadline. He was certain of it.
*
Thirty miles into their j
ourney, during which time Venn had consistently violated the speed law and had fought the impulse to push the Subaru even harder because the last thing he needed right now was to end up in a chase with a bunch of state troopers, Franciscus said: “I may be able to help.”
Venn looked at him in the rearview mirror. “What?”
“Salazar is going to kill us all. He’ll take Clune, and kill your girlfriend, and massacre the rest of us. He’ll have a small army of men with him, armed to the teeth.”
Venn said, “And that’s the help you’re offering? Pointing out that we’re all going to die?”
“You might have a shot at evening out the odds a little,” said Franciscus.
“I’m listening.”
Franciscus said, “Tell your partner to take the gun out of my face. I can’t concentrate, knowing that if you hit a bump in the road she may end up spraying my brains across the window.”
“The gun stays, you piece of shit,” said Venn. “What have you got in mind?”
Franciscus sighed. “The Delta project incorporates a number of... ancillary measures.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Arms caches,” said Franciscus.
Venn stared at him again in the mirror.
“There’s one on the route southeast of here,” said Franciscus. “It involves a slight detour.”
“Arms caches,” said Venn. “We already have arms.”
“I’m talking ordnance of a higher level.”
Venn drove on for a minute.
Then he said: “How much of a detour?”
Franciscus glanced aside, calculating. “Fifteen minutes.”
“All right,” said Venn. “Tell me where.”
Chapter 43
At seven minutes to midnight, Salazar saw the twin beams of the headlights crest the slight hill to the north of the airfield and roll down the side.
Down on the tarmac, his men looked up at the tower, awaiting instructions. Salazar made gestures with his hands. The men broke into a run, fanning out and positioning themselves in a line along the edge of the runway.
To the woman, Salazar said: “You can get up now. Keep your hands down by your sides.”