“This way,” Kinney said. He started off across the compound.
“Come on, Dante,” Ruben said. “Please.”
Dante got to his feet. He’d stopped praying. He didn’t look at Ruben as he picked up one side of the blanket. Without a word, the two men carried the dead weight of a man once known as Diego, sometimes dragging him, but mostly managing to get him an inch or two off the ground. They followed Kinney across the compound, moving from harsh white light to black shadow, until they reached the back fence, on the opposite side of the compound from the fields. There was a gate, just wide and high enough for a man to go through, locked with a large padlock. Ruben could make out the outlines of a long, open-sided, shed-like building beyond the fence.
“That’s the sawmill,” Dante whispered. “Do you think they mean for us to cut him…”
“No talking,” Kinney barked. He took a key from a ring on his belt and unlocked it. They carried Diego’s body through the gate and toward the mill. There were none of the floodlights that lit the central compound here; the waning moon, interrupted by the clouds that blew across it at irregular intervals, provided the only illumination. In the dim light, Ruben could make out the shapes of machinery inside the shed. Kinney stopped for a moment by one of the machines. They lowered Diego’s body to the concrete shed floor, panting with the effort. “Keep going,” Kinney said as he straightened up. He was carrying something in the hand not holding the gun. They picked up Diego’s body with an audible groan, carrying their burden through the covered area and out into the open land beyond.
The moonlight revealed a scene like something from a war zone. All the trees were gone, only a few ragged stumps remaining like shredded bones poking from the ends of hacked-off limbs. Kinney led them into this ravaged landscape, under the uncertain and wavering moonlight. Finally, he stopped. “Here,” he said.
Ruben looked. His stomach turned to ice. There were at least twenty places where the earth had been disturbed, laid out neatly in two rows of ten rectangular plots each. Diego would not be the first person buried here. Ruben knew he wouldn’t be the last. There had been others before them. “All of us will end up here,” he thought numbly. “They’ll work us to death, starve us, execute us if we try to fight.” A feeling of black despair washed over him. Papa, I need you here. But his father was nowhere to be found. Ruben had no idea where he was. There was no way he was coming to save them.
“Here’s your shovels,” Kinney said. He tossed a couple of short-handled spades on the ground. “Get digging.”
Ruben looked at him. The black despair began to take on a dark fringe of red rage around its edges. He almost charged Kinney right then, blind with the need to wipe that smirk off the blond man’s face. The thought of the dead man at his feet stopped him. He looked over at Dante. There’d be no help from that quarter. All that would happen would be that Ruben would be lying dead from Kinney’s gun next to Diego. That was if he was lucky. If he wasn’t, he’d face the same agonizing death and humiliation as Diego had. And Edgar would be alone. One more day, he decided. Maybe if I live one more day, something will happen.
“Come on,” he told Dante. “Let’s get to work.”
They began to dig, the short-handled shovels making the job more difficult. Kinney paced back and forth, watching them, occasionally glancing up to where the clouds scudded across the moon. They’d been digging for at least fifteen minutes before Kinney began to talk, as if their silence disturbed him. “This shit takes too long,” he said. “We need to come up with a better way of disposing of waste. That’s what you are, you know. Waste. I read about how one of your drug lords used to get rid of bodies. He had a guy called the ‘soup maker.’ Used to dissolve bodies in acid. The guy said he learned the formula from the Israelis. That figures, doesn’t it? The Mexicans learning from the Jews. Maybe we should make up a big old stew pot out here. Save some space.”
Dante stopped digging and looked up at Kinney. “Why don’t you…”
“Shhhh,” Ruben said. He knew what Dante was about to say would end up with him dead, and maybe Ruben as well. Dante just gave him a disgusted look and turned back to his digging.
Kinney hadn’t noticed the near interruption. While Dante was talking, another guard walked up. He and Kinney conferred for a moment in low tones. Finally, Kinney nodded. “Good news, muchachos,” he said in his horrible parody of a Mexican accent. “Corporal Colton here says another load’s coming north. That means some more of your people will be coming to keep you company.” He grinned. “We seem to be using them up pretty quick.”
Ruben didn’t answer. He just put his head down and kept digging.
THE DOOR to the room was slightly ajar. Keller felt a sense of foreboding as he pushed it open. The room was empty. When he looked around, her bags were gone. It was as if she’d never been there. He stood in the center of the room, feeling a cold twisting in his gut. He walked out to the balcony. The Jeep was still in the parking lot. If she’d left on her own, it hadn’t been in the only vehicle they had. It was logical to conclude, then, that she hadn’t left on her own. He didn’t know how, he didn’t know where she’d gone, but he had to assume Mandujano’s people had found them some other way. The bottom seemed to drop out of his stomach as the realization hit him. He’d failed her. He’d failed to keep her safe. He felt his fists clenching, as if of their own accord. The rage was building in him, turning the icy fear to a roiling ball of pure heat. He caught a glimpse of himself in the small mirror above the dresser. Before he knew what was happening, he advanced on it and tore it from the wall. He was raising it over his head to smash it against the floor when he heard a soft knocking. He lowered the mirror.
The knock came again. “Senor Keller?” a familiar, timid voice said.
Keller laid the mirror on the top of the dresser. He covered the distance to the door in two quick strides and yanked it open.
The young man who’d been working the front desk when they checked in was standing there. He flinched slightly at the look on Keller’s face. “Where is she?” Keller demanded.
The clerk swallowed nervously, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing as he did. He held out a manila envelope. “I…I was told to give you this.”
Keller took the envelope. “By who?”
The clerk looked away. “A man. A man who came to the desk.”
“The lady who was staying in this room,” Keller said, “where is she?”
The clerk shrugged. He still wouldn’t look at Keller. “She left.”
“No shit. How did she leave?”
“She left with a couple of men. One of them was the one who said to give you this.”
“What did they look like?” Keller said.
Another shrug. “Just men. Well-dressed. Nice suits.”
“What were they driving?”
“Nice car.”
“A black Mercedes diesel, maybe?”
The clerk nodded, a sick look on his face.
“You know who they are,” Keller said, and he put a hand on the young clerk’s shoulder, turning the man to face him. “And you’re going to tell me.”
“Please,” the clerk said, his voice breaking as his eyes met Keller’s, “just open the package. Your answers will be in there.”
Keller let go. The man was clearly terrified, either of Keller or of the people who’d left the package. Probably both. He opened the envelope and looked inside. The envelope held only a small cell phone and a white card, the size and shape of a business card. Keller took the cell phone out, then the card. There was a number written on it.
“I need to get back to the front desk,” the clerk said, his eyes pleading.
“Go ahead,” Keller said. “I may have some questions later. Stick around.” The man nodded once, then fled.
Keller sat down on the edge of the bed. He looked at the phone, then the number. He dialed.
The call was answered on the first ring. “Senor Keller,” a voice said. It was a different voice than the o
ne he and Angela had talked to earlier. The accent was the same, perhaps a little thicker, but the voice was higher.
“Where’s Angela Sanchez?” Keller said.
“She is with me,” the voice said. “And she is quite safe.”
“She’d better be,” Keller said. “And she better stay that way.”
“Senor Keller,” the voice said, “it is just that sort of aggressive attitude that made me invite Senora Sanchez to breakfast this morning.”
“Let me talk to her.”
“Certainly. In a moment. And she will, I hope, persuade you that your usual tactic of kicking down doors and shooting people will be unnecessary in this instance.”
“Put. Her. On,” Keller said through clenched teeth.
The man sighed. “Very well.”
Keller heard a muted conversation that he couldn’t make out.
In a moment, Angela’s voice came on the line. “I’m okay, Jack.”
Keller felt relief flooding through him. “Really?”
“Really. They didn’t hurt me, and they didn’t force me to come.”
“Then why did you?”
There was a rustling noise on the other end and the first voice came back on. “Now. Are you satisfied that Senora Sanchez is not being harmed? Or coerced?”
“Let’s just say I’m cautiously optimistic. For the moment. What do you want?”
“I want to have a meeting.”
“So do I.”
“Yes,” the voice said, “but I want to have it without any unpleasantness. You have a reputation, Mr. Keller, as being something of a hothead. A violent man.”
“Now who would say a thing like that?”
“Oscar Sanchez, for one.”
“So you have talked to Oscar.”
“I have. And he assures me that you are a dangerous adversary to have.”
“Oscar may have been exaggerating.”
“Perhaps. But I did not get where I am by taking unnecessary risks. Or by getting into unnecessary wars, even ones I am certain to win.” The voice sharpened. “You see, Senor Keller, I am also a dangerous adversary to have. And in this situation, I am an adversary with more men, and more guns. And you are, let us not forget, in my country. On my home ground.” The voice softened. “But I am also willing to make peace where peace can be made. To do business in a businesslike manner, where that can be done. That is why I am still standing, while many of my competitors are not.”
“Okay,” Keller said, “you’ve sold me, Mr. Mandujano.”
“Good,” the voice said. “I believe you know the location of my house. The young man at the front desk will have a paper with the exact directions on it. I’ll be expecting you. Alone, unarmed, and willing to talk business like a reasonable man.”
“Sure,” Keller said. “But I’d be a lot more reasonable if you’d let the lady go.”
“I have no guarantee that that’s true,” Mandujano said. “And I have every reason to believe you’ll be more reasonable if she stays. But in any case, I believe she wishes to stay and to be part of the meeting as well, since Mr. Sanchez will also be in attendance.”
“Oscar’s there?” Keller said.
“He is on his way,” Mandujano said. “And so, I assume, are you.”
“Count on it,” Keller said.
“Hasta pronto, Senor Keller. We will save some breakfast for you.”
THE HOUSE was a mile or so outside the town, beyond where the crowded streets trailed off into a collection of crude tar-papered shacks and old rusted house trailers, then to the familiar empty scrubland where only a few gnarled and stunted bushes grew.
Keller spotted the high wall that surrounded the house as soon as he got off the main road, following the directions on the GPS device the nervous desk clerk had handed him. As Keller drew nearer, he saw where even the sparse vegetation had been cleared away within a quarter-mile of the walls, leaving only parched earth. There would be no way to sneak up on the house, or to get away from it without being seen. It was perfectly designed to keep people in as well as out.
Keller pulled up in front of the gate, a massive structure of heavy timbers strapped together with iron. It stayed closed. “Come on,” Keller muttered. “I know you know I’m here. Quit playing games.” As if in answer, the gate began to open slowly. Keller pulled forward, but stopped as two men came out. They were dressed in identical BDU pants, with tight black T-shirts showing off the muscles beneath, but it was the H & K submachine guns they carried that made Keller stop. Both wore sunglasses. One of the men stopped a few feet away, while the other advanced on the Jeep. He was a dark-skinned black man, short, but compactly built, with a shaved head. Keller’s foot tensed on the brake. As promised, he’d come unarmed, but if either of the men raised their weapons, he’d run right over them. If they both fired, he knew he’d be dead, but maybe he could take at least one of the goons with him. He relaxed slightly as the man approaching slung his weapon on his shoulder. He stopped a few feet away and made a circular motion with his hand. Roll the window down. Keller did.
“Out of the car,” the man said. He had a distinctly American accent. “Engine off. Leave the keys.” Keller turned the engine off and slowly got out. “Hands on the fender,” the man said. “I need to search you.” The tone was businesslike rather than aggressive. A professional. Most likely ex-military. The clipped way he gave orders was the giveaway.
“I was invited here,” Keller said, but he assumed the position anyway.
The man did a quick but thorough frisk, then stepped away. “Okay,” he said. “Through the gate.”
“What about the car?” Keller said.
“You’ll get the car back,” the man said.
“Think I could get it washed in the meantime?” Keller said.
“Funny,” the man said. “Now move.”
Keller moved, walking ahead of the guard. Just inside the gate, he stepped into an oasis. In stark contrast to the sere landscape outside, the grounds inside the wall were richly landscaped, with hedges and beds of brightly blooming flowers. He walked along a path of flagstones set into a manicured green lawn. “This place must cost a mint to irrigate,” Keller said to the man behind him. The man didn’t answer. Keller caught sight of something and stopped dead. “Jesus. Is that a lion?”
The beast was lying down, but his head was up, watching them behind the thick iron bars of a cage set up against a wall of the house. A bright blue awning provided shade over the cage. His great golden eyes regarded them impassively. He was panting in the heat, the broad pink tongue hanging out.
“They let it out at night,” the guard said, “to patrol the grounds. Keep moving.” Keller shook his head and resumed his march.
The house itself was set on a slight rise. It was a sprawling, flat-roofed stucco edifice with only a few small windows. It reminded Keller of some of the homes he’d seen in Saudi Arabia. The path led up to a front door that opened as they approached. A fat man with a steel-gray brush cut was standing there, dressed in a suit. His clothes fit better and looked more expensive than the guard’s. It wasn’t physical power he was trying to show off. He didn’t look pleased to see Keller.
“Mr. Keller,” he said. Keller recognized the voice as the one from the first phone call, back in Wilmington
Keller put out his hand. “We’ve talked on the phone,” he said, “but I never got your name.”
“No,” the man said. “You didn’t. Follow me.” He turned and walked back into the dimness of the house.
Keller dropped his hand to his side and turned to the guard. “Doesn’t anyone in this country shake hands?”
“Go on in,” the guard said. He looked amused. “The last guy that kept Mr. Mandujano waiting got fed to the lion.”
Keller figured the man was bullshitting, but went into the house anyway. He was in a small foyer. The door on the other side led into a large room paneled in what looked like redwood. The far side of the room was a series of tall glass windows overlooking a wide pat
io floored with gray stones. Another series of terraces beyond the patio led down to a large pool. The fat man stood impatiently by a glass door to the pool area. He turned, opened the door, and walked out. Keller followed.
A group of people sat around the pool in lounge chairs. One of them was Angela. She stood up as he approached. He took a step toward her. He wanted to break into a run, to grab her, to take her in his arms. Then he saw someone else standing up, smiling at him. Keller stopped. “Oscar,” he said.
Oscar Sanchez walked over. He looked thinner than when Keller had last seen him, and he’d shaved off his mustache. The combination made him look younger than the man Keller remembered. There was a bruise on one side of his face, but he was smiling. “Jack,” he said, and embraced Keller. “My good friend. I knew you would come.”
Keller hugged him back, looking over Oscar’s shoulder at Angela. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Keller broke the hug and held Oscar by the shoulders. “Of course I did, buddy. I owe you. Big time.”
Another man was rising from the farthest lounge chair. He was short and balding. The skin on his scalp was peeling slightly from the sun. He had a slight paunch over the top of his swim trunks. His eyes were invisible behind dark glasses, but Keller thought he looked like an accountant on vacation. He held out his hand. “Mr. Keller,” he said. “I am Auguste Mandujano.”
Keller took the hand. “Jack Keller.”
“Please,” Mandujano said, indicating a nearby table shaded by an umbrella. “Sit. We have much to discuss.”
RUBEN HADN’T slept the entire night before. His hands had been toughened somewhat by the farm work, but digging Diego’s grave had still raised blisters on his unprotected hands that pained him all night. He was also hungry. When he’d gotten back, Edgar had tearfully told him that he’d tried to get the other men to save him some food, but they hadn’t listened. Ruben looked around the room. The other men wouldn’t look at him. I got that food for you, he wanted to shout at them. I got them to let us give Diego a decent burial. But it didn’t matter. To them, he was a collaborator. And he was just too tired to do anything but try and comfort his brother. “It’s all right,” he said. “Did you get anything to eat?” Edgar nodded, eyes still glistening. “Okay,” Ruben said, relieved. If they’d taken his brother’s portion, he’d have to do something about it. He collapsed on his bed. For a long time, he just lay there and looked up at the upper bunk. His hands hurt, his empty stomach tormented him, but it was the memory of what he’d just done that really kept him awake. He remembered the thump of Diego’s body falling into the grave he’d just dug, the sting of sweat and tears in his eyes, the rich smell of the newly turned dirt combined with the cloying, sickening smell of the dead man’s body. He’d paused to mumble a few words over Diego’s body, stumbling through what he could remember of the service for the dead. Dante had just stood there, looking down. Neither of them had spoken to the other since.
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