The Rules of Silence

by David Lindsey

  Titus studied Rita closely. He could tell that she had reached a point where it was difficult for her to distinguish between her anger and her fear. It seemed that the two emotions were now so closely intertwined within her that they had become an entirely new and hybrid passion. Even as strongminded and self-confident as she was, she had always trusted his judgment in most high-stakes situations. But it seemed that she was finding this one hard to go along with.

  Fighting tears, she took another drink, but Titus could tell that she was swallowing a lot more than Scotch.

  In the silence that followed, Burden ran his fingers through his hair, gave the moment an opportunity to settle. To give him credit, he seemed genuinely empathetic to her predicament.

  “I can't undo your misfortune, Mrs. Cain, ”he said. “I can't make the danger go away or disarm the evil you're encountering. It would be cruel for me to pretend otherwise.”

  Rita looked away, and Burden glanced at Titus for direction. Titus nodded for him to go on.

  “You need to understand, ”Burden said, addressing Titus, “that even if we lose visual contact with you, we're going to know where you are at every moment. It's not like you're dropping off the edge of the earth.”

  Standing, he pulled a small plastic packet of breath fresheners out of his pocket and came down the other side of the table from Rita. He sat next to Titus, putting the plastic packet on the table in front of him.

  “Just before I came in here, ”he said, looking at both of them, “we pretty much confirmed where Luquín is staying.”

  “Pretty much? ”Titus asked.

  “We haven't actually seen him on the property. By intercepting encrypted cell phone transmissions in Spanish, we've narrowed it down to three houses. Now two of those have been eliminated. The one we're looking at is owned by a divorcée who divides her time between Austin and Santa Fe. When she's not here, she lets friends use it. This month she gave it to a woman from Laredo, who passed it on through a succession of her own friends. We lost the thread, but we think this is it.

  “Also, one of my two mobile units is picking up cell phone action from another mobile unit—with very strong encryption—to Mexico City. But we're not having a lot of luck unraveling the encryption, and we're having trouble nailing the exact vehicle. We think it's Macias's people, and we think we can confirm that during your meeting tonight.”

  “And then what? ”Titus asked.

  “In order to coordinate a move on Luquín, we have to know where all of his people are at all times. With the first tactical move that we make against his people, there's a risk they'll be able to set off an instant signaling mechanism. Then it's all over. A special team that travels with Luquín—probably those guys you saw the other night—will quickly spirit him away. Unless our people are in place to deal with it, Luquín will be gone.”

  Without further explanation, Burden opened the packet of breath fresheners and dumped out the little white pellets onto the table. Then he removed the top of the box, and from the inside of the plastic container he carefully slipped out a thin sheet of plastic that looked like waxed paper.

  Nestled inside the paper was a variety of irregularly shaped blotches roughly half a centimeter in diameter, some cinnamon brown, some slightly darker than flesh, some ginger. Burden pulled a pair of tweezers out of his pocket and carefully lifted one of the objects. It was translucent, thin as cellophane.

  “Moles and liver spots, ”he said. “They're adhesive on one side and won't loosen with sweat or water, but they're easy to peel off. So thin you have to know they're there to feel them. Designed by a dermatologist”—he laid the fake mole down on one side of the unfolded plastic sheet—“and a microfluids engineer. They're actually a by-product of something else, but this not-quite-there stage of the development turned out to be perfect for this kind of thing.

  “They're little transmitters—for a special kind of receiver—and they'll transmit up to ten days and about twenty miles. We want you to put these on the backs of your hands and forearms. When you've found the right place, peel one off and leave it.”

  Titus was bent over the table, looking closely at the moles. “And what are the right places? ”he asked.

  “If you can get them on another person, that's best. Otherwise, leave them in a vehicle if it looks like it's one of theirs— say, one that's got electronic equipment or in some other way gives you the idea it's something they'll use again. If they take you someplace that looks like it's a permanent staging area, not a motel room, for example, then leave a spot. In short, leave them anywhere you think will be critical for us to know about … when the time comes.

  “Notice, ”Burden added, pointing at the spots with the tweezers, “that there are light and dark moles. They send different signals. Leave one kind on vehicles, the other kind on people. That way we'll know what we're looking at. Since you won't be able to see the difference in the dark, you can put one kind on each hand so you can keep them straight.”

  “How many of them are there? ”Titus asked.

  “Only eight, unfortunately.”

  “They've got to be expensive.”

  “You're looking at fifty-three thousand dollars’worth of blotches. And they're worth every dime of it.”

  “Then that's all you want him to do? ”Rita interjected. “Just leave these things … around.”

  “That and, of course, get what he can out of the conversation. ”He looked at Rita. “This is essential, ”he said. “The information is invaluable.”

  “So is he, ”she said evenly, and she looked as if for an extra dime she would have given Burden a piece of her mind, too, but she held her tongue. Barely.

  Burden didn't react or respond. “One of them will send a slightly different signal, ”he said to Titus, and probed through the blotches, selecting one of the lighter ones with a black dot in the center of it. “It's yours. We'll put it on your upper arm and get it out of your way. That'll leave you seven to leave behind.”

  “Okay, then we'd better get started, ”Titus said, putting both arms on the table. “I want to see how the things work, and there's not that much time left.”

  Chapter 27

  Following Luquín's instructions, Titus steered his Range Rover through the gates of his property at exactly twelve-thirty and started down the winding half mile of private drive to Cielo Canyon Road. He had been told to make his way to Westlake Drive and then go south to the Toro Canyon intersection, where he would receive further instructions.

  It didn't happen that way.

  After he rounded the second steep bend of the descending drive, a man stepped out of the dark margin of the woods into the path of Titus's headlights and waved him down. When Titus stopped, the man came up quickly and opened his door.

  “Please get out, Mr. Cain, ”he said in heavily accented English. Titus put the Rover in park and did as he was told, leaving the engine idling. The man got into the Rover and drove away without another word, leaving Titus standing in the middle of the paved road in the dark.

  As the engine of his Rover receded and the buzzing sounds of lacewings filled the darkness, Titus heard the snap of a branch and turned around to see the black smear of another figure stepping out of the woods.

  “Mr. Cain, ”the man said, approaching him. There was no flashlight. “Please put these on, ”the man said, and handed Titus a pair of goggles, which he slipped on. They had nightvision lenses, and the world became apple green with highlights of leached turquoise. He could now see that the man was wearing the same device. He was dressed in street clothes, his tight-fitting knit polo shirt revealing a trim stomach and muscular arms. The handgun at his waist was large.

  They stepped off the road and into the woods, the man in front of him. They moved downhill through the cedar and underbrush, not hurrying but carefully picking their way through the dense cedar thickets, their dress loafers a distinct disadvantage on the rough terrain.

  In just a few minutes they came to Cielo Canyon Road and stop
ped short in the edge of the woods. A car passed them as they stood only a few feet into the brush. Then another. The third car slowed, a Lincoln Navigator. It stopped, and Titus was hustled out of the woods and into the car, which started driving away before the doors were even closed.

  He was in the seat behind the driver, with the man sitting next to him.

  “The glasses, ”said the man sitting beside him, and Titus removed the goggles and handed them over.

  Titus looked at the driver. The back of the head meant nothing to him. When he glanced at the man beside him, the guy was looking at him. Mexican.

  A scanner attached to the dash in the front beeped and crackled, and a satellite map, crisp and clear, was mounted beside that. As if sensing Titus's interest, the driver leaned forward and turned off the monitor. Sighing heavily, Titus worked off a mole from the back of his left hand and stuck it to the front of the seat between his legs.

  In just a few turns they pulled into a housing development and drove through the streets until they came to the back side of the development, where two houses were under construction.

  “Get out, ”said the guy sitting next to him. They both got out, and the guy came around holding something in his arms. “Take off your clothes, ”he said.

  Titus undressed, and when he was down to his shoes and underwear the guy said, “All of it. ”Titus kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and shed his underwear. Part of his instructions from Luquín had been to leave all identification behind. Apparently they were going to drive off and leave his clothes and shoes right where they were.

  “You work out? ”the guy asked, handing Titus the clothes he had been holding. The driver in the Navigator snorted.

  “Yeah, ”Titus said.

  “Weights?”

  “Yeah, ”Titus said. He put on the pants and buttoned them and then the shirt. From what he could see in the light from the opened door, it was some kind of service repairman's uniform, putty gray. After he buttoned up the shirt, the guy dropped a pair of shoes on the ground.

  “Elevens?”

  “Right. ”Titus bent down to put on the first shoe and lost his balance. Staggering, he reached out reflexively to the guy, who reacted the same, catching him with a beefy shoulder to keep him from falling. Quickly Titus righted himself and then finished putting on his shoes. He had managed to leave a mole from his right hand on the back side of the man's upper right arm.

  When they got back into the SUV, the guy handed Titus a black hood.

  “Put it on, ”the man said.

  Titus slipped it over his head and immediately had to fight claustrophobia. It wasn't just the feel of the close-fitting cloth. It was all of it, the whole menacing unfamiliarity of it.

  He tried to keep track of the turns, but it was impossible; besides, he suspected the driver was doubling back and retracing his course much of the time. After Titus had shed his clothes, the two men began talking in Spanish. They must've known that Titus couldn't understand them because they didn't seem to be cautious or stinting in their conversation. Then the car hit what must have been a stretch of highway, because the Navigator sped up to a sustained speed. The conversation stopped.

  Titus lost track of time on the highway, and the monotony of the constant speed and the lack of conversation conspired to create a strange timelessness. Then suddenly the car began to decelerate quickly, and without pulling off to the side of the highway, it stopped.

  The doors flew open and Titus was hustled out and shoved into another vehicle—another SUV, from the feel of it. Again he found himself in the backseat. Quickly, because he didn't know how long he would be in the car, he left another mole on the seat between his legs. The car turned off the highway and accelerated quickly, roaring over a paved but undulating road, maybe a county road.

  Another turn. A gravel road that climbed. Switchbacks. Slowing. A stop.

  The SUV's doors opened: the driver and only one other. Different men, he guessed. Somebody took him out and, holding his arm above the elbow, guided him over gravel, then grass or weeds, and finally a couple of steps to a porch. Wooden porch. Into a front door.

  By pretending to be more uncertain of his movement than he really was, he was able to reach out often with searching, fumbling hands and to touch his escort more often than he would have done otherwise. Between the car and the porch, he managed to leave a mole on this man also.

  Inside, he was told to stand still and wait for instructions, then he heard the man leave and the door close behind him. He could tell someone was in the room with him, and he could smell a cold fireplace. The wooden floor underneath his feet creaked. Old. Deteriorating.

  “Take off the hood, Mr. Cain.”

  Titus recognized Luquín's voice.

  Chapter 28

  He took off the hood and found himself in a one-room shack. It was lighted by a kerosene lantern that sat on an overturned bucket in front of a caved-in fireplace. The light was harsh around the lantern, giving way quickly to shadows that waited anxiously around the edges of the room. The odor of kerosene mixed with the stench of rat urine and rotting wood.

  “Sit down, ”Luquín said. He was sitting to one side of the lantern in a canvas deck chair. His shadow, thrown against a near wall, was broken by the angles of a corner. The seat he offered Titus was another overturned bucket. He was dressed in very nice street clothes (Titus could see the silk in the trousers), which made him look entirely out of place in his surroundings, as if he'd stepped off the back lot into a movie set. They were alone in the room.

  “You wanted to talk, ”Luquín said. He was relaxed, his arms resting on the arms of the chair, his hands dangling loosely over the ends.

  Titus stepped over and sat on the bucket, five feet from Luquín. He looked hyperreal. Knowing what he had done to Charlie had altered Titus's perception of him.

  “You had Charlie Thrush killed.”

  “Yes.”

  The monosyllable, so readily given, so free of guilt, was disarming.

  “Do you know how he was killed?”

  “No. ”Said with the same weightlessness of conscience.

  “You don't know.”

  “No. ”Luquín twisted his head in irritation. “What do you want, Mr. Cain?”

  “You shouldn't have killed him, ”Titus said.

  Luquín raised a finger and wagged it slowly at Titus. “Be careful. You are up to your ass in shit here, and sinking.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you, ”Luquín said, “that I would decide who died and when. And so I did. That surprises you? What in the world did you think I meant when I said that?”

  A beetle flew in, heavily, like a miniature aircraft, and smacked into the globe of the lantern. It fell at Luquín's feet, spinning around in circles on the dusty floor with a broken wing. Luquín didn't even notice.

  “What did that accomplish, killing him?”

  “Did it change the way you thought of your situation?”

  A rhetorical question. Titus didn't answer.

  Luquín's expression soured, and he nodded. “That's what I accomplished.”

  Luquín's manner dripped arrogance, and Titus hated it that Luquín thought that this was the way to play him.

  “Have one of your people come in with a telephone, ”Titus said, “and I'll put through the first ten million right now. And I'll make the next payment of twenty-one million within twenty-four hours, rather than the forty-eight you've instructed.”

  Luquín's eyes brightened, but even as he nodded affably in gratified surprise, his brow puckered in skepticism. Titus could see him formulating a question and then instantly correcting himself and moving his chess piece to another square.

  Without taking his eyes off Titus, he lifted his foot and crushed the beetle with a sharp pop of its crusty shell.

  “Roque, ”he said in a voice no louder than the one he was using to speak to Titus. There were stirrings outside in the darkness, the door to the shack opened, and a man came in and stood b
ehind Titus.

  “Tú celular, ” Luquín said, lifting his chin at Titus. The man unsnapped a cell phone from a holder at his waist and handed it to Titus.

  Titus dialed Lack Paley's number and listened to it ring. Luquín was watching him like a lizard, motionless, processing. Paley answered.

  Titus told him to move the money to Cavatino first thing in the morning, the moment the bank opened. He told him to get the second investment ready. Lack knew the drill, and though he didn't know what was behind it all, he knew something extraordinary was going on. That was that.

  After Paley had hung up, Titus pretended to be listening. Before Roque had handed him the phone, Titus had managed to work off one of the lighter moles and was holding it between the forefinger and thumb syof his right hand. He held the phone in his left. As soon as he had the mole the way he wanted it, he concluded his feigned exchange with Paley, punched the disconnect button, and with his right hand handed the phone to the waiting man. The mole stuck like a leech. The man returned it to the clip at his waist.

  “That's it, ”Titus said to Luquín.

  “We'll see. ”Luquín was studying Titus. He had lighted a cigarette, and as he smoked he seemed to be trying to come to some kind of conclusion.

  “But, ”Titus added, “if anyone else dies, you won't get another dime.”

  Luquín's face changed as if Titus had reached out and slapped him. His surprise was genuine, and so was the gall that replaced his enigmatic expression.

  “You don't have any fucking idea what you're saying, ”he said. “I really don't think you are capable of understanding what that would mean.”

  “If I let you … if I bargain with you over lives, I won't be able to live with myself, ”Titus said. “And I know that you don't understand that. But that's the way it is. It's called normal. It's not extraordinary. It's what decent people do.”