The Rules of Silence

by David Lindsey

  “There's not any money in San Marcos, is there, ”Titus said. “I'll bet there's not even another Navigator there.”

  “That's his problem, ”Macias said. “He'll deal with it. You've got a different set of problems you need to think about.”

  They were moving through the incorporated village of Oak Hill on the southwest edge of Austin. In a few minutes Macias had a decision to make. Either way, the traffic was about to get scarce, and it was going to get easier to spot a tail.

  “How are you going to make sure Luquín's dead? ”Titus asked.

  “After seeing the spook show that was going on back there at that house, I don't think I have to worry about Tano being alive tomorrow morning. It looks like everybody wants Luquín dead. It's his time. When dogs smell blood, they all turn on the bloodiest dog first.”

  Now they were at the intersection.

  “Keep going straight here, ”Macias said, and they stayed on Highway 290. That would eventually take them to Fredericksburg or San Antonio. Titus guessed San Antonio.

  “What I want to know is, ”Macias said, “how the hell did you find García Burden?”

  Titus told him the truth, without using names.

  “And you went to see him the very next day?”

  “Right.”

  “How?”

  Titus told him the truth again.

  Macias shook his head. “And that was just three days ago?”

  “Right.”

  Silence. He heard Macias hiss under his breath.

  “Only García Burden could fuck up nearly two months’ planning in just three days, ”he said. “Completely fuck it up.”

  Well, not completely, Titus thought. Macias was still holding a gun to his head.

  They left the city and the suburbs behind. The lights in the flanking hills gradually diminished with the churning numbers on the odometer. Mostly now it was only darkness on either side of the highway.

  “How far are we going? ”Titus asked.

  “Don't worry about it, ”Macias said.

  Titus could imagine Macias kicking him out of the car at some vacant strip center or on some dark street in San Antonio. Then he could walk to a pay phone, and it would all be over. Titus couldn't wait for that, for the whole insane thing to be over. He focused on the center stripe in the highway and tried to keep his mind off of … everything.

  But he couldn't keep it off the guy in the backseat. He thought of what Rita had said, that as horrible as it was, she couldn't keep from imagining Charlie tangled in the chain saw, Carla suffocating, gasping for breath. She couldn't help but wonder how all of that had happened, how it had actually happened. Neither could Titus. It was infuriating to him that the man who had orchestrated all of that was sitting behind him and that Titus himself was complicit in his escape. God, and neither Carla nor Charlie had even been buried yet.

  “Slow down, ”Macias said.

  Chapter 59

  When it was clear that Macias was taking 290 west, Burden got on the radio with Calò.

  “Calò, ”he said, “do you still have your night goggles?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay, at this hour of the night the highway's going to be damn near empty. Put on the goggles, turn out your headlights, and catch up with the signal and see if it's the Honda. He's going to be driving the speed limit, so with luck you can catch up with him.”

  “What about cops?”

  “If you get busted, ditch the goggles and just take the ticket. You've got good ID, right?”

  “Yeah. I'll be okay.”

  During the next twenty minutes, Kal watched his speedometer while Calò kept up a running commentary of his progress screaming down the dark highway without headlights, the world in front of him apple green and black.

  For Rita it was nearly half an hour of unbelievable tension, her eyes glued to the LorGuide, her ears straining to pull more information out of Calò than the typically terse tactical communications provided. Her stomach began to hurt, and she saw nothing of any help in the dash-lighted faces of Kal and Burden as they watched the LorGuide, too, and listened with passionless expressions.

  “Got‘em! ”Calò broadcast suddenly. “Brake lights. They're slowing … way down… .”

  “Where? What's there?”

  “Nothing. Dark ranch country. Nothing. I'm braking hard. I've got to stop… .”

  Titus was startled back to the moment. Slow down? Was Macias just going to shove him out on the roadside?

  “Slow down, ”Macias repeated.

  Titus was confused. They were out in the middle of nowhere, nothing out there in the darkness.

  “Okay, see the red reflectors on the fence up there? There's a cattle guard there. Pull over and go through it. Now, quickly.”

  There were no cars on the highway in either direction, Titus noticed, and that was the way Macias wanted it. And that was what he got.

  Titus pulled off on the shoulder and then turned into the cattle guard. His headlights picked up the caliche ruts of a ranch road. The center of the ruts was grown up with range grass that was already burned up in the July heat.

  “Cut the lights and stop, ”Macias said.

  Titus did as he was told.

  “Roll down the windows, ”Macias said.

  The car was filled with the sound of night insects and the smell of range grass. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, the caliche ruts began to glow in the light of the half-moon like dull phosphorus.

  “You can see enough to drive, ”Macias said. “Go on.”

  Titus put the car in gear and slowly moved along the overgrown road. The tall grass between the ruts dragged against the undercarriage of the car as the road rose up a slight rise and then leveled off after a gradual decline. They could see the rolling hills spread out in front of them in the darkness, the pale, moon gray of the grasses, the charcoal splotches of the woods, and above it all the night sky scattered with icy blue stars.

  “Stop here and cut the engine, ”Macias said.

  Titus didn't like this.

  They got out of the car, Macias carrying his laptop and his gun, and started walking. The hills were covered with rocks and clump grass and scattered cedar trees that rose out of the half-moon darkness like black bears.

  As they walked, Titus's heart began to race. He couldn't imagine any kind of resolution here except a bad one. They went down into a draw, stumbling over rocks, barging into cactus, the moon providing just enough light to make them think they could see where they were going but leaving out the details. Then they came up on the other side of the draw to a ridgetop.

  “Sit down, ”Macias said, putting the muzzle of his automatic to the top of Titus's shoulder to make the point. Then he pulled out a cell phone and punched a button.

  “Estamos aquí, ” he said. “¡Ándale! ¡Ándale!”

  Both of them were heaving and sweating, their shoes full of broken twigs and rocks, their socks riddled with the spines of needle grass.

  Titus's mind was lurching. Then he heard a deep, fulsome sound unlike any he'd ever heard, a rapid, accelerated coughing with undertones of a deep whooshing. Looking toward the sound in the far-off star scatter, he saw two stars growing out of the darkness. But their light was bluer than the others, and they were approaching rapidly, driven by an eerie, monstrous chuffing. As the two blue lights grew larger, the other stars around them disappeared, blocked out by the black silhouette of a helicopter descending toward them. The wind of its rotors finally reached them with a blast, and the chopper sank slowly in near silence and hovered in front of them.

  “Let's go, ”Macias said, still gripping the laptop and urging Titus to his feet with the barrel of the gun.

  As Titus came up from his knees, he brought a rock with him in his right hand, a rough stone the size of a grapefruit. The darkness gave him the only advantage he needed.

  He swung with all his might, but the rock slipped out of his hand and the blow was only a glancing one, catching Macias against his
left ear, staggering him and sending the laptop flying into the darkness. But he didn't go down. Titus charged him the way Macias had charged Artemio, throwing a shoulder into Macias's stomach with all the strength he could manage. The force of it took both of them off the ground, and they landed five feet away on Macias's back, an impact that knocked the air out of Macias, but not his senses. Immediately he began hammering Titus with the butt of the gun, slamming it again and again into Titus's face as Titus tried to ward off the unstoppable energy of the younger man. Then somehow Titus found another rock and smashed it into Macias's forehead just as he began firing.

  Titus rolled away from the gunfire as Macias struggled to regain his senses, dazed, frantic to save himself. His arm came up with the automatic, but he was too stunned to control it. More shots went off bam! bam! bam! into the sky, into the ground, zinging past Titus's face.

  Titus fell on him again before Macias could get to his feet and went crazy, beating him with both fists, never even giving Macias a chance to clear his head. The gun went off again, the barrel against Titus's neck when it fired, blasting a seared path upward under the side of his jaw. Now Titus went for the gun, breaking fingers, wrestling the gun away from Macias's hand, and then shooting him—somewhere in the stomach. Then he shot again, blowing off part of Macias's face—Titus actually saw it in the light of the flash. Then again—somewhere, any-where. And again and again and again until the thing wouldn't fire anymore.

  At the flashes of gunfire in the darkness, the helicopter hesitated thirty feet above them. A brilliant sapphire floodlight came out of its belly, lighting Titus in a laser blue glare as he stood over Macias's body.

  Macias's phone began ringing in his pocket, but Titus's legs gave way, and he crumpled on the hardscrabble ground, slumping beside Macias's body, still holding the gun, heaving, unable to get enough air into his lungs, buffeted by the storm from the rotors of the helicopter.

  Suddenly the floodlight went out, and very slowly the star lights came on again and the creature began to slip sideways, the wind and mystery of it drifting away over the tops of the trees. It stayed low. The muted pounding of its engine began to fade immediately, but the diminishing blue lights took longer, and Titus, exhausted, continued watching them recede until they were tiny bright dots and he couldn't even distinguish them from the stars.

  Chapter 60

  The isolated airstrip was on a private ranch nearly fifty miles northwest of Austin. It was an expensive landing site in the dead center of a long narrow valley a mile and a half off Highway 71. There was a small hangar (empty) with a workshop attached. Two fuel tanks sat fifty meters away. Another fifty meters from the tanks sat an old Cessna Grand Caravan, painted a flat charcoal gray, lights out, doors open for loading, waiting. The pilot and helper were sitting in the dark to one side of the aircraft, smoking.

  Baas was the first to arrive, the headlights of Titus's Range Rover flickering through the dense cedar brakes as he came down the side of the wooded hills into the valley. He pulled up to the Cessna as if he'd done it a million times and got out. Quickly the pilot and helper ran over to the Rover to help Baas with the body of Macias's guard. They wrestled him out of the Rover and carried him to the cargo door of the Caravan. The interior of the plane had been stripped for cargo transportation, and the body, already discoloring from the cyanide, was laid on the bare aluminum floor.

  By the time the body had been loaded into the plane, Tito was arriving in the Pathfinder, followed by Cope in the car. The job of unloading the three bodies from the Pathfinder was more gruesome because of the profusion of blood.

  After the three dead men were piled into the bare cargo hold with the body of the other guard, Tito drove the Pathfinder to the edge of the tarmac by the hangar. They opened all the doors and began sprinkling laundry detergent around the bloody interior. Cope had bought the detergent at a convenience store in Paleface, where the highway crossed the Pedernales River. Then they stretched the water hose from the corner of the hangar and began hosing down the Pathfinder, the suds boiling out of the interior in foaming pink billows.

  When that was done, Cope and Tito took off their clothes, washed them with the detergent, too, and laid them over the limbs of the cedar trees to dry in the July night. They all sat down to more cigarettes while they waited for one more arrival.

  An hour passed, and then another, with no communication with Calò or Burden. Then Tito's phone rang.

  “Tito, ”Calò said, “I'm on the highway approaching the turnoff.”

  “What? What's happened?”

  “Nothing wrong. Just some unexpected developments. You'll see in a few minutes. Is Luquín there?”

  “No. We haven't heard anything.”

  They waited eagerly, watching the brush for the headlights of Calò's car. Everyone was standing, waiting for him, as he drove the length of the airstrip and pulled up next to the plane.

  Calò got out of the car, sweating profusely, and opened the trunk without saying a word. Cope, Baas, and Tito came up and looked in.

  “Bloody hell, ”Cope said.

  They just stood there.

  Baas looked up. “What happened?”

  While they unloaded Macias's body, Calò told them what had happened, of his arrival just as the strange helicopter was sliding away into the darkness and how he had thought he was too late and that Macias had abducted Titus. Then he'd heard someone coughing, and he'd stumbled through the darkness to find Titus. When Burden and Kal arrived with Rita, Calò left with Macias's body, racing for the airstrip to beat the departure deadline.

  “The bloody mole, then, ”Cope asked. “What the hell happened there? Macias took it off? Where'd he put it?”

  “We were still getting signals from it when everyone got there, ”Calò said. “Cain was stunned. He thought the thing had gone with Loza when he left with the gun. We found it tangled in the hair on Macias's stomach. Guess Cain hadn't put it on the gun good enough, and it came off when Macias stuffed it into his pants, or when he pulled it out and gave it to Loza.”

  Calò checked his watch and then threw a worried look toward the far end of the airstrip. “Come on, ”he said, “let's clean out the trunk.”

  By the time they'd finished, it was twenty minutes before three o'clock, the “go no matter what ”deadline for the Cessna Caravan's departure. The time came and went.

  “Give it ten more minutes, ”Calò said.

  “If he was anywhere near, you'd think he'd call, ”Tito said.

  “Here we go, ”Cope said, and they all turned and saw the headlights of a vehicle pulling around the knob of the hill and heading toward the airstrip. Together they all watched as Cayeteno Luquín's black Navigator approached along one side of the tarmac. It was in no hurry.

  The Navigator pulled up to the Caravan and stopped beside the six men who stood ready to help the driver with the bodies. No one knew who this man was, and they would never know. The driver's door opened and the man who stepped out was wearing dress trousers and that was all. Barefoot and shirtless, he was completely covered in camouflage paint— though his face had been wiped partially clean—which seemed to be mixed in even with his wildly matted hair. The whites of his eyes flashed spookily at them in contrast with his blotchy, marbled flesh.

  He said nothing to any of them as he came around to the back of the Navigator and opened the door. But instead of the bodies that they had expected, the Navigator held a pile of black, heavy-ply, double-bagged garbage bags.

  There was a moment of hesitation and surprise, but no one said anything. They began unloading the bags, two men to a bag, their lumpy contents shifting and falling around inside, making them difficult to handle.

  When all eight bags had been loaded inside the plane, Baas said to Tito, “Don't forget, they can't stay in the bags. They've got to come out of the bags first.”

  Tito nodded. “Yeah, I know. I've already thought about it.”

  Cope whistled under his breath.

  During the las
t of the loading, the pilot had been in the cockpit going through his checklist, and now he started the engines without anyone saying anything to him. The man who had brought the bags squatted in the door of the cargo hold. Apparently he was ready to go, too.

  Tito looked toward the door reluctantly. “Shit. Okay, ”he said to the others.

  “That's okay, I'll make the flight since I'm here, ”Calò said. “Tito, call García and tell him we've got to have two more drivers out here. When they get here, drive everything to the San Antonio chop shop, just as we planned. Stay until they're broken down. Then you pick up the surveillance van from Norlin's people. You're clear on that meeting place, right?”

  Tito nodded. “Right, ”he said.

  Calò glanced at the plane, and the pilot gave him a thumbsup. He nodded. “And Tito, tell García that Luquín made it after all.”

  “Bueno, ” Tito said. He looked at the cargo hold. “I owe you one, Jefe. ”

  Calò looked toward the cargo door, too. “Shit, ”he said.

  When the Cessna Caravan cleared the runway at the end of the valley and climbed into the early morning darkness, the pilot cranked the Pratt & Whitney turbo prop to its maximum airspeed at the lowest possible altitude. Then, running in reverse the radar-laced air corridor favored by drug smugglers, he headed straight for the closest crossing on the Mexican border, midway between Del Rio and Eagle Pass.

  It was still dark when they crossed into the Mexican state of Coahuila and entered the great, arid desert of northern Mexico. Turning slightly more westward, they held their course and climbed higher, passing over the Sierra Madre Oriental. As the darkness began to thin in the east, they approached a carefully charted spot just over the CoahuilaChihuahua border.

  At a precise point of navigation, roughly in the most remote expanse of the north Mexican desert that covered well over a thousand square miles of desperate isolation, the Caravan cut its speed to minimum and seemed to hover in the fleeing darkness.

  The lower cargo door opened, and bodies, and parts of bodies, began to fall through the predawn light. With the bare floor of the cargo plane slick with blood, it was a grisly chore, one that Calò and the other man had all to themselves. The pilot's helper stayed in the co-pilot's seat and didn't look back.