Holly Lin Box Set | Books 1-3

by Swartwood, Robert

  But the bottle didn’t shatter on the ground. Jose caught it inches before it hit, and he stood motionless, staring up at Hayward, who for an instant thought he saw defiance flicker in the boy’s eyes, though maybe that was only his imagination or the alcohol or a combination of the two. Whatever the reason, Hayward didn’t like it, not one bit, and he intended on zapping Jose until the boy passed out, but before he could press down on the fob again, Carla stepped outside.

  “What are you still doing out here?”

  Hayward looked at her, at first not sure what to say, and then smiled.

  “Enjoying the nice evening.”

  “You should come to bed.”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Take a pill.”

  “I don’t want a pill.”

  “Everything will be okay, Oliver.”

  He shot to his feet so suddenly he stumbled, almost fell, and had to hold on to the railing to regain his balance.

  “Everything will not be okay! Cortez is still alive. I failed. I failed the cartel.”

  Carla stared back at him with her typical unnerving calmness.

  “If they wanted to kill you, they would have done it by now.”

  Hayward squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. None of it made sense. He’d watched the TV for hours and listened to the reports about how President Cortez had been abducted and taken to an airport where they sat on the airstrip, police surrounding them, until gunshots were fired. For the first hour or so, the news reported that President Cortez was killed, but then news broke that he had actually survived, as well as that his longtime aide Imna Rodriguez had been taken into custody.

  No word on Holly Lin. No word from Louis or any of his men.

  He looked out at the dark field and the guard walking the perimeter. He put the beer to his lips, was about to take another long swallow, when suddenly the guard fell to the ground.

  Hayward stared for a moment, then blinked, not sure he had seen what he just witnessed.

  “Did you—”

  Carla clamped her hand over his mouth, her eyes suddenly intense, and held a finger to her lips.

  Hayward wasn’t sure what was going on. He tried listening but couldn’t concentrate, and then suddenly he heard gunfire somewhere out front, along with the sound of engines, and—

  Was that the sound of a helicopter?

  Hayward pulled away from her hand, whispered, “Is it the cartel?”

  The intensity in Carla’s eyes flared.

  “No, you idiot. It’s the feds.”

  She glanced down at the Jose, then up at the shed sitting against the hill, and then at the armed dead guard out in the field.

  “Grab the boy. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

  Fifty-Three

  As two teams descend on the two side buildings, Nova and I follow the third team into the main building.

  They breach the door and file inside, shouting out as they clear rooms, and then work their way up to the higher floors. So far word hasn’t come that they’ve found Hayward or Carla yet, so Nova and I start up the steps after the team when the helicopter pilot’s voice speaks in my earpiece.

  “We’ve got movement heading toward the shed. Two adults, one carrying a child. One of the adults is armed with a rifle.”

  I pause on the steps, turn around to look at Nova.

  “That has to be Hayward and Carla.”

  He says, “The child?”

  “My money’s on a kid named Jose.”

  I touch the button on my mike.

  “As long as they have the kid, stand down. Nova and I are in pursuit.”

  We hurry back down the steps, then out the back through a screen door onto the porch. Beer bottles are scattered around a chair.

  The helicopter hovers above the field, shining a spotlight on the shed.

  The pilot says, “They just entered through the side door.”

  I roger that, and Nova and I sprint across the field. We slow as we near, pistols drawn. A soft light glows from the thin space under the door.

  I step to the side, aim at the door, and nod at Nova. He kicks it open, and I rush in, finger on the trigger, scanning the inside.

  Besides a riding lawnmower and other landscaping equipment, the place is empty.

  Nova steps up beside me.

  “Looks like that Rodriguez woman was telling you the truth about everything.”

  I nod and start toward the rear of the shed. We find the metal trapdoor in the floor easily enough.

  Without a word, Nova moves to the side of the trapdoor and grabs the metal handle. He looks at me, and whispers.

  “Ready?”

  I whisper, “Not yet. In case anything happens to me, I want to be honest with you about something.”

  “What?”

  “It’s hard for me to say this. Maybe because we’ve known each other so long, and I consider you a close friend …”

  I let it hang there for a second, and then smile.

  “I’m not feeling the beard.”

  Nova nods, like that’s exactly what he expected me to say.

  “I’ll take it under advisement, thanks. Ready?”

  I nod, and aim my gun at the trapdoor.

  Nova pulls open the door. I lean forward, ready to fire at any movement below.

  Nothing.

  Like the shed, the tunnel has a power source. There’s light down there. Not bright light, but enough for somebody to see as they move underground from one country to the next. The metal ladder has ten rungs to the bottom.

  I glance at Nova, and he lets the trapdoor fall all the way back, then hustles over to retrieve a small bag of fertilizer and drops it down the hatch. It lands with a heavy thud, but nothing happens.

  I say, “Cover me.”

  I start down the ladder, using one hand to hold on to the rungs and the other hand to hold onto my gun, and then after four rungs, I drop to the ground in a crouch, immediately aiming down the tunnel. Still nothing.

  I motion at Nova up top, and he starts to climb down. As he does, I marvel at the tunnel’s craftsmanship. From top to bottom, the tunnel—at least this portion—is almost six feet tall. Strong wooden beams stand every couple of feet, surrounded by chicken wire to keep the earth from falling in. Small light bulbs are strung every five feet. From this angle, the tunnel moves straight for maybe fifty yards before it starts to curve.

  Once Nova’s made it down the ladder, we start moving forward. We move as quietly as we can, listening for footsteps farther ahead. Imna Rodriguez claimed the tunnel was about a half mile long. It’s only after the first quarter mile, as the tunnel curves again, that we spot somebody standing farther ahead.

  Jose.

  He stands there, motionless, his face tilted down. He doesn’t look up when he hears us approaching.

  It’s a trap—obviously it’s a trap—but I’m unclear what the end game is here. Jose is their only hostage, from what the pilot told us. Without him, we have no reason not to shoot to kill.

  The tunnel past him curves again. Hayward or Carla or maybe both of them are probably hiding right around the corner. Between the two, I imagine Carla is the one who will have the rifle. Hayward is a man who can’t tell the difference between a hollow point and a full metal jacket.

  When we’re only ten feet away, Jose’s body jerks. He cries out, and falls to the ground. He starts shaking, screaming, but neither Nova nor myself advance. Instead, as much as it pains us, we wait.

  We don’t wait long.

  Carla steps around the corner, the rifle in her hands. She starts to raise it, to fire over Jose, but before she can, I quickly put a bead on her head and pull the trigger.

  She falls in a heap.

  Still, Jose continues to scream and writhe on the ground. Nova covers me as I hurry toward him. I pull the key I took from Louis from my pocket, hoping it’ll unlock this collar like it unlocked mine. It does, and I tear the collar off Jose’s neck and fling it aside. Even in the dim light, the bruis
ed skin ringing the boy’s neck is vivid. It looks like a hideous tattoo.

  The boy’s no longer screaming, and he’s no longer writhing, but he is crying. I touch his arm, trying to calm him, but he flinches away on instinct. It’s doubtful he’s ever had any human contact that wasn’t abusive.

  “It’s all right, Jose. You’re safe now.”

  The collar, flung a couple feet away, vibrates with electricity. Then, all at once, the buzzing stops. Which means Hayward—and the fob he’s been pressing all this time—is getting farther and farther away.

  “Take him back.”

  Nova nods, and crouches down beside the boy as he looks up at me.

  “Be careful.”

  “He’s been drinking, Nova. Plus he doesn’t have a gun. I think I’ll be okay.”

  Nova grunts.

  “Famous last words.”

  I frown at him.

  “Still not feeling the beard.”

  He shoots me the bird.

  I continue forward, stepping over Carla’s dead body, and head deeper into the tunnel.

  Fifty-Four

  I hustle through the tunnel, staying as quiet as I can, and soon hear unsteady footsteps ahead.

  I shout, “Hayward!”

  The footsteps pause for a beat, then start again, this time frantically. It sounds like Hayward stumbles, falls to the ground, picks himself up and keeps running.

  I pick up my pace.

  The tunnel curves once more, and then straightens out. I can see the end farther ahead, maybe seventy yards away. Like the entrance on the United States side, it dead-ends to a ladder. The trapdoor must be open, because bright light pours into the tunnel.

  Oliver Hayward is maybe fifty yards away. With the light beyond him, he makes for an easy target. I could put him down with one simple squeeze of the trigger. But I don’t. I let him hurry forward and scramble up the ladder.

  By the time I climb up the ladder, Hayward hasn’t gotten far. He stands motionless with his hands raised, a half-dozen federales aiming their guns at him. The moment my head pops up through the trapdoor, a few of the men shift their guns toward me, but an older man with a mustache tells them to ignore me, and they immediately aim again at Hayward.

  This section of the tunnel opens up into a garage. Cinderblock walls, cheap roofing. An old car sits off to the side. The pungent smell of motor oil hangs in the air.

  Hayward says, “Don’t you know who I fucking am?”

  None of the federales answer. The older man with the mustache approaches me. He holds out his hand, and speaks in English.

  “I am Lieutenant Nicolás Pichardo. President Cortez ordered me and my men to be here tonight.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. Did President Cortez tell you anything else?”

  “President Cortez simply ordered us to come here. He said he recently learned that there is a tunnel entrance in this garage. He had us arrest the people who own this garage, and told us to take anybody who comes through this tunnel into custody.”

  Hayward takes one look at me, and shouts, “Yes! Take me into custody!”

  Lieutenant Pichardo ignores him.

  “So far tonight nobody has come through the tunnel.”

  I nod, thank the man, and turn to Oliver Hayward.

  He flinches away from me, shouts at the federales.

  “What the fuck are you waiting for? Arrest me!”

  Again, none of the men move.

  I step up close to Hayward.

  “President Cortez and I agreed you should be prosecuted on our side of the border. If you’re prosecuted here, there’s a good chance the cartel would orchestrate your escape. Or your murder.”

  Hayward looks past me, crazed, his eyes wide.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, Oliver. These men have been ordered not to kill you. Besides, I don’t think you have it in you to do anything stupid. You know how I know? You’re not a special person. I mean, you’re the kind of person who imprisons and tortures women and children, but not the kind strong enough to attempt suicide by cop.”

  He glares at me.

  “Fine. Take me back.”

  I smile at him, and shake my head.

  “Not yet.”

  I reach into my back pocket, pull out the collar I had worn the past two days. I toss it on the ground at Hayward’s feet.

  “Put that on.”

  Fifty-Five

  Agents are waiting for us up in the shed. As soon as Oliver Hayward climbs out of the tunnel, they take him into custody. They put handcuffs on him, and when I offer them the fob, tell them that it works wonders, they don’t look amused.

  I follow them up to the main building. The helicopter has landed in the field. More cars and SUVs and ambulances have arrived.

  Nova meets me in front of the main building. He’s talking on a cell phone, and slips it into his pocket when he spots me.

  “More kids here than we expected. They kept them in the other buildings. Crisis workers are headed here as we speak.”

  “Where’s Jose?”

  Nova nods at one of the ambulances.

  “He’s being treated.”

  I look at the one side building, then the other.

  “Where are the babies?”

  Nova points at one of the buildings, and immediately I start moving, almost unconsciously, my pace increasing to a jog. Three of the rooms on the first floor are packed with cribs. Almost all the babies are awake and crying. A few agents move from crib to crib, taking photographs, preserving what there is of the scene before the children are taken away.

  I walk up to one of the agents, incensed.

  “Who’s taking care of these babies?”

  The agent shakes his head.

  “Nobody right now. They tell us people are on their way, but no idea how long that will take.”

  I move from crib to crib, searching for Star. I find her in the second room. She isn’t crying like the other babies, but she doesn’t look happy. She stares up at me, but I’m not sure she recognizes me.

  I don’t realize I’m reaching in to pick her up until a female agent steps up next to me.

  “Do you know her?”

  I look up, startled.

  “What?”

  I see the woman giving me a curious look, and shake my head.

  “No, I don’t. But take care of her, okay? Take care of all of them.”

  I don’t wait for a reply. I walk past the woman and head back outside. Nova’s waiting for me.

  He says, “What was that about?”

  I ignore the question.

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything. For being there when I needed you. For saving my family.”

  “It wasn’t just me. It was a team effort.”

  “I know. I need to thank Atticus and James, too. My family”—I pause, shake my head—“I guess I thought disappearing would somehow keep them safe. But they’re not safe. They’re never going to be safe, are they?”

  Nova watches me for a beat, considering.

  “Atticus and I actually talked about that.”

  “Talked about what?”

  “Your family. A way to keep them safe.”

  “How?”

  “WITSEC.”

  “Witness Protection? Be serious, Nova. What are they witnesses to other than what happened today?”

  “Your father, for one.”

  I look at Nova but say nothing. Suddenly I can’t speak.

  “Your father is a rogue agent. An enemy of the state. That puts your family in danger. It’s more than enough to put them in protective custody. Only Atticus says he doesn’t have the pull to do that.”

  I wet my lips, manage to find my voice.

  “Then who?”

  “Our old boss.”

  I shake my head.

  “Walter and I didn’t part on good terms.”

  “That may be so, but it’s still worth looking into. Otherwise, who knows when all this might happen
again?”

  I look away from him, not wanting to think about it. I’d heard how close the sicario the cartels sent had gotten to my sister and nephews.

  Nova clears his throat.

  “It wasn’t just me and James in D.C. Somebody else was with us, too.”

  There’s something about his tone I don’t like.

  “Who?”

  “Erik Johnson.”

  At first I think I don’t hear him right, but then once I realize that’s what he said, my body tenses.

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “We ran into him in Alden. It’s a long story, but he came out with us to D.C. because he wanted to help. And he did help, Holly. If it wasn’t for him, your sister and nephews would be dead.”

  I look around the area, at the buildings and the cars and the agents, and all of it looks surreal, like it doesn’t exist.

  “What happened, Nova?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you anything before all of this was over. I knew it was better for you to be focused than to—”

  I cut him off.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “He was shot three times. One of the bullets hit him near his spine. The surgeons have been working on him all day. Atticus called a couple minutes ago with an update. He’s now in stable condition.”

  I don’t know when it happens, exactly, but I turn away from Nova and start walking. He calls after me, saying my name, but I ignore him, and to Nova’s credit, he lets me have my space. Doesn’t follow me as I wander into the dark field. Moving as if in trance. Past the helicopter. Going farther and farther into the night. Until my foot kicks something on the ground. In the moonlight, I see it’s a large soda bottle, filled with water. One of my targets from the other day.

  I turn and look back at the place Oliver Hayward calls Neverland, at the lights and the vehicles and all the agents moving about, and I think about Erik. About how I allowed myself to get close to him, and how because of that he almost got himself killed. Just like almost everybody else I come in contact with, he’s been marked by death.

  I clench both hands into fists, place them over my mouth.

  Fall to my knees.

  Close my eyes.