Omega Series Box Set 1

by Blake Banner

  The cooker at Casa Coca was electric, but whiskey and brandy and rum all make pretty good Molotov cocktails. I didn’t want my DNA or my fingerprints showing up there when the cops finally came down. But more than that, when I contacted Montilla, I wanted him to know what Arana discovered just before he died: that I was a destructive son of a bitch who liked to burn things and blow them up.

  I had one more thing I had to do that night before I could sleep. I drove north up the 286 till I came to the turnoff for Keystone, where the San Juan county sheriff had his office. It was a fifteen-minute drive into the center of the town. It was a quiet town and by that time, almost one AM, the streets were empty and all the bars were closed. I pulled up outside the county sheriff’s office and heaved out Juan’s body. I dumped it on the doorstep, then pulled out Alejandro’s and threw it on top. I dumped Arana’s body on top of Alejandro’s and then placed Romero’s head on Arana’s chest. It made quite a stack.

  After that, I climbed into the Jeep and headed for Tucson.

  Seventeen

  I dumped the Jeep outside the Hawk’s Nest and got in my car. I checked the tracker and my laptop. There was no sign of Marni. I drove back to her house through dull, yellow-lit streets, past quiet houses with blind windows and stationary cars, under a pre-dawn black sky.

  Thinking. Or at least, trying to think.

  I parked a hundred yards from the house and went the rest of the way on foot, haunted by the echo of my steps. I let myself in and closed the door. The clunk was loud, but the house felt close and silent. I closed the drapes, left the lights off and switched on my laptop.

  When my father had first asked me to find Marni, during the summer, he had given me two contacts, people who could help me if I got in trouble. I had never wanted to use them, but I was obsessing now about an idea. There was only one way I could think of to resolve it, and that was through one of those contacts: Philip Gantrie, a brilliant computer nerd who had helped me destroy the Omega sun beetle farm in Colorado.

  He had since given me a secure email address. Now I typed him a message.

  Need to know all financial investors in University of Arizona School of Natural Resources and the Environment.

  The answer came about thirty seconds later:

  Will be in touch shortly.

  I poured myself a drink and settled to wait.

  I woke up to the sound of birds. The room was dark, but there was gray light filtering around the edges of the drapes. My body ached and I had a crick in my neck from the position I’d slept in on the chair. I checked my laptop, but there was still no reply from Phil.

  I climbed the stairs, stripped and stood under the shower for ten minutes, turning the water from hot to cold and back again, shocking my body into wakefulness, trying to wash away the carnage of the night. I toweled myself dry and pulled on a clean pair of pants and a T-shirt. Then I reached for my phone. I had six missed calls from Red. I swore under my breath. I must have really been out of it. Not good.

  I called him back.

  “What the hell have you done to my truck?”

  “It’s a long story. We were ambushed. I need to see you. Be at the Hawk’s Nest in half an hour.”

  “Hold your fuckin’ horses, cowboy. I’m through takin’ orders from you. This is my operation, you understand me?”

  “Just be there.”

  “I’m already here, Lacklan! Now you get your fuckin’ ass over here before I get my bullwhip on you!”

  I gave it a beat of three. “If you’re going to threaten me, Red, you’d better be ready to make good on it.”

  “I’m ready.”

  I hung up, making long movies in my head, trying to play out what had happened during the night and the early morning.

  Uncle Caleb had happened. I smiled. He’d found the offering on his doorstep and called Red. Red had gone to the club and found his new Jeep full of blood and gore. Now he wanted to use his bullwhip on me. He was many things, but one thing you could never accuse Red of was being wise.

  I made coffee and toast and as I had my breakfast standing in the kitchen I told myself I had to finish this business today. I had been a fool to get involved, but now Arana and Romero were dead, I just needed to deal with Red and his uncle. Case closed.

  Arana’s supplier was another matter. It was a hell of a coincidence but, if I was right, it led me right back to Marni, which was where I should have been focused all along. I knew Marni had deliberately engineered the situation in Turret, Colorado. But there was no way she could have engineered my meeting Red. That had been pure chance.

  I arrived at the Hawk’s Nest half an hour later. The sun was high and it was already getting hot. The side of the building was blackened by smoke, but apart from that, and the charred remains of the storage sheds out back, there was not much damage from the fire.

  The green Jeep was still there, where I had left it the night before, and the sheriff of San Juan County had his truck parked next to it. There were a couple of other trucks there too. It looked like he had a whole reception committee for me.

  I pushed through the door into the dark interior. They were sitting around a table talking, but went silent when I went in. There was Red and there was Chetan, and there were five of their boys. And then there was the Sheriff, standing at the bar. I let the door close and crossed the room to stand looking down at Red.

  “Where’s your bullwhip, Red?”

  “What happened last night?”

  “Why don’t you ask your uncle, the sheriff of San Juan County?” I looked over at him. “You have a way of straying out of your jurisdiction, don’t you, Sheriff?”

  “I’m askin’ you, Lacklan. What the fuck happened last night?”

  “What happened was that Arana knew we were coming. When we got to the Casa Coca he was waiting for us. He killed your boys, but he tortured us first. Seth told him about Romero being your supplier. He took a gang over the border, took me along to watch. They torched the place, killed everyone and decapitated Romero. He wanted me to tell you what I’d seen. But he made a mistake.”

  It was the sheriff who asked. His voice was tight. “What mistake?”

  I ignored him and kept talking to Red, aware that Chetan was watching me, still and silent as an iguana. “He chose me to be the messenger. He should have killed me when he had the chance and used Seth instead. When he untied me, I killed him and all his boys, and I torched the Casa Coca.” Now I turned to the sheriff. “I guess you’ve seen it by now, huh, Sheriff?”

  He nodded, then turned to Red and nodded at him, too. “The place was gutted.”

  Chetan spoke for the first time. “You want us to believe you killed the whole of Arana’s gang?”

  “It’s easy to kill people when they expect you to do something else, like get on your knees and beg.” I turned back to Red. “But you’re still asking all the wrong questions. You’re stupid and you will always be stupid, right up to the day you get shot between the eyes.”

  He got to his feet. His face was flushed and his ears were burning. “I’ve had just about a belly full of you, boy!”

  “Are you not wondering? Are you not asking yourself any questions?” I bellowed at him suddenly and my voice echoed around the bar. “How the fuck did Arana know we were coming?” He stared at me with wide eyes. I kept shouting, driving his simple mind to where I wanted it to be. “I was with you! I got in the truck with Seth! I was with Seth and the boys all the fucking way down to the Casa Coca! So who the hell told Arana we were coming?”

  Everybody turned their eyes on the sheriff. Everyone except Chetan, who was still watching me. The sheriff went pale and stood away from the bar. “Oh, now wait one goddamn minute!”

  I pointed at him. “You were the only person who knew.”

  “Now that just ain’t true! There were any number of people…”

  “You want to tell Red about the first time we ever met, Sheriff?”

  His face went scarlet. “That don’t mean nothin’…”!


  Red was glaring at him. “What the hell is goin’ on, Uncle Caleb? I thought we had an understanding…”

  “We do, son!” He pointed a trembling hand at me. “This feller is a damn trouble-maker! Everywhere he goes, people die, and bad shit happens! You don’t want to believe a goddamn thing he tells you!”

  “Your uncle was in Arana’s pay. He’s a gutless piece of shit just like the rest of you. You do with him whatever you think is smart. Arana is not a problem for you anymore. But you have got one problem. You no longer have a supplier.”

  Things were moving too fast for him and he could not keep up. I saw the sheriff frown. He knew I’d let him off the hook and he didn’t understand why. Red was trying to catch up with the new topic of conversation, but he was struggling.

  “Supplier?”

  “Yeah, Red, supplier. Romero is dead. Haven’t you been listening, you dumb piece of shit?” I threw Arana’s little black book on the table. “Before I killed him, I got the name of Arana’s supplier, and his contact number. You want to stay in this business, you’re going to have to deal direct with the Sinaloa cartel. A man called Rafael Montilla. You get the product cheaper, but you sell it at the same price. Your profits just went up.”

  Chetan reached out and picked up the book. He leafed through it with no expression, studying each page. He handed it up to Red, who was frowning hard, like his brain hurt. I went on.

  “The number is listed as Control. I just exposed your mole, Red, eliminated your competition and got you the best supplier on the planet. Now, let’s talk about that bullwhip...”

  He seemed not to hear me. He went through the book and found the number. The sheriff lifted a trembling hand and pointed at me. “Red, now you listen to me, this man is dangerous. I don’t know what his game is, but he is turning us agin each other, he sows trouble and dissent everywhere he goes. And everywhere he goes, people die. I swear, Red, this man is the fuckin’ devil incarnate!”

  I snorted. Red looked at me like I’d startled him. I said, “Fix up a meeting. Somewhere in the desert. Tell him both Romero and Arana have been wiped out. You don’t know who by, but you’ve been left without a supplier. Say you want to meet Rafael Montilla in person and you want to deal with him direct. They’ll most likely say no, but it’s worth asking. This is probably as urgent for them as it is for you. They just lost one of their major supply lines into the USA. See if they’ll meet this afternoon or this evening. Call me when it’s set up.” I gazed at the sheriff and at the five boys at the table. I allowed my contempt to show. “You’re going to need somebody who knows what he’s doing.”

  Red was still frowning. “Now…?”

  “Yeah, do it now. And, Red, next time you threaten me, I’m going to kill you. Do you understand that?”

  Chetan raised an eyebrow. It was the first time I’d ever seen an expression on his face. Maybe I’d gone too far. Maybe I had overstepped the mark. I didn’t give a damn.

  Maybe I should have.

  I left, got into my car and drove the short distance to Cissy’s place. It was almost lunchtime by the time I got there. It wasn’t the furnace heat of high summer, but it was hot for October. She opened the door to me, sighed and smiled. Then she stepped out, grabbed me and gave me a long, passionate kiss. I was surprised at how good it felt. She eventually pulled back and looked up into my eyes.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you’d gone, if I’d ever see you again…”

  “Let’s go inside, Cissy. I have to talk to you.”

  “That don’t sound good.”

  I kissed her head and we went inside. She sat at the dining table and I put my rucksack in front of her and opened it. I dumped the money in front of her.

  “There’s over three hundred grand there, Cissy. I want you to take it and go away for a few days. Things are going to get pretty intense. I want you to be safe.”

  She was staring at the money, not listening to me. “What the hell have you done, Lacklan? Where did you get this money?”

  “That is not important. What is important is how you use it. Red will not bother you again. You’ll be free of him by tonight. But I am going to have to move on. I want you to promise me that from now on, you will make smarter choices about the men you let into your life.”

  She finally looked at me. She was unhappy and shook her head. “I don’t like the way you’re talking. Why do you have to go?”

  “It’s complicated to explain, Cissy. I wish I didn’t have to, but I do.”

  I was surprised, again, to discover that I actually meant what I was saying. There was an uncomplicated joy about Cissy. She was what she was, and she found it easy to be happy. You knew with her that if you treated her right she would stand by you to the end. That was all I had ever wanted, yet once again, I found myself walking away from it.

  Her eyes flooded. “Why?”

  I cupped her cheek in my hand and felt the wetness of her tears, and for a crazy moment I wondered, what if? What if I turned my back on everything and stayed? What if I sent my father and Marni and the whole damn lot of them to the devil, and stayed here with Cissy? Wouldn’t that be a way out of Hell?

  I kissed her. “We’ll talk. Right now I have to go. I want you to take the money and disappear for a couple of days. When you get back, it’ll be over and we’ll talk. I promise.”

  I left her in the kitchen, drying her eyes and looking at the blood-stained money on the table, like it was something she had just stepped in on the sidewalk.

  Eighteen

  I climbed into my car, lit a Pueblo and started to drive, not knowing exactly where I was going. My phone pinged to tell me I had an email. I thumbed the screen while I drove and saw it was from Phil. I pulled onto a patch of wasteland and opened the message.

  Are you alone? Can I call you?

  I answered:

  Yes.

  A few seconds later my phone rang.

  “Don’t use names. This is a secure line, but it pays to be careful.”

  “Hi.”

  “I looked into your request. I’ll send you a bill and method of payment separately. The School of Natural Resources and the Environment has a large number of donors. They are like investors in that they, directly or indirectly, derive benefits from the research one way or another. They range from the government and environmental pressure groups to private industry. I’m going to email you the complete list so you can look at it.”

  “Thanks, did any particular investors stand out…”

  “Try not to talk. I’m coming to that. There are a few who stand out for a couple of reasons. The first reason is that they actually have a stake in the results of the research.”

  “A stake in what sense?”

  “In the sense that they partially own the results.”

  I thought about that for a moment. “Who?”

  “Wait. So, these investors are actually investing not so much in the faculty as a whole, but in a particular project.”

  “Like what?”

  “Stop interrupting and listen to me. There are three projects in particular, and they are all directly or indirectly overseen by one professor. They are the Biosphere 3 Project, in construction at Buena Vista Lake, south of Beyerville.”

  “On the Santa Cruz river…”

  “Yes. Ostensibly, its main function will be to research insect life and its potential in regenerating desert ecosystems.”

  I was only half listening. My mind was racing. The Santa Cruz River was the river that ran through Romero’s ranch. It meant something, but I could not see it yet. Phil was still talking.

  “The second is Project Apollo, nothing to do with rockets, and it is a bit bizarre that they should be conducting this research in that particular faculty, as it belongs more to neurosciences. What they are doing is growing brains—human brains—like they were cabbages or something, on other animals, like rats.”

  “What?”

  “I’m serious. The plan is to see if certain neural functions
can be transferred to other organisms to assist in regenerating dead earth. Kind of imbuing an ecosphere with intelligence.”

  “Jesus Christ…”

  “You’re not kidding. That is the declared purpose, I’m willing to bet they are also researching ways to manipulate those brains—a kind of neural biofeedback from the environment. The third project is called Social Environmentalism. It hooks up with the departments of Social Sciences and Psychology to study the interaction of the environment with the collective human psyche. Two large investors stood out who put a lot of money into all three of these projects, and bought proprietary rights in all of them.”

  “Who?”

  “Inversiones Sonora, based in Hermosillo, in Mexico. Phoenix Investments, based in DC, and R&D Funding, based in Boston. I dug a little further to see if any significant names showed up on the boards. You know I can get access to lists that are confidential and hidden to other people.”

  “Yeah, what did you find?”

  “Well, to begin with, Phoenix Investments and R&D Funding both belong to a company called Globex, which is registered in Switzerland. And Globex belongs to the Maya Corporation, based in Belize. And the main shareholder in the Maya Corporation, as you have probably guessed…”

  “Is Inversiones Sonora.”

  “You guessed.”

  “So basically these three projects are being funded by, and belong to, Inversiones Sonora.”

  “Correct, and Inversiones Sonora is, being very simplistic, a huge money laundering scheme for…”

  “The Sinaloa cartel.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I told you what you expected me to tell you.”