Distracted by the FBI bombshell, Luis took a moment to surface and answer. “Who?”
“He’s been visiting with your good friend Esquivel.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s a fixer.” Another predator smile. “For the Zetas.”
Getting shot was less of a shock. It couldn’t be true. Luis figured McGinley wasn’t above lying his ass off if it suited him. Ray had been beating the drum to stand up to the Zetas, fight back when they invaded Norte territory. He’d offered to lead a unit himself. No way would he be a Zeta patsy. And no way would he sell out Luis. They’d been like brothers for over twenty years. Ray had been best man at Luis’ wedding. He was Christa’s and Nacho’s godfather.
“Awful quiet over there. Got nothing to say?”
“That makes no sense. Maybe Ray’s trying to turn him.”
“Anything’s possible, I reckon.” McGinley’s voice made it obvious how likely he thought it was.
Luis said, “What I don’t get is, why would the Zetas care about Nora?”
“The reward maybe? Ten million dollars ain’t nothing to spit at.”
Ten million? Luis squashed the near-instant urge to turn in Nora himself. That’s what these people wanted. Besides, they’d bust him and he’d never see a dime. “A day’s revenue from Texas? Big deal.”
They skirted a rear-ender standoff in the right lane—two men pointing guns at each other and screaming over a few shards of busted plastic from their cars—and passed a two-story $3 store bustling with cars and shoppers. Luis remembered it had been a bookstore back when those still existed. It also reminded him where they were. “You better hang a U up here if you don’t want to get stuck in traffic. It’s rush hour.”
McGinley shot him a dark look, but bulled his way into the turn pocket. “You got something to tell me?”
Try it? Luis had nothing to lose. “Nora’s not a terrorist.”
“That so.”
“She’s an FBI agent and—”
“A what?”
McGinley’s pop-eyed surprise made Luis want to laugh, but he bottled it up. “You heard me. I know, that part didn’t make the news. She’s running because she found out some stuff she wasn’t supposed to.”
“What kind of ‘stuff’?” McGinley’s words were coated with skepticism thicker than the breading on fried chicken.
How much should he tell McGinley? The man probably wouldn’t buy it anyway. But if Luis could kick up a little doubt, get McGinley to poke in a few of the wrong places, he could buy himself enough time to get Nora over the border. What happened then, he had no idea. “It’s about 10/19. Those Yemeni guys? They didn’t do it. It—”
McGinley wheeled on him, his face going red. “What kinda shit is this, Ojeda?”
“Just listen. It was some militia assholes. The FBI blamed the Yemenis because everyone wanted it to be Muslims. She found out and now they’re trying to stop her from going public.”
“Jee-sus.” McGinley shook his head. “That what she told you? You fell for that?”
“You fell for this she’s-been-a-terrorist-for-thirteen-years story on the news?”
For once, McGinley didn’t have a comeback.
“You should see what she’s got. Case files, interviews, video, photos, and that’s only part of what she found. Don’t believe me? Look her up in the Bureau directory. Ask your FBI friends if you can read into REDCAP. That’s the SCI compartment for the 10/19 intel. Or look up the Free Montana Militia and see where it went.”
McGinley fell back into his seat and started torturing the steering wheel as he stared out the windshield. Eventually he said, “You didn’t happen to get names for them militia boys, did you? Your tinfoil hat didn’t get in the way?”
“Funny. Um… Dugan, Conners, Seybold. There was a fourth one, Mac something, I can’t remember.”
McGinley considered this. “I got a deal for you, Ojeda. I’ll look into this. You find out what Casillas is doing with your buddy Esquivel, and you keep tabs on al-Khaled. You don’t move her without telling me. Understand? That’s as good as this gets right now.”
“What about the FBI?”
“Let me wrassle with them. Maybe they’ll bend a little if they think they’re gonna get what they want. You just do as you’re told. Deal?”
Compared with Option One, it was a great deal. But Luis could see a million things go wrong with it, and with full-court-press FBI surveillance, he had no idea how long Nora would go free. If he didn’t agree, he was pretty sure his life and his family’s lives would be over very soon. Luis took a deep breath, preparing to jump off the high diving board. “Okay. Deal.”
41
Large discount retailers are expected to continue their strong performance through 2032 as their market base of subprime-income customers continues to grow… Walmart, Target, BigLots!, $2.99 Only and other national chains now anchor 81% of regional shopping centers, replacing bygone mid-market retailers such as Sears, JCPenney, Dillard’s and Macy’s.
— “Sector Outlook for 2032,” National Retail Federation
FRIDAY, 14 MAY
Luis’ brain had jolted from dazed to hyper-alert during his ride with McGinley. He’d talked the Fed into dropping him at the $3 store; he had things to do and calls to make, and if the FBI was all over his home, he couldn’t do them there. Now he stood in the parking lot, hands shaking, imagining that every person he saw was an FBI agent.
Get it together, he scolded himself. Lose yourself in the crowd.
He gimped across the street to the struggling Main Place Mall and entered the huge Target where Macy’s used to be. The bright lights and colors jangled his eyes, but seeing the busy bargain shoppers helped lower his heart rate to only mildly panicked. Yes, the FBI could still track him on the store cameras, but first they had to know he was there. Keep moving.
In the electronics department, he selected a nicer Kenyan-knockoff Huawei smartphone and three five-packs of 15-minute phone chips. Once through the self-serve checkout, he plunged into the scrum in groceries, woke up the phone, and brought up Skype using the store’s wifi. He was as anonymous as he’d ever get; the Feds would have to parse every one of the dozens of data streams inside the store to find his. Good luck with that.
As he wove through the food shoppers, he left a message for Ray asking for a meet, then asked Nathan for a full scan of the house. He called for a Cartel car; his truck was probably a rolling sensor net by now. Nora picked up on the second ring.
“Since when?” she asked after he told her the FBI was after him.
“Don’t know. Not too long, or they’d have picked me up by now.”
She was silent for a few moments. Then she sighed. “I’m sorry. This is my fault.”
“We’ll figure out whose fault it is later. You need to go dark. Pull the batteries out of everything that’s got batteries. Check your burner for messages every two hours, but go to a different house every time. I’ll get down there when I can.”
He wanted to call Bel, but he didn’t know when she’d last swapped chips in her burner. The FBI must have her phone tapped. He’d tell her tonight, if he survived the day.
Luis browbeat his big sister Lourdes over the phone until she agreed to put up Alvaro and Graciela in Denver for a while. She was pissed, but it was time for her to take care of someone other than herself for a change, and he needed to take their parents out of play. He could already hear tonight’s conversation with them—especially Dad—and didn’t look forward to it.
Had Tavo known about Salma? He probably knew she’d been Ray’s girlfriend, but not about her makeup work with the travelers. She deserved a warning anyway. “It’s me,” he said when she finally picked up. “How long would it take you to leave the country?”
“Why?”
“It’s time.”
A lot of dead air followed. Finally she said, “Really? Because of Ray?”
“Because of him, and because of me. The FBI knows about me. It’s time to get out whi
le you can. Before you go, I need you to do me a favor. Remember Tyler from the shop?”
“The cute one with the plastic leg? Sure I do.”
Luis told her what he needed. Any eavesdropping shoppers would be confused.
“You know I can’t say ‘no’ to you. Okay, one last job, then off to my permanent vacation.” Ice clinked against glass in the background. “Hey, handsome, come with me. Keep me safe. We could find a little beach…”
That sounded wonderful for a split-second, until Luis reconnected with reality. “You know I can’t. I have a wife I’d like to keep. You’ll do fine. Just be careful, okay?”
“You are so straight.” Salma paused. “Lucho? Watch out for Ray. I know he’s your friend, but he’s into things—”
The rest of Luis’ brain-fog burned away. “What do you mean, ‘into things’?”
“Just…be careful. He’s got big plans for himself, and I’m not sure they include any of us. Don’t get in his way. And get out of this thing with Nora before she gets you killed. Please. I like you better alive.”
“So do I.” Watch out for Ray echoed in his brain. He’d push harder, but he could tell he’d gotten all he would from her about it. “Take care.”
“I’ll tell you where I land. Maybe you can come visit sometime, huh?”
“Maybe.” Which sounded like goodbye. He’d never see Salma again. Probably for the best, though it didn’t feel that way. “Take care of yourself. Vaya con Dios.”
Getting to Ray’s house through the early-evening traffic was more of a trial than Luis had expected. Once inside the sixteen-foot steel pillars of Newport Beach’s wall, NBPD hassled him for driving while brown, reminding him why he didn’t go there this late.
Warm, indirect lighting popped the white walls of Ray’s house against the waning sunset. The neighbors’ indoor lights were far brighter than the five-watt fluorescents Luis was stuck with at home. The trickle of the little fountain next to Ray’s front door reminded him these people could also afford to fill their koi ponds and big swimming pools and water their landscaping.
At least this time, Ray’s blonde was fully dressed in her black maid uniform. “Good evening, Mr. Ojeda. Ray will be down in just a minute. Can I get you something?”
“Iced tea?” he said when he stepped inside. He couldn’t risk a beer in his half-drugged condition.
Luis followed the blonde through the cream limestone and white marble to the kitchen, watched her pull together his drink from the endless cabinets and the huge fridge. Maids know everything, his rational voice told him. Schmoozing her for information meant shouldering past his resentment, though. “You’re Keira, right? Like the actress?”
“Yes. She was my mom’s favorite.”
She didn’t look at him, and her tone was polite-verging-on-frosty. Had Ray told her Luis’ opinion of her? “How long’ve you been here?”
“Three years and some.”
“Huh. I’ll bet you guys have been busy lately.” No reply. He’d run out of small talk. How do you like sleeping with Ray? No, that wouldn’t lead anywhere he wanted to go. Get to it, then. “Hey, a guy I know said he’d been by here. Jorge Casillas? Know him?”
The maid hesitated just a moment while stirring his drink. Her jaw got a little harder. Then she recovered, put on a tight smile, and handed him a tall glass of tea with perfect ice cubes and even a sprig of mint. “I’ll go see what’s keeping Ray.”
Luis stood sipping his tea at the floor-to-ceiling living-room window, switching his attention between the glowing-turquoise infinity pool, the soccer and baseball games on the huge databoard hanging on the wall over the fireplace, and the window-washing robot’s silver slab as it crawled across the glass. After a few minutes, he saw Ray’s reflection ambling down the stairs behind him.
“What do the neighbors think of all these guards?” Luis asked.
“They’re down with it,” Ray answered in Spanish. “Half of them have live-in muscle. Safest city in the state and they have juiced-up ex-soldiers walking the Sharpoo. Come on, let’s sit.” Ray muted the databoard with a sharp gesture and sprawled into an armchair. Luis perched on the flat, hard-as-a-rock couch, trying not to bend. “You don’t look so good, hermano.”
Luis switched to Spanish. “There’s a reason. How often do you sweep this place?”
Ray laughed. “Seriously? Every day. Vibrators on the windows, ultrasonics outside to fuck with parabolic mikes. Why? What’s going on?”
“You know about El Cajon, right?”
“What about it?”
Luis described the attack on the safe house, killing the six gunmen, his escape, his suspicions about who sent them. Ray nodded and made the right noises, but it seemed to Luis that he wasn’t as surprised or concerned as he ought to be. Had he heard this already?
“Sorry you got hit,” Ray said. “You okay? Bel taking care of you?”
“Yeah.” Lucho shifted, wished he hadn’t. “Feels like I walked in front of a truck.”
“Where’s the bruja?”
“Safe for now.”
“Come on, hermano.” Ray spread his hands. “Let me help you. I can give you men, supplies, whatever. You don’t have to lone-wolf this. She’s in one of our houses?”
Why was he suddenly being so helpful? “No. The one in Serra Mesa’s being watched, too. We’ve gotta figure they’re all burned, that the Zetas got it out of Tavo. But there’s a bigger problem. The FBI knows I’ve got Nora.”
Ray fell back into his chair, an oh, shit look on his face. “How do you know?”
“McGinley told me. Nathan’s ripping bugs out of my house right now.”
“McGinley? Why would he tell you?”
“Because he wants to bust Nora himself.” Luis leaned forward without thinking, and every muscle from his hips up screamed at him for it. “We can’t blame this one on the Zetas. There’s a serious fucking leak in your organization. I’m telling you nothing until you fix it.” Luis turned away from Ray’s mouthful-of-pickles expression, watched the guards pace outside for a few moments. “Who’s this Casillas guy who keeps visiting?”
Ray bolted upright. “None of your bus—”
“Fuck that, Ray!” Luis said it with far more heat than he’d ever used on Ray before. “You’re meeting with a Zeta fixer at the same time his people are torturing Tavo and his hired help’s trying to kill me and kidnap my client. Who is he?”
Ray lurched out of his chair and stalked across the room to the bar. Luis wondered if he’d crossed the wrong line; Ray was more-or-less a capo, now. He watched Ray pour a healthy slug of tequila, drain half, then refill. Bracing himself to kill Luis?
“Okay,” Ray said when he turned back to Luis. “This doesn’t go past the kitchen, got it? You’ll know why when I tell you.”
Luis pointed up to the bridge across the living room. “How about your girlfriend?”
“That’s why we’re using Spanish, so she doesn’t understand. Yes, Casillas is a Zeta. For now. He feels unappreciated. Once we get our leadership settled, he’s going to flip to us and bring over a chunk of the Zetas’ California business. We’ve been planning his move.”
This sounded like science fiction. “People who flip on the Zetas die.”
“Yeah, usually. If we can keep him alive and take his network, it’ll be huge. People will figure out they don’t have to roll over for those cabrones anymore. That’s why I can’t talk about it with you or Keira or anyone. If they find out, he’s dead in a real bad way, you know?”
“Uh-huh.” This didn’t sound right. Why would they meet here—especially now—where the Zetas could keep tabs on him? On the other hand, Luis had worried Ray might try something like this. What did Salma say? Ray’s into things. Luis struggled off of the sofa and lumbered stiff-legged toward the bar. “How do you know this guy’s for real?”
“I just do. Look, he’s a nasty little prick and I’d rather throw him off the cliff than work with him, you know? But we need a win, hermano. We’re getting
our asses kicked.” He poured another three fingers of tequila and downed half in one shot. “Be chill about this. Don’t tell McGinley. ICE and DEA are full of snitches. Understand?”
Luis didn’t say anything, just set his empty glass on the bar. After a few uncomfortable moments peering into Ray’s eyes, he said, “Were any of the other safe houses hit?”
Ray’s attention wavered between Luis and his glass; the booze won. “I don’t know. I’ll have to get a team on it. Why?”
“If they only went after El Cajon, they were targeting Nora. If they hit everyplace, they were just after whatever they could find.”
“Good thinking. I’ll get a survey done.” Ray squeezed Luis’ uninjured right shoulder. “Keep the faith, hermano. Don’t shut me out. You know I won’t let anything happen to you, right? After all this time?”
42
Fifteen years ago, the American expatriate community in Boquete was a few thousand strong and notably white and gray-haired. Today, over sixty thousand Americans of all ethnicities live in this Panamanian mountain city, making it the world’s largest foreign concentration of U.S. citizens. Most of these newcomers are working-age refugees from El Norte’s pollution, politics and decay…
— “Best Destinations for U.S. Expats,” Money.USNews.com
SATURDAY, 15 MAY
God, this sounded like such a bad idea. But Bel couldn’t see any other options, and neither could Lucho. They’d talked it over until way past midnight. She snuggled closer—it was weird to be on his right after twenty-plus years on the other side of the bed—and whispered, “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” His fingertips stroked up and down her spine, leaving a little trail of tingle.
He’d said it was safe in the bedroom, that his tech guy had put in something that blocked transmitters and vibrated the windows. Having the ceiling fan clacking away at takeoff speed made things even harder for any eavesdroppers, plus it moved the air enough that she and Lucho could stand to cling together even in the heat. This room was more secure than anyplace else they could go. For all that, she couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that someone might be listening.
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