“Hang on to something.” Serge cut the wheel hard for a vicious right turn.
Three blocks ahead, Andy crossed his arms tightly, soaked and shivering.
“Sorry,” said Ramirez, turning off the car’s AC. “How you holding up?”
Teeth chattered. “I’m not.”
“That’ll change,” said the agent. “It’s all over now. You made it in.”
The Crown Vic passed Bahia Mar and disappeared south on A1A.
The rain let up. People emerged from restaurants and bars, resuming the nightly sidewalk stroll along the strip. A Delta 88 drove south past Bahia Mar.
Chapter Forty-Seven
TWENTY MINUTES LATER
Andy sat on a couch in dry FBI clothes that were three sizes too big.
Ramirez peeked out the curtains again. “What now?” asked Andy.
“Wait.”
“Can I watch TV?”
“No. We might not be able to hear.”
“Hear what?”
Ramirez laid out a collection on top of a bedspread. Glock, extra clips, pistol-grip twelve-gauge, Taser,.38 ankle backup with snap release.
“Agent Ramirez,” said Andy. “Hear what? What are we listening for?”
“Anything. Just a precaution.”
“Thought you said I was safe now.”
“You are, as long as we follow procedure.” He grabbed his phone. “Just have to make final arrangements.”
Ramirez went in the bathroom and dialed.
A half mile away, Serge burst through the door at Bahia Cabana.
City and Country looked up from a bong at the clamor.
“Where the hell have you been?”
“Wal-Mart.” Serge ran across the room.
“Wal-Mart?” said City.
“Time slows down,” said Coleman.
Serge pawed through luggage. “Just the cushion I needed to retool the Master Plan and catch back up… Here it is!“ He grabbed Andy’s disposable cell and frantically pressed buttons.
”What are you doing?” asked Coleman.
“Trying to find his call log…” More menu buttons. “Here it is.” Serge scanned the tiny screen, the same number repeating all the way to the bottom, both incoming and outgoing. “Just as I thought.”
He hit redial.
“That’s right,” Ramirez said into his cell. “With me right now. Perfectly safe… Okay, we’ll sit tight.”
The agent hung up; the phone instantly rang again.
“Agent Ramirez.”
“Where’s Andy?”
“Who’s this?”
“Serge. What have you done with him?”
“Done with who? I don’t know any Andy…”
Andy sprang from the couch in alarm.
Ramirez held out an arm and shook his head: nothing to worry about.
The boy tentatively sat back down.
“You’re not a good liar,” said Serge. “This phone number’s all over his cell. That’s why we’re talking right now.”
“Why
“I want Andy.”
“I just told you-”
“Knock off the act. I know about his mother.”
“Why don’t you come down to the local office and discuss it with us?”
“That’s the last thing you want.”
“This conversation’s over.”
“You killed her.”
“Now it’s really over.”
“Hang up on me, and the next call I make
Ramirez looked toward Andy, then faced the other way and lowered his voice.
“You still there?” asked Serge.
“I’m here,” said Ramirez. “You need to calm down. I know you cared about Andy, but he’s safe now. Your mind’s playing tricks.”
“My mind tells me women don’t shoot themselves.”
“Some do.”
“You’re the informant.”
“You really do need to settle down.”
“Seen
“You’re insane.”
“When I figured out there was an informant, I knew that whoever eventually contacted Andy to take him in would be someone he trusted. And the traitor. But what sealed it was his mother.”
“Quite an imagination.”
“Let me tell you a story. A long time ago, Madre had an agent on the payroll. No biggie. Just a little intel now and again-tip-off to a raid or shipment about to be intercepted. Then it all changed with a witness for the prosecution. It wasn’t what you bargained for, but too late. They had enough leverage for a life sentence. Now are you following?”
No answer.
“So you went to see Andy’s dad in Battle Creek-one of the few people who knew where he lived. He wasn’t home. But Andy’s mother was. Except you didn’t shoot her.”
“I thought you said I did.”
“You were responsible for her death, but no, you’re not cut out to be the shooter.”
“Who then?”
“My money? Guillermo was with you. Madre would have insisted, so you couldn’t fake McKenna’s death and have him pose for confirmation photos with ketchup on his chest. Guillermo was the right age back then and the wrong psychological makeup to find the house with no McKenna. I’m guessing you tried to stop him.”
“Some story…”
A Delta 88 made a U-turn. A phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Guillermo?”
“Hi, Madre. I have great news. I got Andy. Was just waiting for the call from you where to meet Ramirez for the positive ID, so we don’t go through another Panama City.”
“What do you mean, you’ve got Andy?”
“Right here in the front seat with me. Matches the convenience store video.”
“My name’s Melvin.”
“Shut up.”
