Ballistic

statement today. Finding the Gamboa woman and killing her is something well within our power, but what more will it achieve? Why can’t we just let it go?”

De la Rocha looked out over the patio, into the night. He sighed. “I’ll tell you why. Madrigal controls a portion of the federales, just like he has men in the municipales, the judiciales, the state police, and I can accept that. But the GOPES? No . . . these men are too clean. If they start working for Madrigal, then I must show them—”

“There is no reason to think Major Gamboa knew he was doing the work of Constantino Madrigal.”

Daniel waved the thought away. “Gamboa was smart, but he thought he was smarter than he actually was. He thought he would use the intelligence of the Madrigal group and then kill Madrigal on his own. I don’t like smart men who will not play by the rules. And I want to show any other man who thinks he is so pure and clean and perfect and smart that I will start by killing him, and I will end by killing everything that he has ever loved.”

Calvo said nothing.

“You will find Elena Gamboa. Spider’s men will then kill her and her baby and anyone else around.”

Calvo nodded at his boss. There would be no changing his mind. “Si, patron.”

De la Rocha turned to go into the house, but he stopped, called back to his consigliere. “And Nestor. Do not question me again about this.”

“Si, patron.”

TWENTY-SIX

The hacienda did not have electricity, but it did have a telephone, and it rang at two a.m., startling everyone in the home and waking those sleeping. Laura had just come up from the cellar, and she ran into the candlelit main sitting room to answer it. She grabbed it on the sixth ring, just as Court entered the same room through the door to the back patio. He’d spent the last two hours preparing for an attack that he prayed would never come.

“?Bueno?”

“Good morning, sorry to disturb you so early. May I speak with Senora Elena Gamboa?”

Laura looked up to Court, her face white. She whispered, “De la Rocha.”

Without hesitation Court stormed through the dim, crossed the dusty tile flooring of the expansive room. Laura held the phone out for him and he pulled it to his mouth.

“Tell me you speak English, asshole!” His voice boomed against the stone walls, echoed down dark, lonely hallways, and rattled old panes of glass in the windows.

A long pause, then a low laugh. “Ah. The norteamericano. The one who swings like a monkey on television. How nice to finally talk to you, man to man.”

“I don’t know what you are, but marking an unborn child for death makes you no kind of man, you sick fuck.”

“You would not understand. There is a difference in our cultures that creates a wide chasm between our belief systems. Unfortunately for you, I expect you will be in the way of my objective, so you will die along with Senora Gamboa.”

Court laughed angrily, “You talk much better than your men fight. I’ve killed a half dozen of your guys already, remember?”

“Yes, I heard all about your actions. You are quite good at what you do. Do you have any idea how much money you could make working for me? Listen, obviously I have found out where you are hiding. I have men outside the hacienda walls even now. You and the family are completely surrounded.”

“And we are well armed. Tell your men to come in and get us.”

The rest of the Gamboa family had entered the room, even Ignacio stood on the stairwell, leaning against the wall, listening to one side of a conversation in a language that he did not speak.

De la Rocha laughed again. “Calmate, amigo. Calm down. Just listen. We will allow you to surrender, to leave. If you want, you can take everyone except for Elena out with you. We only want her.”

“No deal.”

“Then this is the last time we will speak. You will be dead before dawn, but if this is your choice, it is okay with me.”

The line went dead. Court played with the phone for a moment to check it. Yes, the landline had been cut.

“Everyone check your cell phones,” he commanded, and for the next two minutes there was a shuffling of bodies around the living area of the hacienda as the family scrambled for their phones and tried to get a signal.

No . . . the mobile tower in the area had been disabled.

Shit. Gentry realized that disabling the cell phones took some manpower and some intelligence on the part of his adversary. Court recognized that they weren’t going to just get hit by a couple of fat Mexican ranch hands in straw hats. No . . . de la Rocha had managed to get together a decent enough crew, even out here in the wilderness.

Martin and Ramses had been on the landing; each had come in from his post on opposite sides of the casa grande. One had been covering the mirador to the north, the other to the south. Court stayed downstairs in the living room, looked slowly at each member of the Gamboa family. He did not sugarcoat their situation; he only said, “They are coming.”

No one moved.

“Where is Luis?”

“He’s in bed,” said Inez.

“Can you get him to go down in the cellar?”

She just shook her head. “No. He won’t understand. He won’t go.”

Court nodded. He didn’t have time to worry about Luis right now. Looking around the room at his pathetic force of nine, he just blew out a sigh. The Gray Man had always been labor, never management. He was no leader. He wished he had some profound way to rally his troops, but he didn’t really know what to say. It would come down to himself, Ramses, Martin, and Laura. These other poor people—well, he just hoped they didn’t accidentally shoot each other in the attack to come.

Court muttered to himself. “We’re in trouble.”

Elena stood; she’d been sitting on the sofa. “We can stop them.”

Gentry just stared back at her. He tried to say something helpful but could not think of a thing.

Inez announced she had bread in the oven that she needed to take out. Luz followed her into the kitchen, the old women disappearing before Gentry could point out to them that there were more important concerns at the moment.

He turned back to those remaining in the room and to the federales looking down from the landing. “There are four trained fighters here. Only two of us have real weapons. I just have a half-empty wheel gun and a fifty-year-old scattergun, like I’m in fucking Dodge City.” No one understood the reference. They all just looked at their American protector.

In the dim he looked at Elena and Laura, at Ernesto and Diego and Ignacio. He saw eyes of trust. Eyes of hope.

Eyes of fools.

His mind raced; he thought about the impending attack and what he could do about it.

Elena said, “Joe, don’t give up on us. We may not all be soldiers, but we can all help. Everyone can do something!”

The smell of fresh bread wafted from the kitchen.

Court sighed. “We can’t fucking bake our way out of this, Elena!” Elena Gamboa’s face reddened in anger and frustration.

Ramses chuckled on the landing above.

“Other than pelting our enemies with chimichangas, does anyone have