“Which was why you had the gun.”
Father Crisanto nods.
I say, “Father, you realize that if we managed to track you down, others might too.”
He nods again, this time more solemnly.
And because God has a cruel sense of humor, it’s at that moment the rumbling of several engines approach outside.
Without a word, Nova immediately hurries toward the entrance.
My gun in hand, I quickly stand up and make my way toward the aisle.
Father Crisanto asks, “What’s wrong?”
Nova, having peeked out a window by the door, hurries back toward us. The look on his face says it all, but still I ask.
“What is it?”
“Narcos.”
“How many?”
“From what I can see, at least a dozen. They have us surrounded.”
Forty-Eight
Father Crisanto jumps to his feet. For a moment he just stands there, frozen, and then he hurries toward the middle aisle and then toward the front of the church. He calls back over his shoulder as he runs.
“Follow me!”
We follow him through the door leading to the back of the church. Down a hallway to another door which opens up on a set of stone stairs. Father Crisanto flicks a switch and a faint light comes on. The priest hurries down the steps and races past wooden shelving until we reach an empty bookcase leaning against the wall.
Nova asks, “Why are we here?”
Father Crisanto says, “Help me, please.”
The priest grabs one end of the bookcase, and Nova grabs the other end, and they push aside the bookcase to reveal a door.
Father Crisanto opens the door and motions us forward. His eyes are wide, and he keeps looking back toward the stairs.
“Hurry. This will lead you to an entrance to the sewer two blocks away. From there you can climb out.”
I dip my head to enter the tunnel but pause.
“Aren’t you coming with us?”
Father Crisanto shakes his head.
“No, I must stay here. The narcos expect to find somebody. I must be that somebody.”
The meaning of what he says hits me at once, but still I stare at him like I’m not sure what he just said.
Still watching the stairs, Father Crisanto says, “Alejandro is wounded. Two days ago he was shot and stabbed. He does not believe he has much longer to live.”
The priest pauses to look directly at me.
“There is only one name left on the list. The man who initially came up with the plan.”
“Fernando Sanchez Morales.”
The priest nods.
“Alejandro has been saving him for last. Typically he waits weeks or months between attacks, but now …”
Father Crisanto lets it hang there. He doesn’t need to say the rest.
Nova pulls out his cell phone, uses the screen to light the tunnel.
“Come on, Holly, we need to go.”
Before I can follow Nova, Father Crisanto speaks again.
“Alejandro is suffering. He has been suffering ever since the sicarios killed his family. I’ve tried repeatedly to stop him from killing, telling him how it will damn his soul, but he does not care. Please, if you can, make sure his soul is at peace.”
I nod and start after Nova who’s already several yards farther ahead. Behind me, Father Crisanto shuts the door and starts pushing the bookcase back in place.
Three minutes later we’re out of the tunnel and back on street level. Nova starts toward where we parked the car, but I head back toward the church.
“Holly, stop.”
I don’t stop. I keep going. My pace slow at first, just a walk, until it speeds up into a jog.
I pause on the corner a block away. There are at least a half-dozen pickup trucks and cars from what I can see. More than a dozen narcos are standing outside the church. A few of the townspeople watch from a safe distance, but for the most part it seems like the town doesn’t want to witness what will happen next.
Father Crisanto is currently on his knees in the middle of the street. He has his hands on his head. Three narcos are standing around him. One has a cell phone to his ear, nodding and speaking. Another narco steps forward with a cell phone, holding it in a way which either means he’s taking pictures or filming. A third narco keeps asking Father Crisanto something, but Father Crisanto doesn’t answer. I can’t see his face, but I imagine his eyes are closed and his lips moving soundlessly in prayer.
It’s clear what these men intend to do, and I can’t let it happen. I even reach for my gun, start to take a step forward, when a heavy hand grabs my arm.
Nova says, “Don’t.”
I glare back at him.
“Get your hand off me.”
“A good soldier knows when not to fight.”
“I’m not a soldier anymore. Neither are you.”
“You go out there, you’re dead.”
He’s right, of course, but I don’t want to admit it. An innocent man—a priest—is about to be killed in front of his church. It’s not something I can let happen. Not something I will let happen.
Except it doesn’t matter anyway, because at that instant a single gunshot echoes through the air.
I turn back to the street just in time to watch Father Crisanto’s body collapse in a heap.
My grip on the gun tightens.
Nova’s grip on my arm also tightens.
“Let’s go, Holly.”
I don’t move.
He says, “Alejandro is going after Morales next. We need to stop him.”
Without a word I turn and start back down the street, pulling my arm from Nova’s grip.
He hurries to keep pace beside me.
“How long will it take us to get to where Morales lives?”
“It’ll probably take us ten hours. Nine if we drive fast.”
“If we drive all night, we’ll make it there by morning. For all we know, Alejandro plans to attack tonight, if he hasn’t already attacked.”
We’re a block away from the car now, and I slip the gun in my waistband, pull out the disposable phone.
“I think there’s someone who can help us with that.”
“Who?”
But I don’t answer Nova just yet. Instead I punch in the number and hold the phone to my ear, hoping that Ramon’s wife isn’t the one who answers
