The agent said, “Repeat?”
“He’s walking backward, returning to the cars.”
The agent shook his head as he muttered under his breath.
“What the hell is going on?”
A few minutes passed in silence from the radio. Imna, growing impatient, tried seeing past the cars again, and she wondered how she was going to handle this, just how much power she could exert in this country—not to mention how much power the country would allow her to exert—when they heard the gunshots.
It sounded like distant firecrackers, almost lost under the noise of the helicopters, and immediately the radio crackled again.
“We have gunfire. I repeat: we have gunfire.”
Her heart began thumping in her chest, a rush of adrenaline shooting through her, and she realized she needed to continue her act as the frantic, concerned aide.
“What happened? What happened?”
The agent ignored her, the radio to his mouth.
“Status?”
The radio crackled again.
“The driver’s door is opening. And … a gun was just tossed out. Hands are up in the air, and … target is stepping out of the SUV. I repeat: target is stepping out of the SUV.”
Imna was on her tiptoes again, straining to see, but a dozen agents were rushing out onto the airfield, their guns raised, and she couldn’t see a thing.
The voice from the radio said, “Target is on her knees with her hands on her head. Officers approaching the SUV now.”
Several seconds ticked by in silence from the radio, and Imna realized she was holding her breath. She knew if the news came that Cortez was dead, she would need to show tears, and she had been practicing the past week, forcing herself to think about her abuela, whom she had loved dearly, who had raised her most of her life and was shot dead in the street like she was nothing more than a crippled animal.
The radio crackled.
“They’ve secured the target. I repeat: they’ve secured the target. Now they’re checking the SUV, and …”
Silence.
The agent said into his radio, “Status.”
Another beat of silence, and then the radio crackled again.
“The hostage is dead.”
Fifty
She turned away at once, squeezed her eyes tight, and thought about her abuela. The tiny mole on her neck. The way she always smelled of flour and spices after she made dinner. The kiss she put on Imna’s head every day before she left for school. And then, of course, the day Imna witnessed her gunned down in the street by those narcos.
Tears began to stream down her face, and she started shaking her head, muttering no no no under her breath.
Special Agent in Charge Bryan Rhodes was saying something into the radio, but his words were lost behind the sound of the helicopters. One of the security detail hurried over to her, placed a hand on her shoulder, tried to steer her back to the SUV, but she shook him off.
Wiping at her eyes, she turned to the agent.
“I want to see him. I want to see his body.”
The agent hesitated, thinking about it. He shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Rodriguez, but not right now. We need to secure the scene.”
“The president of my country was murdered.”
Putting all she had into the word, almost screaming it, but not wanting to overdo it at the same time.
The agent nodded solemnly.
“I understand that, Ms. Rodriguez, I do. But we have to go through protocol here. First, we secure the scene, and then—”
He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked who was calling him.
“I need to take this.”
He turned away as he answered the phone, and Imna wiped at her eyes again. The security detail needed to see her reaction to this moment. Needed to remember it, so that they could later relay just how she had done everything in her power to respect President Cortez’s memory and represent their beloved country.
The agent closed his phone and turned back to her.
“Sorry about that. Now, about what you were asking—”
She cut him off.
“What will happen to that woman?”
“Ms. Rodriguez—”
“She murdered him.”
More tears fell down her face, but she purposefully didn’t wipe them away. She wanted the man to see the tears.
The agent said, “The woman has already been taken into custody.”
“Where will she go?”
“Right now she’s not going anywhere. Apparently, she was involved in an incident out in Texas two days ago. Two U.S. Marshals were killed, so their office wants a piece of this, too. Trust me, this woman will get what’s coming to her.”
“She will be jailed, you mean.”
“That’s for the courts to determine.”
“For murdering our president.”
“Ms. Rodriguez, I know that—”
She cut him off again, speaking now between clenched teeth.
“I want to see her.”
The agent frowned.
“I’m sorry?”
“I want to see this woman. I want to face the person who murdered our president. It is the least our country is owed.”
The man said nothing at first, just stared at her. Imna kept the tears going. She doubted they would allow her to see the woman, but she needed to ask. It was what would be expected from her. She needed to be strong and brave for Mexico, and she needed to be the one to confront the person who killed their much-loved president.
Finally, the agent said, “Wait here. I need to make some calls.”
She watched him step away, putting his phone to his ear, and she turned back to the security detail. She told them what happened, though she knew they had already figured it out. The few who were with President Cortez when he was taken from the hotel looked to be filled with shame. Good. They would forever carry the knowledge that they were responsible for what took place today.
The agent returned. He took her aside, and lowered his voice.
“I’ve been given the green light. You can meet with her, but only for a couple of minutes.”
“Where is she?”
“They’re holding her away in the security office here at the airport for the time being. If you’d like, I can drive you over there.”
She nodded, wiping a few stray tears from her eyes for show, and
