I pause a beat, letting that sink in.
“The hard way, on the other hand, is a bit different.”
Imna Rodriguez says nothing.
I turn to President Cortez.
“If you don’t mind, Mr. President, I’d like a couple minutes alone with your aide.”
President Cortez stares down at Imna. The anger has faded from his eyes, replaced with disappointment. This is a woman he has known for several years, who he believed was a close confidant, somebody he could trust. I feel for the guy, because I’ve been betrayed by people close to me as well. One of them was my father.
“Mr. President.”
He blinks, looks at me, nods quickly, and leaves the room.
Both of the FBI agents are still stationed out in the hallway. I step to the door and give them my brightest smile.
“You guys are probably wondering what’s going on, right?”
Neither of them answers.
“There’s no reason you should trust me other than the fact your superior probably received a call from his superior who probably received a call from his superior telling him to give me a lot of latitude with this prisoner. And so I guess what this all leads to is a simple request. Can one of you retrieve me a paperclip? Preferably a large one.”
The guys aren’t stupid—they know exactly the reason I’m asking for a paperclip—and it’s clear from their faces they don’t like the idea. The truth is, I don’t like the idea either. But I stand there, staring back at them as I wait, and finally one of the agents walks away and soon returns with a shiny paperclip.
“Thanks, boys. Now hold tight. I shouldn’t be too long.”
I step back into the room to find Imna Rodriguez still glaring at me. I hold up the paperclip.
“Last chance.”
She keeps glaring.
With a sigh, I close the door.
Part Three
The Lost Boy
Fifty-Two
Oliver Hayward cracked open another beer—his fifth or sixth or maybe it was his seventh, he’d lost track a couple of beers ago—and stared out at the darkness.
It was just past midnight. Hayward was typically in bed by now, but he couldn’t sleep. How could he, after the major fuck-up that was today? Any sensible person would have packed his things and disappeared, but he couldn’t do that, not with his whole operation and the kids and the women. He provided a valuable service to the cartels, and believed that despite today’s failing, they still had a use for him.
“Do you know why I named this place Neverland?”
Hayward didn’t wait for a reply, taking a long swallow from his bottle as he stared out into the darkness. He sat on a chair on the back porch overlooking the field; one of the guards could be seen, rifle slung over his shoulder, walking the perimeter.
“Growing up, my parents were not around much. My father was an important businessman, and when I say he worked all the time, I mean he worked all the time. I barely saw him. I saw my mother more often, but even then we didn’t interact much. I don’t think she ever wanted kids. She was too focused on her charity work to spend too much time with me. And so what was a boy my age supposed to do?”
Again, Hayward didn’t wait for a reply.
“I read all types of books, including the entire Hardy Boys series. You ever read any of the Hardy Boys books?”
For the first time in several minutes, Hayward regarded Jose. The boy stood ramrod straight, his chin tilted up, his eyes closed. One of Hayward’s empty beer bottles was balanced on the top of Jose’s head, Hayward having told Jose that if the bottle fell and shattered then Jose would get a zap like he’d never gotten before.
Shaking his head, Hayward muttered, “Of course you never read any Hardy Boys books. You’ve probably never read a book. Do you even know how to read? Well, anyway, one of the books I read again and again was Peter and Wendy. Did you ever hear about Peter Pan?”
Jose didn’t answer. Hayward fingered the fob in his left hand, considered giving the boy a quick zap just for the hell of it, but it felt good to talk like this, the alcohol having soothed his nerves, and he pushed on.
“Peter Pan was a boy who refused to grow up, and he had all these magical powers—he could fly, Jose!—and he had this fairy named Tinkerbell, and he was in charge of the Lost Boys. These Lost Boys had been taken away from their families when they were babies and brought to Neverland, and these boys, they were tough. And I … I sometimes thought of myself as a Lost Boy. My parents were extremely wealthy, and I never had to worry about anything, but still I saw myself as an outcast.”
Hayward shook his head suddenly, as if to clear it, and realized with whom he had been sharing such private matters. He leaned forward and pointed the fob at Jose, his voice dipping into a whisper.
“I never told anybody about that before—not even my therapists—and if you tell anyone, I am not only going to zap you, I will kill you myself.”
Jose stood motionless with the empty bottle on his head, his eyes closed.
Hayward said, “Nod that you understand me.”
The boy opened his eyes. Glanced at Hayward for a second but then quickly looked away.
“I’m not going to tell you again, Jose.”
The boy knew what would happen once he nodded—the bottle would tip off his head, shatter on the ground—and he knew what would happen then. Jose had come to fear being zapped, which was good, Hayward thought. A boy should never be fearless. A fearless boy was a stupid boy. A dangerous boy.
When Jose didn’t nod—when it became clear that he
