The boy immediately jerked, and the empty bottle fell off his head.
But the bottle didn’t shatter on the ground. Jose caught it inches before it hit, and he stood motionless, staring up at Hayward, who for an instant thought he saw defiance flicker in the boy’s eyes, though maybe that was only his imagination or the alcohol or a combination of the two. Whatever the reason, Hayward didn’t like it, not one bit, and he intended on zapping Jose until the boy passed out, but before he could press down on the fob again, Carla stepped outside.
“What are you still doing out here?”
Hayward looked at her, at first not sure what to say, and then smiled.
“Enjoying the nice evening.”
“You should come to bed.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Take a pill.”
“I don’t want a pill.”
“Everything will be okay, Oliver.”
He shot to his feet so suddenly he stumbled, almost fell, and had to hold on to the railing to regain his balance.
“Everything will not be okay! Cortez is still alive. I failed. I failed the cartel.”
Carla stared back at him with her typical unnerving calmness.
“If they wanted to kill you, they would have done it by now.”
Hayward squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head. None of it made sense. He’d watched the TV for hours and listened to the reports about how President Cortez had been abducted and taken to an airport where they sat on the airstrip, police surrounding them, until gunshots were fired. For the first hour or so, the news reported that President Cortez was killed, but then news broke that he had actually survived, as well as that his longtime aide Imna Rodriguez had been taken into custody.
No word on Holly Lin. No word from Louis or any of his men.
He looked out at the dark field and the guard walking the perimeter. He put the beer to his lips, was about to take another long swallow, when suddenly the guard fell to the ground.
Hayward stared for a moment, then blinked, not sure he had seen what he just witnessed.
“Did you—”
Carla clamped her hand over his mouth, her eyes suddenly intense, and held a finger to her lips.
Hayward wasn’t sure what was going on. He tried listening but couldn’t concentrate, and then suddenly he heard gunfire somewhere out front, along with the sound of engines, and—
Was that the sound of a helicopter?
Hayward pulled away from her hand, whispered, “Is it the cartel?”
The intensity in Carla’s eyes flared.
“No, you idiot. It’s the feds.”
She glanced down at the Jose, then up at the shed sitting against the hill, and then at the armed dead guard out in the field.
“Grab the boy. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”
Fifty-Three
As two teams descend on the two side buildings, Nova and I follow the third team into the main building.
They breach the door and file inside, shouting out as they clear rooms, and then work their way up to the higher floors. So far word hasn’t come that they’ve found Hayward or Carla yet, so Nova and I start up the steps after the team when the helicopter pilot’s voice speaks in my earpiece.
“We’ve got movement heading toward the shed. Two adults, one carrying a child. One of the adults is armed with a rifle.”
I pause on the steps, turn around to look at Nova.
“That has to be Hayward and Carla.”
He says, “The child?”
“My money’s on a kid named Jose.”
I touch the button on my mike.
“As long as they have the kid, stand down. Nova and I are in pursuit.”
We hurry back down the steps, then out the back through a screen door onto the porch. Beer bottles are scattered around a chair.
The helicopter hovers above the field, shining a spotlight on the shed.
The pilot says, “They just entered through the side door.”
I roger that, and Nova and I sprint across the field. We slow as we near, pistols drawn. A soft light glows from the thin space under the door.
I step to the side, aim at the door, and nod at Nova. He kicks it open, and I rush in, finger on the trigger, scanning the inside.
Besides a riding lawnmower and other landscaping equipment, the place is empty.
Nova steps up beside me.
“Looks like that Rodriguez woman was telling you the truth about everything.”
I nod and start toward the rear of the shed. We find the metal trapdoor in the floor easily enough.
Without a word, Nova moves to the side of the trapdoor and grabs the metal handle. He looks at me, and whispers.
“Ready?”
I whisper, “Not yet. In case anything happens to me, I want to be honest with you about something.”
“What?”
“It’s hard for me to say this. Maybe because we’ve known each other so long, and I consider you a close friend …”
I let it hang there for a second, and then smile.
“I’m not feeling the beard.”
Nova nods, like that’s exactly what he expected me to say.
“I’ll take it under advisement, thanks. Ready?”
I nod, and aim my gun at the trapdoor.
Nova pulls open the door. I lean forward, ready to fire at any movement below.
Nothing.
Like the shed, the tunnel has a power source. There’s light down there. Not bright light, but enough for somebody to see as they move underground from one country to the next. The metal ladder has ten rungs to the bottom.
I glance at Nova, and he lets the trapdoor fall all the way back, then hustles over to retrieve a small bag of fertilizer and drops it down the hatch. It lands with a heavy thud, but nothing happens.
I say, “Cover me.”
I start down the ladder, using one hand to hold on to the rungs and the other hand to hold onto my gun, and then after four rungs, I drop to the ground in a crouch, immediately aiming down the tunnel. Still nothing.
I motion at Nova up top, and he starts to climb down. As he does, I marvel at the tunnel’s craftsmanship. From top to bottom, the tunnel—at least this portion—is almost
