“So,” said Dionne, “you got my message?”
“Yes,” said the voice. “You have Carlos Breida.”
“That we do,” said Dionne.
“We will email you a location tomorrow. You will bring him there and—”
“No,” said Dionne.
“Excuse me?”
“No,” she repeated. “We are done with being dictated to by you.”
The voice was a near snarl now. “Are you forgetting that we have your two friends?”
“Y’know,” said Dionne, “all the way along, we were so busy trying to get him out that we didn’t think much about who Carlos Breida was. I mean, we assumed he was some valuable lieutenant who nobody knew about, or a close friend of someone important’s family. None of that’s true though, is it?”
“That is none of your business.”
Dionne laughed. “Yes, it is, because, you see – we get it now. Breida is a childlike innocent. He ended up in prison because the two men who were supposed to be minding him got drunk instead, and got into a fight in the wrong bar.”
“This is irrelevant.”
“I disagree,” said Dionne. “You see, Breida has an unusual skill. He has a freakish memory for numbers, but you know that, don’t you?”
The voice laughed. Even without seeing its source, it felt forced. Dionne ignored it.
“One of the challenges in what I suppose we can call your business is the money. Moving it about. Banks aren’t as helpful as they once were, and then there’s who you can trust. Cash is a problem, having people managing your money is a different kind of problem, but if you have someone who can remember long series of numbers with perfect recall—”
“Enough.”
“And I’m guessing that when he found himself in trouble with the law – thanks to your two minders getting into a drunken fight and killing a man – rather than draw attention to him, you thought stashing Carlos Breida away in a prison was sensible. I mean, who would go looking for your money there, inside the head of a simple man in an American prison?”
“You have a very active imagination, Sister.”
Dionne nodded. “Oh, I’m only getting warmed up. You see, once we found out you had our Sisters, that was our only focus. But now … I mean, why would the Ratenda Cartel’s leadership want us to suddenly break a man out of prison when, I’m sure if they asked, he would have just given them the numbers they needed?”
She left a gap, which the voice did not fill.
“The answer,” continued Dionne, “once you realise who Mr Breida is and what he can do, becomes obvious. You, whoever you are, are not the Ratenda Cartel. At least, not someone working for Alfredo Montoya, the head of that organisation. No. I’m guessing you are, or at least were, in it at one point, but now, whoever you are, you’re breaking away or taking over, and to do that you need the money. This was never a prison break – it’s a heist. Carlos Breida is the key to the cartel’s war chest.”
Dionne left it hanging. She’d been careful not to phrase it as a question. Some of it was guesswork, but for the first time in a long time she felt deep down that she had this right.
“None of this changes anything,” said the voice. “We still have the prisoners and we are willing to swap them.”
Dionne nodded. “I disagree. The fact that the most bloodthirsty cartel in Mexico is now after us does rather change things. You will bring the two Sisters to New York, and there, on our home territory, we will organise the exchange.”
A man in a balaclava stepped into the shot and placed a gun to Assumpta’s forehead. She didn’t respond. Just sat there, looking at the camera.
“Sorry,” said the voice, still behind the camera. “I didn’t mean to disturb you making demands.”
Dionne laughed again. “Oh, please, don’t try to bluff me. You haven’t got the cards for it. Especially because, as we both now know, we hold the pot. Get the Sisters to New York and inform us via the normal route when they are there. In the meantime, if you harm even a hair on their heads, then the deal is off and Mr Breida goes home to the man he calls Uncle Ricky. Are we clear?”
This was met with silence. Dionne watched as the man in the balaclava looked off screen.
“Are. We. Clear?”
“Yes,” said the voice.
The man in the balaclava lowered the gun and stepped off screen.
“But let me also be clear—”
Dionne missed the rest of it because she ended the call.
The Sisters of the Saint were done with being pushed around.
Epilogue One
James Blake sat on his porch and looked out across the lake. He’d bought this cabin because everyone said how nice it was up here. Truth was, he didn’t really care for such things, but he’d got it as part of his efforts to pass as normal. Also, it gave him a remote location, which was always useful.
He didn’t think like other people and he never had. He’d been aware of that from a young age. His father had caught him having fun with the neighbour’s dog that time, and he’d taken it and “put it out of its misery”. He’d then given Blake the worst beating of his life. As he’d grown, his parents had increasingly kept their distance. Blake hadn’t much minded. Or maybe he had? He found it hard to analyse his own feelings. The last time he’d seen his mother had been at his father’s funeral, after the old man had died when the brakes on his truck had failed. Such a tragedy – everyone had said so.
The weight of the Glock sitting in his lap was comforting. He had cleaned and checked it earlier. Blake was a man who liked things to be orderly and organised. These days, not much in his life
