The upper floor was divided into two rooms. Brannigan took the right, Pacheco the left.
The right-hand room was the children’s room. Three of them slept on two beds, still sound asleep, unaware that there was anyone in their house. He quietly closed the door and moved to join Pacheco, who had already moved into Quintana’s room.
Pacheco was already looming over Quintana. It was easy enough to identify the man—his wife was about half his size. Pacheco kept his rifle out of reach and put a hand over Quintana’s mouth.
The former deputy police chief of San Tabal’s eyes flew open. Pacheco put a finger to his lips. “Get out of bed, very quietly, and no one gets hurt. We need you to come downstairs where we can have a talk without waking your wife.”
Quintana’s eyes flicked from Pacheco to Brannigan, looming in the doorway and then nodded carefully. Pacheco stepped back, lifting his Galil just in case, and let him up.
There was no yelling, no protest. Quintana, a man of medium height with a slowly expanding waistline and a thick mustache, padded meekly toward the door. Brannigan moved aside and let him lead the way downstairs. Jenkins was down there. If Quintana tried to bolt, he didn’t doubt that Jenkins could stop him.
“Sit down.” Pacheco turned on the kitchen light and pointed to the kitchen table. Quintana’s eyes flicked toward the couch, where the dead Green Shirt was assuming room temperature. “Don’t worry about them. They won’t interfere.”
One of them wouldn’t interfere with anything ever again.
“What do you want?” Quintana sat down, the old metal chair creaking under his weight, and folded his hands nervously on the table.
Pacheco sat across from him, while Brannigan stood nearby. “You don’t know us, but we’ve talked with one of your neighbors, and he told us some interesting things about you.”
Quintana’s eyes would not stay still. The man was scared out of his mind. Brannigan was wondering about the wisdom of this little meeting. “What neighbor is that?”
“Diego Fuentes.” Pacheco leaned his elbows on the table. “He told us that you were the deputy police chief until Chief Inspector Manzano was put up against the police station wall and shot. He also told us that you had the spine of a jellyfish and the moral compass of a windsock.”
If Quintana felt insulted, he didn’t dare show it.
“Under the circumstances, we might have expected you to willingly do everything that Clemente and his Green Shirts told you to, even accept a promotion to take Manzano’s place.” He raised an eyebrow. “But you didn’t. You even took a demotion. It would seem like you did that to save your skin, except for one little detail. He says that you’ve been so incompetent as a police officer since the ‘revolution’ that several of the Green Shirts’ targets have mysteriously gotten away before they could be arrested.”
Quintana’s face had gone utterly still. He tore his eyes away from Pacheco to look at Brannigan. For the first time, it seemed, he took in their camouflage, gear, and the fact that Brannigan was a huge Anglo with a handlebar mustache and icy blue eyes.
“Who are you?”
“We’re friends… if you are willing to act against the Green Shirts.”
“I thought you were the Green Shirts, here to kill me.” He ran a beefy hand over his face. “I thought that they had figured out what I was doing.” Then he froze again. “Unless this is a ploy, and you are working for Clemente.” His hand started to shake.
“We are here to help liberate San Tabal from the Green Shirts.” Pacheco’s voice was still low, flat, and hard. “Are you going to help? Or do we have to make you disappear, like your two guards?”
Quintana looked back at the body of the guard, noticing the blood, and he was clearly thinking. Then he lowered his hand, which had stopped shaking. He looked from Pacheco to Brannigan one more time, then folded his arms.
For the first time, Quintana didn’t look like a frightened man waiting to learn he was going to die. He leaned back in his chair, making it creak even more alarmingly. “If you’re serious, then yes.” His expression was somewhat inscrutable. “How many have you recruited so far?”
“You’re one of the first.” Pacheco wasn’t going to give everything away.
Quintana nodded. “If we move fast, we can have at least a dozen people ready to act by morning.”
Pacheco raised that eyebrow again. “Really? You’re part of the underground already?”
“Not directly. But I imagine that the list of those I’m supposed to be watching will be useful to form such an underground.” He sat up a little straighter. “Let me go upstairs and get dressed. We need to move quickly.”
Chapter 16
Wade held up a fist and immediately dropped to a knee, making sure he was concealed from multiple directions. He wasn’t entirely sure where the road or the checkpoint were, but he knew they were far too close.
Night land nav can be difficult under the best of conditions. In the dark, in the jungle, on unfamiliar terrain, it can become a nightmare. And one of Wade’s nightmares looked like it might just come true.
He’d been walking point, taking his cues from Fuentes, who was behind him with Hank Brannigan staying close, just in case the farmer freaked out under stress. So far, both of them were doing all right, but Wade wasn’t sure how they were going to react when they realized just how close to the enemy they’d strayed.
He’d halted at the first sound of an engine, which he shouldn’t have been able to hear, not if they were on their planned route. They’d planned to stay well away from the single road leaving San Tabal to the north. So, when Wade
