“Is that what your source told you?”
“She didn’t use that word, but she told us the stories. If it quacks like a duck and walks like a duck…”
“What kind of stories did she tell you?”
“Some pretty horrible things,” said Vince.
“What?” she said, conveying more urgency than she would have liked.
“Basically, her daughter was seven months pregnant when she was taken into La Cacha. Believe it or not, she was one of nineteen pregnant women detained and tortured there. Nobody ever saw her again, but there were rumors that she lived long enough to give birth.”
“Does anyone know what happened to the baby?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
“You didn’t ask her?”
“She wouldn’t discuss it.”
“You didn’t push it?”
“It didn’t seem pertinent to the hostage negotiation. And when I say she wouldn’t discuss it, I mean she would not discuss it.”
“You were okay with that?”
“Actually, that was part of our deal. She was willing to tell us everything she knew about Falcon, but the more personal details about her daughter were her business.”
“Was she hiding something?”
“Could be. Or maybe it’s still too painful for her to discuss it. Either way, I always honor my deals with sources. She gave us plenty of helpful information about Falcon, and she asked for just one thing in return.”
“What?”
“She asked that I give something to you.”
“To me?” she said, trying to act more surprised than she was. “What is it, the money?”
Vince shook his head. He laid two files on the table. Alicia could see the entire label of the top file, which was written in Spanish. In translation, it read: SECRETARY FOR PUBLIC HEALTH. BUENOS AIRES. DURAND HOSPI-TAL. ATTENTION: DR. DI LINARDO. Only a portion of the label was visible on the second folder beneath it. This one, however, was written in English: AMERICAN ASSOCIATION FOR THE ADVANCEMENT OF SCIENCE. WASHING- TON, DC. An abbreviation of some sort followed: CONADEP.
Alicia had never seen the files before, never had any dealings with a Dr. Di Linardo or any of the listed entities. “What is this?” she asked.
“I don’t know. It’s not for lack of interest, but obviously I didn’t read it.”
“Your source didn’t tell you?”
“No. That was our deal. She tells me all about Falcon, and I give you the files. But she insisted that what’s in there is between you and her.”
Alicia was looking straight at the files, but she didn’t answer.
“What’s wrong?” said Vince.
“Nothing.”
“Come on. The old lady said it was personal, but she also promised that you wouldn’t hate me for giving it to you.”
“I don’t kill messengers, Vince.”
“Then what is it?”
Alicia couldn’t tear her gaze away from the files, but she was hearing that voice inside her head again-the one that had told her to get on the interstate and just keep driving. “I think it’s more than I want to know,” she said quietly.
chapter 57
S ergeant Chavez was in a SWAT power struggle, and he was determined to win it.
As lead representative of the City of Miami’s tactical team, Chavez was inside the SWAT van with the head of Miami-Dade SWAT. Joining the debate by telephone were Chief Renfro from the city and the MDPD director. Paulo was not invited.
“I thought this was settled hours ago,” said the director. “If a breach was necessary, Miami-Dade SWAT would lead it.”
Chavez said, “It’s a different ballgame now. We’re not staging a straight breach. The breach occurs only if the city’s sniper misses the target.”
The director asked, “How does that change things?”
Chavez said, “The timing of the breach is tied directly to the sniper’s shot. My sniper is taking the shot. I’m in direct communication with him. We’re talking about split-second coordination here. It makes no sense to link the breachers from one law enforcement agency to the sniper of another and expect everything to come off with precision. Pile on top of that the fact that if we need a negotiator to intervene for any reason, Paulo’s also from the city.”
Chief Renfro chimed in. “I think the sergeant has a point, Director.”
Chavez was ready to press his argument further, but to his surprise, it wasn’t necessary.
“All right,” said the director. “We’ll serve as backup. The city takes the lead.”
Chavez wrapped up the phone call quickly, before the director had a chance to change his mind. As they headed for the door, he extended his hand to the MDPD’s SWAT coordinator, but the return handshake was lukewarm. Chavez didn’t care. Already, it was as good as “mission accomplished,” and not a single shot had been fired. He stepped down from the SWAT van and started toward the restaurant. Before sharing the news with his team, however, he picked up the telephone and dialed. Right at “Hello,” he went straight to the bottom line.
“It’s done,” he said. “I’ll lead my team in first. MDPD’s SWAT will serve as backup.”
“Very good,” was the reply. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, it’s everything. This Falcon is a stalker and a murderer. If your sniper misses and SWAT breaches, I don’t want a bunch of guys going in who are so afraid of losing a hostage that they can’t pull the trigger.”
“The safety of the hostages is always paramount.”
“Absolutely. That said, I want to be damn sure that if that door gets busted down, there’s at least one man on the team who is sharp enough, brave enough, and talented enough to take this guy out even if the place goes wild with screaming hostages. You understand?”
Chavez could have launched into a lecture on the critical importance of knowing when not to shoot, but he decided just to shut up and take the compliment. “Yes, sir,” he said. “I read you loud and clear.”
THE INJURED GIRL was deadweight in Theo’s arms. She was only semiconscious.
It was getting darker by the minute inside the motel room. Theo had lost track of time, but it was obviously near nightfall. Daylight was no longer seeping into the room around the edge of the draperies, and they would have been in total darkness but for the very white, artificial glow that had replaced the natural light of day. Theo surmised that the police were aiming high-powered search lamps at the door and window.
The two other hostages, Natalia and the weatherman, were seated on the floor, back to back. Their ankles and wrists were bound tightly, and with hands behind their hips, they were tied together at the elbows. Theo was standing before the door, which remained closed, though the pile of furniture had been pushed aside for a clean exit. His ankles were tethered together by a two-foot length of lamp cord, a makeshift version of the shackles he’d worn in another life on death row. He stood a full head taller than his captor. Falcon came up from behind and pushed the barrel of his pistol against the base of Theo’s skull.
“I have no problem shooting you,” Falcon said in a calm voice.
The feeling was entirely mutual, but Theo didn’t say it.
“So don’t even think about running,” Falcon added.
“Don’t worry,” said Theo.
