ago and it was the day Mike had suddenly checked himself out of Imperial Mercy Hospital. His body cast lay in pieces on the floor of his ICU room. He'd been caught on security video, dressed in new street clothes, leaving the hospital with Owens.
Hood found his L.A. apartment abandoned and his phone number no longer good. No forwarding information. Neighbors knew nothing. Ditto Owens. Hood made inquiries but got nowhere. Hood suspected that Mike had tipped Bradley Jones and Ron Pace about ATF's surveillence of the Pace Arms gunmaking facility in Costa Mesa. But he could prove nothing.
'Why did you leave Imperial Mercy like that, Mike? What was the hurry?'
'I just can't sit still sometimes.'
'You tore the cast apart with your bare hands?'
'What else could I have used?'
Hood glanced up at the Ozburns' front door. 'Of course you know that Pace and Bradley smuggled the guns out of the Costa Mesa manufacturing plant, got them down into the hands of cartel shooters. A thousand of them. They're being used to kill people on both sides of the border.'
'How sad. The chaos down there is bound to get worse before it gets better. But Charlie, this was a year and a half ago-ancient history. So, catch me up with your world. Who is this fascinating Sean Gravas character?'
Hood felt his scalp crawl. 'You and I both know who Sean Gravas is.'
'Yes. Few people do. We're all strange bed partners, aren't we-ATF and the North Baja Cartel and little old me?'
Hood looked up to the Ozburn home. No Seliah. Had she changed her mind? He checked his watch.
'Mike, a few days ago I stood in the Mexican desert where a rabid man had chained himself to a post so he wouldn't hurt anyone else. That's where he died. The post was still there. And his grave. I thought of you.'
'Juan Batista! I love that part of the West. From the cerveza to the curanderas.'
'You know everything, don't you, Mike.'
'I absorb your flattery.'
'So, what do you know about the Arenal Volcano and Father Joe Leftwich and his vampire bats?'
Silence.
Then: 'Charles, I told you once that if there was something you wanted very badly, something I could help you get, that we might form a relationship.'
'I don't want a relationship.'
'Then what do you want? To make me your informant?'
'Call it that.'
'What do I get in return? A lighter sentence when my day in court arrives? Perhaps some cold hard cash? An ATF windbreaker?'
'You can have any or all.'
'I don't want any of that. I want like for like, Charlie. That's all I'll ever want from you.'
'Okay.'
'Okay? Just like that?'
'I said okay. I'll play by that rule. Like for like.'
Hood expected Mike to laugh but he didn't. When he'd seen the tiger in Bakersfield, the huge svelte beast had lit a spark of panic in him but Hood had kept on walking toward school anyway. What else could he do? His destination was the only answer to his fear and he knew exactly how to put one foot in front of the other. And again. The tiger had faded into a stand of oaks, stripes blending into the shadows.
So now, too, Hood kept walking, toward what, he wasn't sure, but he was walking and his legs were strong. His eardrums buzzed but his eyes saw far and clearly as he looked out over the silver Pacific. He felt cold in his heart and knew this coldness was right.
'Charlie, who murdered the three young assassins in the Buenavista safe house? And the two others in San Ysidro?'
'We don't know yet. We suspect the Gulf Cartel but we don't have good evidence. We do know they're trying to move into the North Baja Cartel's turf in Southern California. The Zetas are going their own way so Armenta needs firepower. Now you, Mike, like for like-Arenal, Costa Rica. Speak to me.'
'Where to start? Central America is literally crawling with us. The heat, the beauty of the land and the ocean and the proximity to Caribbean culture. But most of all, the generations of colonial exploitation and craven, power- mad governance. Dictatorships both private and military! Rampant corruption, rampant lust. From Papa Doc to Trujillo to Noriega-it's difficult to find a more fertile place to work. And factor in a widespread belief in magic-they believe! Garcia Marquez can bring tears to my eyes, even though I've never been to the Caribbean. I'd so love to meet him. The whole region is brimming with rich potential for us.'
'Who is us?'
'I led you to that water once.'
'You denied it later.'
'We can be whatever you want us to be, Charlie. It has always worked best that way.'
'Damn whoever you are. Tell the truth.'
'I am trying to provide some context for you. Now, I say this with some embarrassment-all of Central America and the Caribbean is rife with our internecine squabbles. There are jurisdictional overlaps, petty procedural disputes, chasms of noncommunication, turf wars. Pity the human beings down there. You need to understand the history. But Charlie? Back to my question. My guess is Ozburn killed them. Too much pressure working undercover. Too much frustration. Surrounded by too many bad men. Takes it out on the handiest target he can find-the young sicarios. He either overrode the surveillence system or, better yet, he didn't. Which means you have him on video. Which means you have proof of a rogue ATF agent running wild along the border.'
'He's AWOL as Gravas. We both know that much.'
'Yes, but what is he doing? Is he on the run or part of some crafty ATF operation? His apparent madness isn't simply deeper cover?'
'No. It isn't.'
'But would you be telling me ATF secrets if they were true, Charlie? Or do you only give me the lies?'
'Only the lies for you, Mike.'
'How is Seliah?'
'Fine so far as I know.'
'So, you are in her kitchen, so to speak. I mean ATF is, not you personally. You wouldn't personally go into Seliah's kitchen, now, would you?'
Hood looked back up to the Ozburn porch. No Seliah. What if she changed her mind and ran out the back door? 'She's uncooperative, Mike. We're keeping her at arm's length.'
'Do they communicate, the Ozburns? E-mail, video perhaps?'
'Perhaps.'
Mike was quiet for a beat. 'You're not quite as rule-whipped as I thought you were, Charlie. You're actually talking instead of interrogating. What if you slip up and let a truth drop?'
'Keep me talking and maybe I will. Now-an alleged priest at Arenal, Father Joe Leftwich.'
'I've heard of him, of course, but we've never met. Different region, obviously. Reputation as a hardnose. Drinker, big temper when it blows. Not afraid to be hands-on. Speaks all of the Caribbean languages, even the unusual ones-Papiamento, Taki-Taki, Hindi, Urdu. Helped the Spanish find gold in Costa Rica-first gold on the American continent. Good move on his part. Nothing like an explosion of wealth to challenge an oppressive religious climate and to finance the chaos that ensues. I remember that Leftwich set back his career by consorting with cutthroats on the Spanish Main. They were small-time men, cruel but ultimately useless to us. Leftwich enjoyed the bloodshed, I heard. Later he upgraded, if you can call it that. Had the ears of Pinochet and Somoza. He's been using the priest costume off and on for centuries, Charlie. Apparently, it works.'
Hood watched Seliah walk out to her front porch. She was dressed in a black tee, black jeans, the red sneaks. She wore a black bandana pirate style as her husband sometimes did. She had an overnight bag slung over one shoulder and a canvas book bag in each hand. One of them looked heavy.
'Next time we'll talk vampire bats.'
'I'd be delighted.'
