The Collected

of black plastic. It would be heavy to carry, but doable. They then set about pulling down Nate’s wall of boxes, and dumping the material from inside onto another piece of sheeting. When Nate reached the box with the hole in it, he found the bullet resting comfortably in the fourth fold of the material.

The damaged box was added to the pile, but the others they closed and left. In a day or two or maybe a week, someone might wonder why several boxes were empty, but that would be the only clue that something had gone on here.

They carried the discarded materials out to the van, then returned and did the same with the body.

“Piece of cake,” Burke said as they were driving away.

Nate gave him a noncommittal grunt. It had gone smoothly, and he had to admit Burke had done exactly as they had discussed ahead of time. They had even finished the removal with nearly half a minute to spare. That said, Burke still rubbed him the wrong way, and the guy’s chances at being rehired remained zero.

The next step was to make the body and the other items from the warehouse permanently disappear. After that, it would be straight to the airport and a flight back to L.A. that would get Nate home in the afternoon. He’d sleep in his own bed tonight, and then tomorrow Liz would arrive.

He started to smile, but stopped himself. He couldn’t think about Liz, not right now. She would only distract him.

Finish the job first, buddy. You can think about her once you get home.

The plan for the body was simple. There was a lot of empty space in this part of Mexico. Nate had chosen a quiet ravine about fifteen miles away from the warehouse. The previous afternoon, he and Burke had dug the grave. Once they dropped the body into it, Nate would cover it with a healthy amount of a chemical powder blend Quinn had developed, and he and Burke would fill the hole with dirt. The chemicals would eat away at the body. Within a day, most visible identifying marks would be gone. Within a week, pretty much any method used to try to figure out who the dead man had been would fail.

The sun was still a good half hour from rising, but the sky in the east was beginning to pale. It was going to be close, but Nate was hopeful they would be done by the time daylight peeked over the horizon.

He checked the odometer. Their turnoff was a mile and a half away. From there, it would be a two-mile ride along a dry, flash-flood wash through a narrow valley.

Nate reached for a bottle of water next to his seat, but paused before he could grab it, his eyes focusing on a point in the distance.

What the hell?

At right about the point where they were supposed to leave the road, there were headlights of at least three cars parked on the side of the highway.

He slowed the van, wanting to give himself enough time to assess the situation before deciding whether it was something to worry about. The situation was not made easy by the brightening sky. It was screwing up his vision, making the ground and anything on it seem even darker than when the night had been in full control.

He checked the odometer again, and looked back at the headlights. No, they weren’t close to where he wanted to turn off. They were parked at the exact spot.

Coincidences didn’t exist. Not in a cleaner’s world, anyway. Believing in them was a quick path to a short career. He had to assume the vehicles were trouble, which meant scratching his primary dump site.

He pulled the van to the side of the road, and killed the lights.

“What are you doing?” Burke asked.

“Not now.”

“Something wrong?”

“I said not now.”

Before the van could roll to a complete stop, Nate swung the wheel to the left, tapped the gas, and pulled a U-turn. Driving dark, he headed back the way they’d come, his mind switching gears to his backup plan.

“Hey, you going to tell me what’s going on or not?” Burke asked.

Nate ignored the question as he flicked his eyes back and forth between the side mirror and the road ahead. If the cars had really been waiting for them, their occupants would be experiencing the same predawn vision issues Nate had been having, which, hopefully, would mean the last they’d seen of his van had been when the headlight switched off. If that were the case, they’d grow concerned and send a car to check what happened. If, on the other hand, they were just there by chance, then the cars would remain where they were.

In twenty seconds, he had his answer. But it wasn’t just one car racing down the road. It was all three.

Nate increased their speed.

“What the hell is going on?” Burke demanded.

In the mirror, Nate could see the cars slow as they approached the spot where he’d doused his lights. They paused there only seconds before accelerating again.

“We’ve got company,” he said.

Burke twisted in his seat and looked into the mirror on his side. “Who?” He stared at the reflection for a moment. “Those cars back there? How do you know?”

“Because they were waiting at the turnoff.”

“No way.”

Nate said nothing.

“Probably just some kids,” Burke suggested.

“Not kids.”

“Who else could they be?”

“Trouble.”

Nate pushed the van as fast as it could go, but knew it wasn’t enough. At the moment, they had just over a mile’s lead, and their lights were still off, but both those advantages would soon be wiped out by the faster cars and rising sun.

They had three or four miles, maybe, a few minutes at best, and then the others would be on them. Their only chance was to reach the outskirts of Monterrey, where they’d have some city to hide in. Roads, buildings, whatever they could find would be better than open countryside. It would be close, but maybe.

“What are we going to do?” Burke said.

“I’m going to drive, and you’re going to shut the hell up.”

Nate scanned the road ahead. Shapes were starting to appear out of the shadows that had covered the earth. Hills and trees and the still-distant city.

Too distant.

Come on. Just give me something.

Thirty seconds later, he spotted a sign about three quarters of a mile ahead. It was still too far away and too dark to read, but he’d seen its shape a dozen times before-a Pemex gas station sign.

Nate’s mind skipped over contingency B and C, and went straight to D. Though minor details within contingency D varied from job to job, the nuts and bolts were the same: ditch vehicle, set it on fire, and run.

He checked the mirror again. The gap between the van and the other vehicles had closed to three quarters of a mile. Before he could move his gaze back to the road, a new light flashed in the mirror.

Son of a bitch.

Pulsating now on the roofs of all three cars were police lights.

CHAPTER 3

The Pemex Station was on the left. Just beyond it was a road that cut between the station and a row of cinderblock buildings that stretched along the highway for several hundred feet. If Nate could get the van behind those buildings without being seen, the cops might drive straight by and not realize their mistake for several minutes.

“Hold on tight,” he said.