and will be answered by a trained agent.”
Richardson came back on the television and the hotline number ran on the ticker.
“Marchand is the leading suspect in multiple felonies in the United States, Mexico, and Central and South America. He uses multiple aliases, including Sergio Martin and Pierre Devereaux.”
Noel fired his.45 into the television. In rapid French, he swore. “That bitch! How dare she give them that name! I will tear her apart limb from limb. I will cut off her fingers and stuff them down her throat and leave her dying for the coyotes to eat for dinner. I hate that girl. I should have drowned her after I slit her mother’s throat!”
He pressed the trigger again and again, until his ammunition was gone. He threw the gun across the room, picked up a knife, and cut deep gouges into the handmade leather couch that graced the small cabin. When he was done, the only sound was his rapid breathing.
“We should leave now,” Ling said quietly.
“Right. The buyers.” He shook his head to clear it.
“I mean, we should leave the country.”
“No.”
“Sir, it’s too dangerous-”
“I said
“The first half million is already in your bank. I think-”
“No. Let’s go to the mine.”
“I would not do well in prison.”
“You won’t be going to prison.”
“I will get your plane ready.”
“You will be coming with me!” Ling looked at him with defiance. Noel fumed. How dare he disobey. Contradict him. Noel was in charge!
“I believe you’ve lost sight of the goal,” Ling said.
Noel forced himself to breathe slowly. Lower his heart rate. Take it easy.
“Perhaps.”
Ling relaxed. “Very well. Let’s go to the airstrip.” He turned his back to Noel.
That was his second mistake.
Noel threw the knife. It hit Ling right where he aimed, between the shoulder blades. It went in deep, deep enough that Ling couldn’t scream or make any sound.
His first mistake was telling Noel what to do.
Noel never ran away, especially from a woman.
He retrieved his gun, calmly reloaded it. He felt much better now that he had a game plan. Headlights cut a swath of light across the room, then stopped. One long, three quick beeps of the horn and Noel was assured Ignacio had arrived.
He’d lost half his U.S. team during this operation. Someone had to pay for his losses. Hell, a lot of people were going to pay.
Noel stepped over Ling’s body without giving him a second thought, for the years of service, for the people he killed on command, or for the friendship.
If he felt a twinge of regret it was only because he would miss Ling’s perfectly steeped morning tea.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
At Dean’s command, FBI SWAT team leader Brian Stone pulled together a team of tactically trained agents within fifteen minutes. Dean had Sam Callahan dragging the curator of the Calaveras County Museum out of bed to meet them at the sheriff’s department. Warren Shef field had the only known map of the closed mine. Dean wanted to consult the man because Callahan’s quick research told them the mine was severely unstable.
It was an hour before midnight when they gathered at the Calaveras Sheriff’s Department in San Andreas, twelve miles from the abandoned mine off Salamander Gulch Road. Unfortunately, the twisting road was narrow and treacherous in places, and the sheriff said it would take thirty minutes.
“Do you have a helicopter?” Dean asked.
“Yes, Agent Hooper, two. We use them primarily for search and rescue.”
“I need them.”
“One of our pilots lives quite a ways-”
Brian Stone said, “I can fly a chopper.”
The sheriff cleared it and called in the on-call deputy pilot. While they readied the equipment, Dean spoke to the curator.
Sheffield was skeptical. “The Grouch is dangerous. No one goes there.”
“Grouch? Don’t you mean the Gulch Mine?”
“Technically, it’s called the Second Quartz Mine. The primary mine is about five miles from there, and is open in the summer for tourists. The caverns are amazing, and you can-”
“I’m interested in this one,” Dean interrupted impatiently.
“The Grouch. The miners nicknamed it because it has a temper.”
“A mine with a temper,” Cammarata interjected, shaking his head.
Dean cringed. He hadn’t wanted to bring Charlie Cammarata with them, but Callahan said the man would be valuable since he was the only one who had recently seen Marchand. Dean relented. They needed every advantage they could get.
Sheffield nodded. “Fourteen miners lost their lives in the twenty-six months the Grouch was operational. It took nearly five years to build it, and it was open less than half that. Shafts collapsed spontaneously. It’s boarded up.”
“Are these blueprints accurate?” Dean asked.
“As accurate as they were since the last inspection, which was five years ago. During the inspection one of the geologists fell thirty feet and broke both legs. It took them six hours to get him out of the hole he’d fallen into because they had to shore up the sides, otherwise he would have been buried alive.”
“Sounds lovely,” Sonia said. “We need to get up there, Dean. If Marchand saw that broadcast-”
Dean and Sonia had tried to stop Richardson from broadcasting Marchand’s identity, but it was too late. It had been the smart thing to do … until they learned the location of the women. Now they feared they’d forced Noel Mar chand to act rashly.
“I’ll go with you and explain the blueprints.” Shef field said, pushing his glasses up on his nose for the tenth time in as many minutes.
“It’s dangerous.”
“So is the Grouch! I understand the risk, but you don’t.”
Dean didn’t want any civilians with him, especially this old nearsighted curator, but he didn’t see another way. They needed Sheffield to interpret the arcane blueprints, but they couldn’t sit around the sheriff’s station.
“You’re with me,” Dean said, “Sonia, Brian, Cammarata and three of the SWAT team. Brian, we’re going to have to send half your team on the road. Callahan will go with the other pilot and three SWAT. Trace, if you can lead the ground contingent and stay alert for any sentries. If Marchand is anywhere nearby, the longer he’s in the dark about us, the better.”
Brian pulled his team aside for orders.
Dean took out a highlighter and marked the map. “Sheriff, I need your men to put up roadblocks here … here … and here. That should effectively cut off all escape routes if someone is already up there, and prevent anyone else from showing up.”
“We can’t go there, that’s Rio Diablo land. They’re not the friendliest Indians around.”
“Get as close as you can.”
“That I can do.”
