“Yes, and you were in it.”
The fat man was about to say something, then put his hand to his mouth.
High school student Rueben Everson had thought that working for the Juarez Cartel and smuggling drugs across the border was at first a pretty scary proposition. But then they had shown him all the money he could make, and over time, he’d grown used to the whole operation, even carrying large shipments while wearing a mask of utter calm. He’d been clever, all right, not making the stupid mistakes that had cost some of the other mules their freedom. He’d always been smooth when talking to the officers, and he never carried statues or cards of all the saints those fools prayed to in order to keep them safe during a run. La Santa Muerte was the most popular among some thugs, who even built shrines to her. Making the skeletal image of the Virgin of Guadalupe seem like some savior when she looked like pure evil was just kind of stupid to him. Then there was Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes, and one fool had even tried to stuff thirty pounds of pot inside a statue of Jude and walk across the border with it. What a jackass. One lesser-known saint was Ramon Nonato. The legend said that he had his mouth padlocked shut to prevent him from recruiting new followers. The thugs liked this idea, and prayed to him so that others would keep silent about their crimes.
Some of Rueben’s colleagues relied heavily on other kinds of good-luck charms: sentimental jewelry, watches, pendants, rabbits’ feet, and other types of talismans, as well as
At the moment, though, no manner of magic or religion could save Rueben. He’d been caught by the FBI, had met a kid who’d had his toes chopped off over a bad run, and was now forced to work for the government if he was going to avoid jail time. The easy-money runs to save up for college were gone forever. Agent Ansara had been very clear about that. They’d injected him with a GPS tracker and had turned his cell phone into a listening device via the Bluetooth earpiece. He was a dog on a leash.
Earlier in the day, he’d been called by his cartel contact and told to report to Mexicali, where a car was being loaded for him, and while he was standing there, inside the warehouse, a middle-aged man with glasses and hair covered in dust walked over to him and asked in Spanish, “Are you the new one?”
“I guess so. But I’m not new. I just haven’t worked over here before. They usually have me pick it up someplace else. What are you guys doing in here? Digging another tunnel?”
“That’s none of your business, young man.”
Rueben thrust his hands into his pockets. “Whatever.”
“How old are you?”
“Why do you care?”
“You’re still in high school, aren’t you?”
“Are you my new boss?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
Rueben frowned. “Why do you care?”
“How are your grades?”
Rueben snorted. “Are you serious?”
“Answer the question.”
“They’re pretty good. Mostly A’s and B’s.”
“Then you need to stop doing this. No more. You will either die or get arrested, and your life will be over. Do you understand me?”
Rueben’s eyes burned.
“They all say the same thing. I need money for this and for that, but next week I will quit.”
“I just want to go now and get this over with.”
“What’s your name?”
“Rueben.”
The man proffered his hand, and Rueben reluctantly took it. “I’m Pedro Romero. I hope I do not see you here again. Okay?”
“Wish I could help you out, but you
“You think about what I told you.”
Rueben shrugged and turned as one of the loaders marched up to him and said, “Ready to go.”
“Think about it,” Romero urged him, sounding very much like Rueben’s father.
Rueben drove the car across the border and surrendered the car to a team of Ansara’s men without incident. They dropped him off at a rental-car office, and the man there gave him a ride home in the airport bus. A black Escalade was parked across the street from his house, and Rueben climbed into the backseat once the bus had left his street. FBI agent Ansara was at the wheel.
“Good work today, Rueben.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
“The old man was right, wasn’t he?”
“Yeah, okay, he was. I should’ve quit before you busted me, but now I’m fucked.”
“No, you did great. You got me some good pics and audio of that man. Now we can ID him and see what’s going on at that warehouse.”
Rueben closed his eyes. He wanted to cry. He could barely sleep now. He dreamed they would come for him during the night, dressed as skeletons armed with knives for carving up his heart. He watched his parents attend his funeral, and while they were leaving, a carload of
As a CIA agent, Gloria Vega had worked in more than twenty-six countries, performing missions as brief as eight hours and as long as sixteen months. She’d witnessed her share of bloodshed and corruption, and had been prepared to witness more of the same when she’d joined JTF Juarez and realized she was being sent into a city known as the murder capital of the world. However, what she hadn’t expected was that the bloodshed would occur between members of her own force.
The shouting had reached her desk only five minutes ago, and they’d all rushed to put on their armor, grab their rifles, and get outside. Inspector Alberto Gomez had pulled on a balaclava to conceal his own identity and stood beside her. Each end of the street had been cordoned off by Federal Police vehicles, and Vega estimated that a crowd of at least two hundred officers in black uniforms and balaclavas had gathered and were shouting and screaming to “Bring out the pig!”
And then, before Vega, Gomez, or anyone else could stop them, a half-dozen officers rushed inside the station, and the crowd roared once again. This time Vega heard a name: Lopez, Lopez, Lopez!
She knew that name, all right, and her blood felt as though it’d turned to ice. Lopez was one of Gomez’s colleagues, an inspector with nearly as many years on the force. Vega’s own investigation had concluded that Lopez was clean and trying to do the right thing; he was the man Alberto Gomez should have been. On the flip side, Gomez’s phones had been tapped, he’d been followed by two other spotters that JTF leader Towers had provided to Vega, and she had gathered enough evidence to present to Federal Police authorities to bring down Gomez for corruption and indisputable ties to the Juarez Drug Cartel. Towers, however, wasn’t ready to pull the trigger on that operation, because Gomez’s arrest would tip off the cartel. All the dominoes needed to be knocked over simultaneously.
And so with time to spare, Gomez had turned the situation around before Vega could react. As she whirled toward the entrance door, six men dragged Lopez out of the building, one of them gripping the old man by his shock
