made him feel quite as warm.
Presently, he stood in the library, near one of the sliding ladders before a wall of more than two thousand books. He was in his silk robe and on his cell phone, listening to the message from his son. He’d been pacing the room for the past hour, beating a deep path in the burgundy carpet, and he’d been on and off the phone for nearly twice as long. He turned to Castillo and nearly fainted as he listened to his voice mail. A call had come in, a number he hadn’t recognized, while he’d been talking to one of his pilots who’d called regarding a maintenance issue with one of his aircraft. “They’re okay, thank God. They were rescued by our men.”
“That’s not possible,” said the one-eyed man. “Our team just got there.”
Rojas drew back his head and frowned. “Maybe my son is confused, but it doesn’t matter. Thank God he’s safe. Send the team to the airport right away. I’m calling him back now.”
“Yes, senor.”
But Castillo did not move. He just frowned deeply, trying to work something out.
“What’s wrong, Fernando?”
“I’ve lost contact with Dante and his team. I wonder if maybe they were able to help?”
“No, I think my son would’ve mentioned that. He said they hadn’t seen Dante and the team since they were in the town, when it all started.”
“Then something is not right here, senor. Miguel is a smart man. I don’t think he was confused.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to figure out what happened. Just get my boy and his girlfriend.”
Rojas turned his head as Alexsi appeared in the doorway, out of breath. “They found them?”
He nodded.
She ran to him, fell into his arms. “Thank God …”
Moore, Towers, and FBI agent Michael Ansara were seated at the conference table. Vega was still on the job and remaining close to Inspector Gomez, and they didn’t want to risk blowing her cover. Fitzpatrick’s death was carefully concealed from the media, and he was already being flown home to Chicago for burial. ATF Agent Whittaker was still in Minnesota but following up on a very disturbing piece of news: A U.S. military weapons cache had been purportedly smuggled out of Afghanistan and sold to cartel buyers outside of Minneapolis. Some of the initial evidence indicated that the cache had been moved and sold by — Moore had gasped — a U.S. Navy SEAL. He didn’t want to believe that, refused to acknowledge that one of his own brothers could be corrupted in that way. Ansara had just shrugged and said, “If they paid those guys what they’re really worth, they wouldn’t be tempted to do something like that.”
“It’s not about the pay,” said Moore.
Ansara nodded. “Just saying.”
“Don’t say. I just can’t believe it.”
Towers shrugged.
“So where are we at, boss?” Moore said, hoping to change the subject.
Towers glanced up from his notebook computer. “Our boy Corrales still hasn’t turned up. And after almost getting whacked, Rojas went back to his mansion in Cuernavaca. We’ve got boots on the ground and eyes in the sky watching the place.”
“Anything on the shooter?” Moore asked.
“Nothing yet, but the way it was carried out …I doubt it was a rival cartel hit. Just some random asshole wanting to kill a rich guy.”
“What about the son and our girl?”
“Sonia and Miguel were flown there by some of Rojas’s security guys, and they’re all still there, no change.”
“Any word from her?”
“Not yet. The Guatemalans took her surveillance watch and her phone, but she knows where the dead drops are and how to get word out to cover her tracks. She will.”
“So do we wait on her?” asked Moore. “Or what?”
Towers shook his head. “We’ve got some spotters up in Sequoia. The cartel’s getting ready to move one of their biggest harvests ever. You guys are going up there and following the distribution and money trails, which should take you right back into Mexico. I want to follow that trail all the way down to their
“I’d love to pick up some credible witnesses along the way who can definitively, without question, pin this whole thing on Rojas.”
Towers grinned. “Dream on, buddy. Meanwhile, we need to attack this bastard from every angle — with Sonia, with the Sinaloas, with his ties to the Federal Police, and with following the money. And speaking of the Sinaloas—”
Moore snorted and cut him off. “I promised Zuniga we would do something, but he just screamed at the top of his lungs, told me I’d pay for the deaths of his men, and that he was going to hunt me down till the day he dies.”
“That sounds about right,” said Towers, with a grin. “But we need to stay in touch with him.”
“I think he’ll keep taking my calls, probably more out of curiosity.” Moore’s voice began to crack. He’d been unable to sleep for the past two nights as a familiar face once more appeared in his mind’s eye. “I want you guys to know that Fitzpatrick was an ace out there. A fucking ace. I wouldn’t be sitting here if it weren’t for him.”
The air in the room seemed to escape. And both Towers and Ansara took a second or two to reflect on that.
They always die. They always would. There wasn’t any easy way to get over it or past it. Moore was supposed to simply acknowledge that and move on. For the mission. For his country. He’d made the pledge, taken the oath.
“His family knew how dangerous his job was,” said Towers. “They didn’t take it well, but they weren’t surprised, either.” He slapped shut his laptop and rose. “All right, then, gentlemen. You guys need to get up north, ASAP.”
“You’re going to love this, Moore,” said Ansara. “They got the whole place rigged with booby traps and electronic surveillance. Should be a nice party.” He winked.
Moore sighed. “Couldn’t we just do a little wine tasting and call it a day?”
“Detour to Napa, huh?” asked Ansara. “I don’t think so.”
“Everything we’ve gathered so far is on this flash drive,” the man said to Samad, handing over the USB key with attached lanyard.
His name was Felipe. He was fifty years old and had been hired, according to him, two years ago to become a spotter for Mullah Omar Rahmani. Felipe was extremely well paid, had established a safe house in Mexicali, and had been informed that Samad and his group were coming. He worked with a crew of five other men, all loyal and sworn to secrecy, and he said that the intelligence they had gathered would be very useful. Because they were so well paid, they had been able to avoid the temptation of joining one of the cartels. In fact, when they encountered
“Thank you for this, and for all of your other help,” said Samad, accepting the key and plugging it into the notebook computer sitting on the kitchen’s small bar. He climbed onto the stool and sat there, clicking open the files, which contained hundreds of photographs.
Felipe nodded and said, “Senor, we know what it is you plan to do.”
“Really?”
“I’ve been to the United States three times in my life. I’ve been banned for five years for trying to smuggle money out of the country. I haven’t seen my wife and daughters in all that time. I know you are going to cross. I
