OTAY MESA
MONDAY, 12:11 P.M.
FOR WHAT SEEMED LIKE an eternity, Faroe, Grace, and Franklin stood in the glare of the overhead lights. By Faroe’s watch, the eternity was only one minute and forty-nine seconds.
Faint sounds, metal on metal, muffled.
Fifteen seconds.
A toilet flushed.
“Who will it be?” Grace asked under her breath.
“Jaime,” Faroe said. “Hector has to send someone he trusts, someone who already knows both ends of the tunnel. That means family. With people like Hector, blood is all that counts.”
And blood is what screws them every time.
Faroe would have felt sorry for Hector if the man hadn’t earned a slow death fifty times over.
The doorknob of the bathroom squeaked.
The bathroom door swung open. Jaime Rivas-blow-dried and splendid in an Italian suit and loafers without socks-strolled out of the darkened room, zipping up like he’d just finished filling a urinal. In his left hand he carried a silver-plated semiautomatic pistol.
Jaime never took his eyes off Faroe.
“Hola, Jaime,” Faroe called out. “?Que pasa?”
“Shut up,” Jaime said. “I don’t like to chat as much as my uncle does.”
When Jaime was ten feet away, he snapped his pistol up to eye level and stared over the sight into Ted Franklin’s face.
“You stupid son of a bitch,” Jaime snarled. “I ought to whack you right now.”
Franklin made a primal sound of fear.
“You kill him and nobody is happy,” Faroe said. “Especially Carlos Calderon.”
Jaime stared through the pistol sight at the patch of skin between Franklin’s eyes. “Where’s the file?”
“It’s on a hard drive, pendejo,” Faroe said. “All decrypted and ready to go.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
“What?” Jaime’s face flushed.
“You heard me,” Faroe said. “Hector gets the file, not you. You don’t like the deal, complain to him.”
Jaime lowered the pistol an inch. The muzzle now stared at Franklin’s pale, trembling mouth. “Where is the hard drive?”
“When we see Lane, you see the hard drive,” Faroe said. “That’s the deal.”
Jaime turned his head and stared at Faroe. The look in Jaime’s eyes made Grace want to step backward.
“Tell Hector the deal is ready to go down,” Faroe said.
Jaime switched the pistol until it was pointed at Faroe’s face. “Hector won’t mind if I kill you.”
Faroe looked bored. “Calderon will. He wants that hard drive. You start whacking people, you don’t get it. Claro, homeboy?”
Jaime turned the gun on Grace. “Give me the file and she lives.”
“Shoot her and you die,” Faroe said. “Now stop jerking off and go tell Hector to bring Lane.”
A slow, thin smile changed Jaime’s mouth. “You are a very clever man, gringo. I give you that.”
Jaime lowered the pistol and pointed it again at the floor. He stared a long time at Grace’s face, trying to read her expression. She hadn’t flinched under the gun and she didn’t flinch under his eyes.
“Hector likes you,” Jaime said. “He’ll fuck you before he kills you.”
Grace just looked at Jaime.
“My uncle will be here in a few minutes,” he said.
Jaime turned and strolled back across the warehouse to the bathroom. He glanced over his shoulder at Faroe. “I see you soon, gringo. Look for me.”
The bathroom door slammed behind him.
Faroe let out a long breath. “Keep your gun handy, amada.”
He turned and walked swiftly toward the front door, sliding silently through light and shadow, light and shadow, until there was only darkness.
“What do I tell Hector?” Grace called after him.
“That I went out for a smoke.”