“Where in Beachside?”
“There’s a small plaza in the center of town, with a little open music hall and fountain. Park there and call me, and then I’ll give you further instructions.”
“Why is this…old man so important to you?”
“Really, Captain Cornwall, do you expect me to answer that question?”
“I’m a hopeful gal.”
“So you are,” he says.
The man next to me is staring ahead with a mournful look. What has brought him here, and why is he so needed in Florida?
Sorry, I don’t care.
I say, “I need to talk to Tom, right now.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”
A sharp shard of cold ice has just been shoved into my chest.
“Make it possible,” I say, slowly and with emphasis.
“I’m not in a position to do that at this time,” he says.
“Then change your position.”
He says, “I give you my word that they are safe. But they are also in a secure location that is sometimes difficult to access. But I promise you this. When you get to Beachside, and before the exchange, you will be able to talk to him.”
I look to the quiet and nice-looking man sitting next to me. “Hey!” I yell in his direction, and he’s startled.
Great.
That means he can hear, and is going to hear what I’m saying next.
“Okay. I don’t trust you or your worthless word, but we’ll have an understanding, okay? When I get to Beachside and phone you, I will hear from Tom directly. I will also hear from Denise, directly and separately. I will be able to ask them both questions to ensure that they are safe and are ready for me to pick them up.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I want to know that they’re in the area, all right? I don’t want them to be somewhere in Georgia or Alabama or someplace else. So you need to come up with some sort of solution that tells me they’re nearby.”
“Or else?” he asks.
I look to the man who’s now staring at me with his soft brown eyes.
“Or else I take the man you desire so much, stand him next to the fountain you mentioned, and blow his goddamn head off.”
I disconnect the call.
The old man’s gaze doesn’t flinch.
I start up the Jeep and say to him, “In case you didn’t notice, I shot two men dead in your house back there, all in order to get my family back. No offense, buster, but if I don’t get my family back, safe and sound, you’re not living out tomorrow.”
Then I shift into drive and do my best to get out of town.
CHAPTER 59
WHEN THE Army captain hangs up her phone, Pelayo says aloud, “My, she’s a feisty one, isn’t she?”
Some nervous laughter from his workers, and Casper steps closer to him and says, “I…I just need to ask this. And no offense.”
Pelayo puts his arm around his deputy’s shoulders. “Casper, you have served me well, for many years. How could you say anything offensive to me? Please. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“It’s…well, I’ve always wondered. Since you learned what was going on with Tom Cornwall, and you also learned who was being kept at that house in Three Rivers, why did you send in that man’s wife? Wouldn’t it have been easier, and quicker, to use our own people?”
He gives Casper a reassuring squeeze. “That’s good thinking, and I admire you so. But these are complicated times. Sometimes it’s best to contract out a job like this, in case it goes wrong. If we were to send our own resources…they might stand out. They might be witnessed, it being a small town and such. Besides, it’s always fun to blame the Americans, in case it did go wrong and the Army captain died, and if our subject died, well, that would be God’s will.”
Another squeeze to Casper’s thick shoulder. “Besides, having everything in one place, within easy reach, makes cleanup so much easier. Best to have the American family and our absent friend all within easy reach.”
Casper says, “Don’t you think the Army captain will be suspicious?”
Pelayo says, “I’m counting on it.”
CHAPTER 60
ROSARIA VASQUEZ is doing her best to navigate her way in the very small town of Three Rivers, Texas. Earlier she had been sent by her boss to go to the equally small town of Kenedy, where Captain Cornwall had used a Bank of America ATM to make a cash withdrawal, but an unexpected and quick phone call from Senior Warrant Officer McCarthy changed that.
“There’ve been shootings at a home in Three Rivers,” he said. “Next town over from Kenedy. Go check it out.”
“Do you have information that Captain Cornwall was involved?”
And McCarthy said, “Hell, no, but you’re going to find out. She was in Kenedy not too long ago, and now there are dead people in the small town next door. On Linden Street. And I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Vasquez checks her rental car’s GPS, which sometimes winks in and out, like there’s some sort of communications foul-up in this town. Even though she’s never been in Three Rivers before in her life, it feels very familiar. In her investigations over the years, visiting small towns like this to talk to soldiers either on leave or recently discharged, it was always the same. A struggling, proud small town that doesn’t have much opportunity for recent graduates, except for the military.
The GPS sends her down North School Road, and up ahead, a police cruiser races toward her, then makes a sudden turn to the right.
The GPS quits on her.
No matter.
She knows where she’s going.
Up ahead she sees the sign for Linden, makes a left, and then pulls her rental car over. There is a mess of people and police cruisers down the street, along with a fire truck and ambulance, and she knows she has to take this one easy. For one thing, Captain Cornwall might not be connected to this in any way. And for another, locals are always suspicious, and rightfully so, about having the Feds—FBI, ICE, military police—come in and stomp over everything.
Rosaria steps out, puts on her jacket, and slings her black leather bag over her shoulder. She starts walking down the street, retrieving her Army CID shield as she does so, walking by the fire truck and ambulance. Clustered around the plain one-story house are two black-and-white police cruisers belonging to the Three Rivers Police Department, one white cruiser belonging to the McMullen County Sheriff’s Department, and another black cruiser with a white hood from the Texas State Police.
Officers with drawn weapons are slowly going through the yard, and one officer comes out of the house—also with weapon in hand—and yells out, “Clear, but for Christ’s sake, we got a goddamn bloodbath in there. Anybody know when the chief will get here?”
Someone answers him, and Rosaria pushes her way through a handful of civilians, until she comes up to a heavyset Three Rivers officer, wearing a dark-blue uniform, holding his arms out.
“Sorry,” he says. “This is an active crime scene. Nobody’s allowed through.”
Rosaria shows her badge. “Warrant Officer Rosaria Vasquez, US Army. I’m a special agent with the Criminal Investigation Command.”