Elizabeth Lowell - The Wrong Hostage

She shrugged. “I resigned from the federal bench this morning.”

Cook started to ask something, then thought better of it.

“What I’m going to do,” Faroe said, “won’t ruffle the feathers of any except the most irrational of federal judges.”

“What’s your plan?” Cook demanded.

“I’ll grab Hector on this side of the line, where he’ll be caught in the commission of a federal felony.”

“Superman you might be,” Cook said, “but you ain’t Santa Claus. I know Santa Claus. He’s a fat guy with a big red suit and elves.”

Faroe waited.

“No hole in the fence?” Cook demanded.

“Just a hole in the ground. Hector’s tunnel.”

Cook’s eyes widened. “Who told you about the tunnel? Who was it? I’ll bust his ass right out of the agency.”

“I heard about it south of the line.”

“Where is it?”

“The tunnel?” Faroe asked.

“Shit, yes, the tunnel!”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Deal? What deal?”

“You produce Ted Franklin at the time and place of our choice. We’ll give you Hector Rivas Osuna and his tunnel.”

SAN YSIDRO

MONDAY, 10:05 A.M.

FAROE GRABBED A SATELLITE phone in one hand and gestured with his head at Grace.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” she said to Steele and Cook. “You don’t need me for the nitpicking.”

She stood and walked away from finalizing the last details of the informal deal she and Steele were hammering out with Cook. When she caught up with Faroe, he was knocking on the door to Steele’s suite.

“Harley, it’s Joe,” Faroe said. “Let’s trade places.”

A moment later the door opened and Harley walked out. Grace and Faroe went into the suite and locked everything up behind them.

“I still can’t believe you got the feds to give St. Kilda any funds they seize over fifty million,” Faroe said in a low voice.

“There may not be any. Ted is lying slime. Hector is worse. But no matter how much is in the fund, St. Kilda will get the reward for Hector and you’ll be repaid for-”

“I don’t want it.”

She gave Faroe a dark, level look. “You’ll get it anyway. It’s the least I can do for dragging you back into the very world you wanted to escape.”

He shrugged. “Somehow that doesn’t seem important to me anymore.”

“Then what is?”

“Lane.” Faroe pulled Grace into his arms. “You. Us. We’ve got a lot of sorting to do, amada. Once Lane is safe, I want a chance to see what we have going.”

“Yes.”

He looked at her. “Just that easy?”

“Easy? Us? Bite your tongue. Never mind. I’ll do it.”

He took the playful kiss, deepened it, and didn’t let go of her until they were both breathing too fast.

“Hold that place in your mind,” he said huskily. “We’ll go back as soon as we can.”

She licked her lips. “And here I thought you were going to let me play with your cell phone again.”

Faroe laughed, hugged her hard, and stepped back before he changed his mind about letting go of her. “You can hold that place along with the other one. Right now we have Hector to deal with.”

“How?”

“Father Magon gave me some numbers for Hector. I’ll call the first one and you take it from there.”

“Why?”

“Hector underestimates women. It’s a cultural attitude that goes bone deep. It gives us an edge.”

Grace looked at the phone like it was a snake. “What are my talking points?”

“First, we have Ted sacked up and ready to chat with Hector about the missing millions.”

“That should get Hector’s attention.”

“Second,” Faroe said, “the price of that conversation is Lane, alive and well, on this side of the line. We won’t go south to do this deal. If Hector wants the money, he has to come north.”

“He won’t like it.”

“He’ll take it. He doesn’t have any choice. Third, it happens now. We do the high-noon thing at the border. Hector chooses the place.”

“Got it. What part of the plan aren’t you telling me?”

Faroe blew out a hard breath. The drawback to a smart woman was that she was smart.

“Hector wants the meeting for obvious reasons,” Faroe said.

“Money.”

“Yeah, but he also wants to kill Ted.”

Grace’s eyelids flinched, but all she said was, “Can he kill Ted and not kill everyone else who’s there, including Lane?”

Faroe smiled the kind of smile that wasn’t reassuring. “You learn fast, amada. I’m betting Hector will try to kill everyone, including Ted’s FBI handlers if they insist on going into the tunnel with him.”

“What will you do to prevent Hector from killing everyone in sight?”

“You’ll be the second to know.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the best I can give you,” Faroe said. “I’ve designed a trap that Hector can’t refuse-he’ll use his tunnel to bring Lane north and kill Ted. But Hector doesn’t know what we know.”

“Which is?”

“A paranoid warlord on crack will think he can set up the exchange in his warehouse over on Otay Mesa, kill everybody who’s there just for shits and giggles, and run back south like the weasel he is.”

“From here, Hector’s plan looks good,” Grace said bluntly.

“His plan will only work over my dead body.”

“That’s not funny.”

“At least if I die,” Faroe said, “there will be a good reason. I’m not sure I can say that about some of the other times I nearly bought it.”

Grace looked at him for a long time. Then she closed her eyes and told herself that if she could play showdown poker with the head of a federal task force for fifty million dollars, she could do it with the Butcher of Tijuana for her son’s life.

Couldn’t she?

Faroe waited for one of the longest ten counts of his life. When he couldn’t take anymore, he said, “Amada? You okay?”

“No. Call Hector.”

“You sure?”

“Just do it!”

Faroe punched in the number, hit the transmit button, and held out the phone.

Grace took it and began counting rings.

On the fourth ring, a male voice said, “Bueno.”

“I need to talk to Hector Rivas,” she said in English.

“?Quien habla?” the man demanded.

“Grace Silva.”

“What you want?” the man asked.

“Hector knows what I want. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you. Get him.”

Faroe waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Just when he thought Hector wouldn’t take the bait, Grace began talking.

“Hello, Hector.”

“Ah, Your Honor, how strict you are,” Hector said in Spanish. “Poor Fernando is whipped. He takes such good care of your son, too.”

“He’d better. Without a live and healthy Lane, you’ll never see your hundred million again.”

Hector made a rhythmic, juicy sound.

“Put Lane on the line,” Grace said.

“No es possible,” Hector said in Spanglish, loudly, like a man trying to get through to a very dim person.

She grimaced. His words were a little slurred, a little hissed. He’d been drinking as well as smoking. “It’s very possible. If I don’t have proof of life, you don’t have Ted’s files.”

“The boy, he fine. Take my word.”

“And here’s a hundred million. Take it to the bank.”

Hector laughed out loud. “Aiee, a ball-breaker.”

He shouted an order in Spanish.

Grace hit the mute button. “He thinks I’m a ball-breaker. He’s telling someone to bring Lane.”

Faroe’s grin was a hard slice of white.

She released the mute just as Lane’s voice came on.

“Mom?”

“Are you okay?” she asked quickly.

“Yeah, I guess so. They even brought me a Big Mac for dinner. Whoopee.”

“Do you have everything you need?” she asked carefully.

“Uh,” he hesitated, then understood what she was asking. “Yeah, I’ve got everything I need. I’m-Wait a minute. I wasn’t done!”

“You see?” Hector asked in Spanish. “Your son is good. Now, where is your husband?”

“You mean my ex?” she asked. “Last time I saw Ted, he was folded into a car trunk, in handcuffs and leg chains and with a gag in his mouth. Joe Faroe is nothing if not thorough.”

Faroe laughed silently.

“Que bueno,” Hector said, chuckling. “You bring him to me right now and I give you Lane.”

“No.”

“?Que?” he asked sharply.

“I’m not going to do business with you in any part of Mexico. That is not negotiable.”

“I so sad. You no trust Hector.”

“Yes, it’s sad, and it’s not going to change,” Grace said crisply. And her fingernails dug into her palms. “You pick a place on this side of the line for the exchange. You have two hours to set it up.”

“Ah, you worry I kill the boy after noon.”

“I think you’re too smart to be that stupid,” she said. Especially if you lay off the booze and crack. “The problem is Ted-we can’t keep him in the trunk forever.”

Hector laughed so hard he choked. “Aiee. Such a woman! But I no can cross the border.”

“If tons of marijuana can, you can. You have millions of reasons to.”

“Do you have the information?” Hector asked in rapid-fire Spanish. “The banks, the transactions, all the numbers-you understand?”

“I understand. We have what you need. Faroe, ah, persuaded Ted to talk.”

“These records, you truly have them?”

“The records will be present at the exchange.” She gave Faroe a cold, lawyerly smile.

There was a humming silence.

Grace’s nails dug deeper into her hands.

Faroe pried apart her left hand and rubbed the scarlet crescent marks.

“Do you know the Otay Mesa crossing?” Hector asked.

“Yes. I know the Otay crossing,” she repeated so that Faroe would know.

He closed his eyes in relief or prayer.

“We trade there,” Hector said in Spanish. “Bring Ted Franklin. I will hear from his lips the truth of the records. You understand?”

“Yes. Ted will be with me. Where, exactly, do we meet?”

“I will call you. And, senora?”

Grace’s heart stopped, then beat faster. “Yes?”

“Joe Faroe will be with you and Ted. No one else.”

“Joe? I hadn’t planned-”

Hector talked over her in rough English. “Faroe come or no deal. I want that smart gringo where I can see him. ?Claro?”

“Very clear. He’ll be with me.”

Hector hung up.

So did Grace.

“Did I just hear you promise that I’d be with you?” Faroe asked.

“Yes. Is that a problem? He’s obviously going to use the warehouse just like you said.”

“Yeah, but I hadn’t planned to be there with you.”

Surprised, Grace asked, “Where were you going to be?”

“At the Mexican end of the tunnel, sneaking up on Hector.”

Silence.

“What’s Plan B?” she asked.

“I’m working on it.”

Faroe went to find Father Magon. If anyone had a direct line to Carlos Calderon, it would be the Vatican spy.

TIJUANA

MONDAY, 10:15 A.M.

LANE SAT IN A broom closet and thought about playing soccer-with various heads used for the ball. His recent nomination for butthead of the hour was Fernando Diaz, one of Hector’s endless stream of nephews. Or maybe they were his bastards.

They sure had the attitude for it. The thought of kicking some of them right between the goalposts kept Lane from focusing on the steady throb of his bruised face and the fact that his bladder was so full his back teeth were floating.

And then there were all the seconds ticking away into minutes and minutes into-

Don’t go there.

Don’t think about it.

Think about kicking Fernando in the balls.

Lane was real tired of Fernando whispering through the door, telling him all about how he was going to be dog food by twelve-thirty.

Dad won’t let that happen.

Will he?

Lane wished he had more confidence in his dad, but he didn’t. This would be just one more in a long line of moments when his dad let him down.

Hey, the good news is that it will be the last time.

Lane tried to laugh.

It sounded too much like a sob.

He went back to running his fingertips over the mops, brooms, vacuum hoses, and dustpans that were hanging on the walls, waiting to be used. If he was some slick ninja, he’d break off a broom handle and go through the vatos outside like a one-man demolition derby.