“He’s checking us out,” Stevie announced.
Tommy kept up the act, while intermittently slapping Matt’s arm to get him going.
“Cut it out,” Matt said, seeming ready to shoot his gun at someone, anyone.
“It worked,” Stevie said. “He’s put down the binoculars and went back to eating a sandwich.”
As the car whizzed past low hills to the left, Tommy saw the hawk making a slow, deliberate circle over a stand of large boulders.
“Is he behind those rocks?” Tommy asked.
“Exactly,” Stevie said.
“He doesn’t notice that drone, huh?”
“Nope. It’s a common occurrence out here. I have it programmed to emulate the exact flight pattern of a Red-Tailed Hawk.”
“You spend a lot of time with machines, don’t you?” Tommy said.
Matt lowered the volume on the radio. “We should just go straight to the mine?”
“Stick to the script,” Nick said. “We need to get intel before we barge in there.”
But when Tommy saw the look on Matt’s face, he wondered whether the FBI agent was working off the same script as everyone else in the car.
* * *
Garza stood in the driveway with Victor and went over the final instructions. The caravan began with a couple of Humvees full of his men, then the pickup truck where Victor would be, then another Humvee trailing behind.
“Do not allow any variance,” Garza warned. “I won’t put up with any more last minute demands.”
Victor nodded. “Yes, Jefe.”
“Also,” Garza said, “make sure this device is secured properly and the tarp covers it completely.”
“Yes.”
“Do not take chances. I have a few Federales watching out for you. They will offer a safe path in and out of town.”
“Yes.”
“And if this thing-”
“Jefe,” Victor held up his hand. “Do not fret. I am aware of the dangers. I will take care of it.”
Garza sighed. “Yes, of course.” It was at that point that Garza realized how much he’d relied on Victor. He had a sudden urge to send someone else. Someone more expendable. But for something this big, he needed Victor’s brains to control things.
Garza took his sunglasses off and met his first lieutenant’s eyes. “Be careful.”
Victor gave him an assuring nod, then hopped into the back seat of the pickup truck and waved a hand out the window to signal the lead driver.
The hydraulic gate yawned opened and Garza watched the caravan head to town. His phone rang and he looked down to see the caller. Santiago Valdez.
“Yes,” Garza said into the phone.
“Are you busy?” Valdez said.
“Never too busy for you, Santiago.”
“Good, because I need a delivery made today.”
Garza felt his throat tighten. “Today?”
“Yes,” the cartel leader said. “I need this done by tonight. No exceptions.”
“Santiago, I have my men already taking care of a delivery as we speak. We cannot handle any more deliveries today. I can have it done tomorrow morning, however.”
There was a pause. Every second that passed, Garza could feel the desert temperature rise. He watched as a trail of dust followed his team down the dirt road toward town.
“So you are working with one of my competitors, and they are more important to you than the Zutons? Is that what you are telling me?”
“Of course not. The Zutons are my most valuable client. I simply had this scheduled ahead of time.”
“I see.”
Valdez offered another gut-wrenching pause, while Garza scrambled for a way to avoid a conflict. He kicked at small rocks and waited for a response.
“I have been a very good customer, Antonio. I do not believe you want to deny my request. It might not be the best decision for your future.”
The man left it at that, the words hanging in the air like a butcher’s knife over Garza’s neck.
“Santiago,” Garza began without knowing what to say.
“Yes.”
Garza mined his brain for a way to make it work. This was no time to accrue enemies. Somehow he needed to make the bomb and Santiago’s product fit in the same transfer.
“I can do it,” Garza said with authority.
“Very fine,” Valdez said. “We shall meet at our usual location at five.”
“We will be there,” Garza assured him.
“I know you will,” Valdez said, then disconnected the call.
Garza looked down at his cell phone as if it were a loaded weapon. He had many calls to make, but the first one needed to go to his American partner. He could do nothing if the northern side of the border wasn’t ready for him. He pushed a button on his phone and put it to his ear. When Sonny Chizek answered, Garza said, “We have a double order to place tonight.”
“Just make it worth my while,” Chizek said.
Garza put his phone away and grinded his teeth. He could tell something wasn’t right. There were too many new players in his system. He began to consider who the infiltrator might be and how he might deal with him. Then a new thought occurred to him. How many ways could he dissect a human body while still keeping the brain alive long enough to see the mutilation.
This one thought sustained him long enough to dial his second number on his phone. When the man answered, Garza said, “You’d better know where the American FBI agents are right this minute.”
Chapter 21
In Hebron, Israel, Shimon Yosef sat cross-legged in the back of the prayer room patiently waiting for David Zuri to finish speaking with a crowd of older men. The men stood in a circle in front of the otherwise empty mosque. There was no furniture, simply a large expanse of carpet to allow the visitors the room to pray.
Yosef watched the young man bow and shake hands with the elders while the knife beneath his thobe scratched his inner thigh. The men began to exit the mosque and Zuri walked them to the door before kneeling beside Yosef and leaning over to pray. When he sat back and crossed his legs, Zuri handed Yosef an envelope. Yosef didn’t need to count the money inside to know it was light. Too light.
“What is this?” Yosef asked.
Zuri seemed to understand the vague question. “The money is simply not there. They’ve been threatened by Hamas to discontinue donating to us.”
Yosef dropped the envelope and bowed and prayed for the strength to be patient. He took a deep breath and returned upright, grabbing his knees for stability. “We cannot sustain these reductions.”
“What did the American FBI man say about our warning?”
“He is a fool,” Yosef snarled.
“But he must know about the bomb.”
“He is a fool, David. Do not let his actions dictate yours.”
There was a long, quiet stretch of time where the two men recited the words of the Quran written on the walls of the mosque, periodically lowering their foreheads to the carpet.
Yosef waited for Zuri to finish his prayers. The young man lowered his voice even though they were alone in the building.
“Hamas is too strong,” Zuri said.
“Hamas is a weak political tool. They choose words over actions. Words will never affect change as much as action will.”
Zuri seemed to digest this. “I do not know, Shimon. I feel we may have made a mistake. Too many of our followers have returned to Hamas for the protection they offer.”
Under his clothes, Yosef’s right hand found the handle of his knife. “By this time tomorrow, word of our attack in America will have spread across the globe. Then what would you say?”
There seemed to be some doubt on Zuri’s face. “This Sadeem. I do not know.”
“What do you mean?”
Zuri turned to face him. “We discovered him in the United States. He’s been with us for less than six months and we give him this kind of responsibility.” Zuri returned to face forward. “I do not know.”
“You have many doubts, don’t you?”