After the man moved on, Donnally continued upward and hoisted himself onto the roof. He removed a rope from his backpack, tied it around the air-conditioning unit, then lowered himself down the front of the building toward Sherwyn’s office.
As he reached to pull the window open to climb in, he had a panicked moment, wondering whether Lalo’s friend was still bought, or whether he’d sold them out to Jago Cruz, who’d be poised like an executioner on the other side.
Chapter 62
J ust after 6:50 A.M., Donnally alerted to thudding footsteps. The sound was deadened by the book-lined shelves of Sherwyn’s office and the heavy closet door behind which he was hiding.
Then two male voices. Sherwyn and a Mexican.
The shadows of moving bodies skimmed the gap between the door and the floor.
“ Sientate. ” Sit. An order. Jago.
Lighter footfalls followed by scraping, maybe chair legs rubbing against the hardwood floor.
Janie?
Then a nervous drumming of fingers. Donnally guessed that Sherwyn was sitting or standing behind his desk a few feet away.
Jago spoke. “It’s almost time.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Sherwyn said. “I’ll call him.”
Donnally felt his cell phone vibrate. He let it go to voice mail, where Sherwyn would hear his recorded message:
Bring Janie to the front gate at 7 A.M.. I’ll hand you a CD containing the recantations as she steps out.
“You need to hear this,” Sherwyn said, presumably to Jago.
Donnally’s phone vibrated again, and again he let it go to voice mail.
Thirty seconds later, Jago said, “Your boyfriend is not answering his phone.” Then to Sherwyn, “Puzzling. Why didn’t he try to force us to do it in a public place, a shopping center or at the beach? Doesn’t he realize that my men will grab him before he even walks up to the gate?” Jago chuckled. “He must love you too much. It has scrambled his brain.”
A crackle of Jago’s police radio broke the silence, followed by his voice.
“ Esta todo en posicion? ” Is everyone in position?
Donnally guessed that Jago had sent his team out of the hacienda to set up along the streets bordering the property.
“ Si. ”
Donnally lit up his cell phone screen: 6:55.
“ Andale. ” Jago again. Let’s go.
“Aren’t you coming with?” It was Janie’s voice. “Or are you too much of a coward?”
“There’s a better view from up here,” Sherwyn said. “Anyway, I’ll see him soon enough. Or should I say, he’ll see me soon enough.”
Janie and Jago’s footsteps faded as they walked from the office and down the hallway toward the stairs.
Donnally heard Sherwyn take a couple of steps toward the bar next to the closet door. A quavering of glass on glass followed. Donnally imagined Sherwyn’s hands shaking as he poured.
Sherwyn walked toward the window.
Donnally checked the time again: 6:58. Corazon should be parked down the block.
Sherwyn began pacing. A gulp. Then back to the bar. Another drink.
6:59.
Uncle Beto should be a few hundred yards away, driving toward White Sands in a rental car matching Donnally’s.
7:00.
“Where is he?” It was Sherwyn speaking into his cell phone.
Donnally turned the door handle.
“No,” Sherwyn said. “I don’t see him-wait. I see his car. Get him.” Now more urgently, yelling. “Get-him-get-him-get-him.”
Donnally heard the whine of Beto accelerating, then the sirens of police vehicles chasing him down.
“What is Donnally doing?”
Donnally swung open the door. “Holding a gun to your head.”
Sherwyn spun toward him.
“Put your hands up,” Donnally said.
Sherwyn raised them, his phone in one and a glass in the other.
Donnally stepped next to Sherwyn. He then grabbed him by the back of his collar and pressed the barrel against the base of his neck. The glass fell from his hand and exploded on the floor.
Donnally glanced down toward the gate and took the phone from Sherwyn’s hand.
“You hear that?” Donnally said to Jago. “Let her walk out into the street.”
Jago drew his weapon and pointed it at Janie.
“You shoot, I shoot,” Jago said.
Donnally covered the phone mic and said to Sherwyn, “Let’s go. We’re going to fight this out in the courtyard.”
Sherwyn struggled, now understanding Donnally’s strategy and terrified of becoming a human shield.
Donnally braced Sherwyn against the window to control him.
The whump-whump of a helicopter rose up in the distance. Donnally guessed it was a tourist flight heading inland toward the Aztec ruins.
Jago lowered his gun to his side, waiting for it to pass over.
The helicopter slowed, then hovered above White Sands.
Donnally uncovered the mic and said, “Release her. You’ve got too many witnesses.”
Jago looked up. Staring. Donnally saw his eyes widen. Jago licked his lips, then spoke into his radio. Donnally watched a cop standing across the street abandon his position and walk toward downtown. The officers surrounding Beto got into their cars and sped off.
Jago opened the gate. Janie walked through. Corazon climbed down from her van parked across the street, and Janie ran toward her.
Donnally looked up and saw what had spooked Jago.
CNN. The acronym painted on the side.
How did the old man get them to come here?
He looked down again. Janie was getting into Corazon’s van. Jago was running toward the front door.
Why doesn’t he make a run…? Donnally asked himself, but the answer arrived before he finished the question. He wants a shot at avenging his brother before the world caves in.
Donnally decided that it was better to battle him here than run for the rest of his life.
The helicopter rotated in place. Glare blocked his view. It rotated further. He saw a handheld video camera pointing down.
Something didn’t look right.
Without showing himself, Jago yelled from the hallway:
“Throw out your weapon.”
Sherwyn grabbed for the gun. Donnally pulled away. Sherwyn fell into him. They crashed against the bar. Sherwyn’s grasping hands swept the bottles and glasses off the mirrored counter. The gun broke free of Donnally’s hand and thunked to the floor next to the built-in bookcase. They both dived for it. Sherwyn grabbed first, but missed and sent it sliding across the floor toward the door ten feet away.
A gunshot shattered the bar mirror.
Donnally looked toward the doorway. Jago stood pointing a revolver at him.
Sherwyn crawled toward Donnally’s gun.
“Freeze,” Jago ordered.
Puzzlement consumed Sherwyn’s face. “What are you…?”
Donnally grasped Jago’s plan, or what should be his plan if he was thinking clearly. Donnally decided to buy some time, even if it meant laying it out for him.
“He’s going to kill you pretending that he was trying to rescue me,” Donnally said, standing up. “He’s leaving no witnesses. That’s the way El Mandamas would want it.” He glanced at Sherwyn. “I suspect that at this point The Man with the Last Word, whoever he is, would conclude that you’re expendable.”
Jago smiled.
“But he’ll need to do some staging first,” Donnally said.
Jago shook his head, then pointed his barrel at Donnally’s waist and jerked it up and down.
Donnally glanced down at Sherwyn. “Apparently he wants to count the weapons first.” He then raised his shirt and jacket to show he was unarmed. Jago made a circling motion, and Donnally showed his back.
Jago nodded.
Sherwyn pushed himself onto all fours, as if testing to see how far Jago would let him rise. His breathing was heavy. His flesh red.
Donnally leaned back against the bookcase.
“What do you say, I’ll stand here?” Donnally said. He extended his hand toward Sherwyn. “And you can be next to me.”