Fields put the phone down close to Mariana’s mouth and released the pressure. “Say hello.”
“Dan!” she rasped. “Don’t—!”
He crushed her throat shut again, choking off her warning. “Now, tell me: Does it sound to you like you’re in a position to give me ultimatums?”
“Fields, I’m only gonna warn you once.”
“Warn me what?”
A green 1971 Dodge pickup came skidding around the corner of the building and slid to stop in the gravel. A gringo wearing a tan ball cap jumped out with a 1911 pistol and began firing at the run.
“It’s him!” Fito shouted, returning fire as he dove for cover behind Fields’s car, but Memo was already down and bleeding out.
Fields hauled Mariana to her feet by the hair, using her as a shield as he backed quickly into the building through a broken-out window. She kicked to get free, but she was too weak from electrical shock and strangulation.
The gringo ran low along the wall while Fito’s bullets ricocheted off the concrete above his head. When he heard Fito’s empty magazine clatter to the cement, he charged at the car and dove across the hood, grabbing Fito’s gun and landing on top of him. He jammed the muzzle of the .45 into Fito’s belly and squeezed the trigger.
Fito squealed like a child, instantly relinquishing his grip on the weapon.
The gringo got to his feet and threw the pistol over a fence, walking around the car and into the building. With the broken glass crunching beneath the heels of his worn cowboy boots, he found Fields hiding in an empty office, holding one of the twin’s straight razors to Mariana’s throat.
The moment Fields saw him, his eyebrows soared in disbelief. “You’re dead!”
Gil Shannon pointed the 1911 into his face, his chiseled visage set. “Not hardly. Drop the razor and let go of her.”
Fields did as he said, and Mariana stumbled away, sliding down the wall, rasping for air.
Gil shot Fields in both knees.
Fields collapsed, wrapping his arms around his legs and gnashing his teeth in pain.
Gil reloaded the weapon and crouched beside him, saying in a calm voice: “Operation One-Way Trip. China Mission, September 2005. You ordered three Vietnamese agents murdered after my extraction. Why?”
“Go fuck yourself!” Fields grunted, in more pain than he’d ever known.
Gil shot him in the foot, and Fields writhed around in even more agony, calling him filthy names. After giving him a minute to shout himself calm, Gil repeated the question.
“Just kill me!” Fields sneered. “Kill me, you fucking bastard!”
“I will when I’m ready,” Gil said quietly, aiming at the other foot. “Tell me why.”
“It was a closed operation, you motherfucker! You know what that means: no fucking witnesses!”
“Who gave the order?”
“It was Pope’s operation! He gave the orders, and I saw to it they were carried out! Now fuck you!”
“You slipped up,” Gil said. “One of the agents survived, and he gave me your fucking name.” He stood up and shot Fields dead. “Now reap the whirlwind.”
He went to Mariana, who lay against the wall, crouching down to help her sit up and using a finger to gently push the hair from her face. “You okay?”
She nodded, gripping her shoulders against the ache left over from the violent muscle contractions. “How are you alive?” she asked. “Even Pope thinks you’re dead.”
“I learned to fly recently.” He lifted her from the floor. “Still workin’ on my landings, though.”
She slid an arm around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder as he carried her out to the truck. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Midori hijacked one of Pope’s surveillance drones last night when Crosswhite couldn’t reach you. She’s been watching you ever since. I was arriving at the airport when she saw you being stuffed into a trunk. She vectored me in by phone.”
She looked at him. “Does Dan know you’re alive?”
“Only you and Midori. And that’s how it has to stay.”
“For how long?”
He opened the squeaky door of the truck and set her down on the passenger side. “Forever.”
“My passport,” she said, pointing at Fields’s car. “He has my phones and my passport.”
Gil retrieved her belongings and then ducked through a hole in the fence, finding the silenced pistol and wiping off his fingerprints before tossing it into a pile of garbage.
A couple of miles into their trip to Puerto Vallarta, Mariana felt well enough to carry on a conversation. “Can I ask you something?”
He glanced at her, one hand dipped over the wheel as they rattled along. “Shoot.”
“How much gold did you two hide from Pope?”
“Is that what Dan told you — We took gold?”
“No, he denies it, but nothing else explains the way you two are acting.”
Gil seemed to give it some thought before deciding how to answer. “Can you see me and Crosswhite fencing gold bullion on the black market without Pope catching us?”
“I guess not,” she admitted. “Not if you put it that way. But tell me what’s going on. Why was Fields so convinced?”
“Hold the wheel a minute.” She held the wheel while he lit a cigarette with a match. “Lost my lighter in China.” He tossed the match, still smoking, onto the dust-covered dashboard. “We found six million in Swedish bearer bonds in the same storage container and walked out with them under our jackets.”
A smile spread across her face. “The perfect crime; totally untraceable.”
He exhaled smoke. “Pope was so busy brokering the gold over next few weeks, he never even noticed our trip to the Caymans.”
“When did you first start to lose faith?”
“Crosswhite lost his after Earnest Endeavor. I didn’t lose mine until Pope left me hanging in Lichtenstein. The Russian mob moved right into the same hotel I was staying at. He missed it, and I damn near bought it. That’s when I realized his mind was on much bigger things than me. The old Pope would never have made that mistake.”
“So what now?”
“Now…” He took a drag from the cigarette. “Now we get Pope to appoint you Mexico chief of station.”
She gaped at him. “Are you high?”
“What’s wrong? You don’t want the job?”
She sat up in the seat. “Want the job? How are we going to get him to give it to me?”
“We won’t leave him any choice.”
“What about Dan?”
Gil shrugged. “What about him?”
“He was counting on your help with the sniper.”
“Dan can handle Rhett Hancock.”
“You know him?”
“I know about him. He’s a good shot, but he’s nothing special. Besides, if I stick my nose into that fight down in Toluca, Pope will recognize my kill patterns and figure out I’m still alive. I can’t risk that. I went through too goddamn much trouble getting myself killed.”
“Well, if I have to keep your secret, I at least want to know how you did it — and why.”
He stopped for a red light and looked at her, the merest hint of a grin on his face. “I can see what he sees in you.”
Her face flushed, and she looked out the window. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gil chuckled and pulled through the intersection. “Why is my secret, but how is easy enough to tell…”
72
Out of the fog appeared a flatbed tow truck with the ramp down, its yellow lights flashing atop the cab.
“This is gonna taste like shit!” Gil snarled, locking up the brakes and skidding cockeyed up the ramp, seemingly out of control. The battered black Land Rover caromed off the back of the cab and careened over the guardrail to disappear into the fog.