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Nathan asked, “What happens to the mercury? It’s not lost, is it? Isn’t it expensive?”

“It’s actually fairly cheap. In large quantities, it costs less than fifty cents an ounce, and an ounce of mercury can go a long way because it can be used over and over. The retorts are supposed to capture and condense the mercury for reuse, but they’re often not sealed properly and mercury vapor escapes. The mill workers are breathing that stuff all day long. Eventually, the mercury becomes what’s known as ‘dirty’ and stops amalgamating with gold. It has to be discarded then.”

“And I’m sure everyone disposes of it safely,” Nathan said with sarcasm.

“Sadly, they don’t. It gets buried or tossed in a river, or it just sits around in open containers, mostly jars and cans. Unscrupulous types try to resell it, but everybody knows dirty mercury when they see it: it doesn’t have its original luster.”

“This sounds like a recipe for disaster,” Harv said. “Mercury around rivers and streams? It’s got to create an environmental mess.”

“It’s an environmental disaster. The freshwater fish around here are toxic, but people still eat them. Then the mercury moves up the food chain to other animals.”

“Let’s get back to Raven,” said Harv. “Why do you think he’s the shooter?”

“My father isn’t the first sniper victim near Santavilla. Other people have been killed in the same area. I had a long call with him the night before he was killed. He used the phone at the general store. We talked for over an hour. He told me there had been at least five long-distance shootings this year alone. He had specific details about a murder several months ago at the lumber mill. One of the miners who lives at the base of the mountain where the shot originated told my dad he heard the report come from somewhere above his home. The lumber mill where the man was killed is eleven hundred yards away from the mountain.”

Nathan looked at Harv. “That’s a good shot, but it doesn’t mean Raven did it.”

Estefan didn’t say anything.

“Who got nailed?”

“The manager of the lumber mill. My father said the mill became profitable again after that. He thinks the manager had been skimming.”

“Who owns the lumber mill?” Harv asked.

“Guess.”

“The same man who owns the mines,” Nathan said.

“His name is Paulo Macanas. He’s known simply as El Jefe, The Boss. I’m willing to bet he’s connected to a larger cartel. He conducts legitimate businesses like the lumber mill and some cattle ranches and coffee farms, but he’s dirty. He either owns or directly controls everything in Santavilla. The last thing Macanas wants is for his revenue stream to be interrupted. I’m convinced that’s why my father was murdered.”

“I’m only speculating,” said Nathan, “but don’t you think killing your father just because he was educating the miners is… I don’t know… extreme? Would your father really be murdered for that?”

“You’re right. It doesn’t make a lot of sense. He was certainly no threat to anyone. All he wanted to do was save people’s lives, the very people who are needed to work the mines.”

“Estefan, don’t get me wrong, and I’m not suggesting anything, but I think it’s reasonable to assume he wasn’t killed just for trying to help the miners.”

Estefan looked down and didn’t respond right away. “Actually, I’m afraid I’m responsible for my father’s death. Once I suspected Raven was the shooter, I asked my father to see what he could dig up on Macanas’s gold-mining operation. I told him to be careful, to only talk to people he trusted. I shouldn’t have done that. I should’ve known something like this would happen.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Estefan. You don’t know the reason why he was murdered. If Macanas’s love of money goes deep enough, he might’ve been killed solely for the reason you suggested, for meddling in Macanas’s operation. Macanas might’ve killed him to send a message: mess with me and you pay the ultimate price. People have been murdered for far less.”

“I guess that’s true, but the timing is highly suspect. A week after my father starts asking about Macanas’s operation, he gets killed by a sniper.”

“Does Macanas know the connection to you? Are you or your wife in danger?”

“I’ve considered that, but I don’t think so. If Raven knew I was Tobias’s son — a former kilo — I’d already be dead.”

“How do you know so much about Macanas?” Nathan asked.

“I’m friends with the deputy chief of police. His office is near mine in Managua; we go to lunch a few times a year. I asked him to look into my father’s murder, but I’m not holding my breath. It’s no secret Macanas is a huge landowner in the area. He’s got around forty square miles.”

Harv asked, “Are we on Macanas’s property right now?”

“No, it’s a few miles farther east. Big landowners annex more property by disputing property lines. They’re often successful because smaller owners usually don’t have title insurance and have no way to prove they own it, and they can’t afford a lawyer to defend the claim. It’s a pure land grab. My friend in the police department told me Macanas has been expanding his holdings over the years. As a concession, Macanas lets the people stay in their homes, but he takes ownership of the land.”

“How generous of him,” Harv said.

“It’s like that everywhere in the remote areas outside of the forest preserves. Nobody cares what happens. Forests are slowly being destroyed. Everyone’s on the take. It’s a cash society. It’s the reason there’s a lack of infrastructure. Not enough taxes are collected. It’s getting better, but it’s a difficult problem to solve.”

“The problem isn’t exclusive to Nicaragua,” Harv said. “It’s like that all over the world.”

Nathan caught movement to his left.

“We’ve got company,” Lyle called.

CHAPTER 13

“What’s going on?” Nathan asked.

“Rammy spotted bleed light coming from the northeast. He thinks it’s two vehicles, possibly three. His NV picked up the glow. We can’t see it with the naked eye yet. ETA is seven to ten minutes.”

“What’s over there besides the road?” Nathan asked.

“Nothing that we know of, sir.”

“How close does the road come to our position? It looked pretty close on the aerials.”

“About eight hundred yards due east.”

“Whoever they are, they have their headlights on…”

Lyle nodded. “Yes, sir. But we’re still going to monitor this closely. Be ready to bug out just in case.” He looked at Estefan. “Sir, is your vehicle concealed?”

“Yes, it’s parked off the road. No one will see it, even in daylight.”

“Stand by,” Lyle said and rejoined his men.

Nathan didn’t need to ask Estefan if he’d been followed — it would be an insulting question, and Estefan likely came from Managua, in the opposite direction from the vehicles. And Estefan’s kilo training had included spotting and losing tails. Nathan and Harv flipped their NVGs down to their eyes and looked to the northeast. A mile or so distant, the canopied slopes of the canyon glowed with varying intensities as two or more vehicles negotiated turns along the road. They couldn’t hear any sound yet. In these conditions, Nathan expected to hear the vehicles when they closed to within a thousand yards.

“You still haven’t explained why you’re convinced Raven’s the shooter,” he said to Estefan.

“Using information my father gave me about the shootings, I plotted the kills on a map. All of the kills are within Raven’s old territory — Jinotega. My territory was farther east in Atlántico Norte, where the large commercial mines are.”