Satisfied he’d prepped the house for the quickest possible burn, he began sloshing gasoline around the interior of the master bedroom. Franco knew the fire would eliminate all traces of forensic evidence he may have left behind, but more importantly, it would rattle his former kilo colleague. A distracted and unfocused enemy was a vulnerable enemy.
He returned the depleted can to the garage and grabbed a second. He emptied most of its contents around key areas of the living room, dining room, and kitchen before creating a wet trail out the garage door and over to the dog door. The last of the gasoline went on the wall above the dog door where it cascaded down to the concrete.
All was set, but he felt as though he were forgetting something…
The cigars.
Being careful to avoid scuffing his boots on the carpet, Franco reentered the office and raided the cigar box. He tucked his Sig into his belt to make room for the smokes and stuffed his waist pack to the bulging point. Before leaving the office, he removed a piece of paper from the printer.
Outside at the dog door where he’d first entered, he felt his exhilaration build. He rolled the piece of paper into a long tube, folded it flat, and inserted it about a third of the way under the sill of the dog door, creating a time-delay fuse. Standing off to the side, he struck a match, lit the paper, and ran toward the fence. At first nothing happened, and he thought he’d have to go back.
But just as he turned, the house seemed to exhale a collective breath.
The sound was amazing, as if from a giant organ pipe.
All the fumes ignited simultaneously in a low-pitched whoof. Glass flew outward like orange glitter.
Within seconds, the entire house glowed from every window.
Resisting an overwhelming urge to flee the scene, Franco scaled the fence and calmly walked over to the canyon’s rim.
Smoke was already billowing from the window frames and gabled roof vents.
As tempting as it was to stay and watch from this distance, he needed to clear the area before the police and fire department arrived. Viper’s wife would be okay. He’d laid her down far enough away to avoid a radiant burn from the fire. Letting her live was the right thing to do.
A few minutes later, he finished his ascent on the opposite side of the canyon. He bent at the waist and rested his hands on his knees for a half a minute to catch his breath. He felt the pressure of time but stayed to watch the fire. An impressive sight, the flames towered more than six stories high. At one point, the inferno transformed into a cyclonic form, twisting skyward in a macabre dance. Swirling out from the top of the mushroom cloud, embers rained down on the surrounding neighborhood like amber-colored snow.
The fire department’s reaction time surprised him. The first engine rolled on scene at the twenty-minute mark. Given the distance from the fire station and the time of night, he hadn’t believed such a quick response was possible, but it was too little, too late. By the time the volunteers deployed, the roof and walls had already collapsed. Reduced to a smoldering pile, the house wouldn’t give up any forensic evidence.
After putting his backpack into the backseat, he shook his head at the connections he had discovered between himself and Estefan Delgado. Seeing Viper in the photograph had been startling. They’d had no contact over the years. And yet somehow, Pastor Tobias had been Viper’s father. And Viper worked for the government in the mining sector. Franco shook his head again. All coincidence, to be sure. But Viper wouldn’t see it like that — just the opposite.
At least when Viper’s wife regained consciousness, she wouldn’t be able to give the police anything beyond being questioned and attacked by a man in a ski mask. Killing her would’ve been easier and cleaner, but he didn’t believe in offing women and children.
For now, Franco held the advantage. He thought it unlikely Viper knew of his involvement in Macanas’s organization. He’d never let anyone photograph him. In retrospect, perhaps killing Tobias without a thorough interrogation had been a mistake. He’d suggested as much to Macanas when they’d discussed Tobias’s interference with the discipline of Mateo, but Macanas had been adamant about eliminating Tobias as quickly as possible.
He began formulating a plan to further complicate Viper’s life. He intended to call the emergency number 118 from a pay phone and report seeing a man run away from the fire and get into a tan Ford truck. Once his former comrade learned of tonight’s little bonfire, things were going to escalate, and Franco didn’t intend to be on the defensive. Viper was a potentially dangerous man and could become a serious threat. He might be a mere paper pusher now, but he possessed training equivalent to his own, and Franco had no way to know whether Viper had kept his skills sharp over the years.
For now Franco would stay put, watch the barbecue, and wait for the ambulance to arrive. He felt confident Viper’s wife would be taken to the nearest hospital, but he intended to follow the ambulance to be sure. Once he began his stakeout, he’d use the time to contact his police snitch and get a current driver’s license photo. Once Viper showed up to visit his wife, he’d be an easy target. With a little luck, Franco could end the threat to Macanas’s empire tonight.
Like a nagging fly, Pastor Tobias’s comment circled around to pester him again. You will answer to God for this. Whether he believed it or not, he silently cursed the old man for planting a seed of doubt.
CHAPTER 18
Estefan’s phone chimed. “That’s my voice mail alert,” he said.
“I’ll retrieve it for you,” Harv said. “Concentrate on your driving.” Harv worked Estefan’s iPhone and handed it to him.
Estefan’s expression became a mask of panic. “We have to go back!”
“What’s wrong?” Nathan asked.
“My house burned down!”
“What do you mean your house burned down? When?”
“Two hours ago! We have to go back.”
Nathan immediately suspected foul play. “Estefan, calm down. We can’t go speeding all the way back to Managua. We can’t risk getting pulled over.”
“But my wife. She was home!”
“You don’t know that for sure — she could’ve been delayed.”
“Then why hasn’t she called? There are no messages from her.”
“Look, I understand you’re upset, but driving recklessly for several hours won’t accomplish anything but land us all in jail, or worse. I have no desire to test the quality of our counterfeit passports.”
“Okay, okay. No speeding.”
Estefan scratched the tires, making a U-turn in the middle of the road. No cars were in sight, but it still seemed a little reckless. Nathan understood Estefan’s urgency, but if Estefan couldn’t calm down, Harv would need to drive.
“Who told you about your house?” Nathan asked.
“I don’t know. Some damned NNP lieutenant.”
“Is he calling it arson? Can we listen to the voice mail message?”
“Sure… Why not,” Estefan said with a sarcastic tone.
Now clearly wasn’t a good time to try to talk with Estefan, so Nathan silently considered the implications of the event. If the fire was arson, the timing couldn’t be denied, and Nathan didn’t like the odds if Estefan’s wife was home. He knew Estefan had to be thinking the same thing. Would Raven murder an innocent woman in cold blood? If so, why? To distract Estefan? Put him under stress? Classic military strategy involved mentally battering your enemy. There were a lot of ifs.
The truck’s speed was steadily climbing. “Raven did it,” he said. “The sick bastard always liked fire.”
“I’ll concede the timing’s highly suspect,” Nathan said. “We have to assume Raven knows you’re Tobias’s son, but it doesn’t necessarily mean he also knows you’re Viper.”