Soon the limpet mines were in place. Barquero methodically swam back to the castle. He climbed out of the water near an ancient cannon overlooking the port, quickly removed his gear, and stowed it in a stolen delivery van parked nearby. After driving around to the north end of the port, he pulled over and checked his watch. Dark clouds flickered slightly as bolts of lightning flashed above them. Rolling thunder echoed across the dark, choppy water. Seven minutes later, a series of muffled explosions erupted from the port. Dockworkers scrambled and pointed at plumes of water that rose from around the Padre’s ship. Lights and sirens sounded as men rushed to the sides of the freighter’s berth, only to watch it slowly slip under the dark waters, coming to rest on the bottom. When it was over, only the ship’s bridge and control room remained above the surface. The Ferryman’s eyes glowed with dancing fire as he drove off into the night.
• • •
Later that morning, in a quiet, wealthy section of Monterrey, a black limousine pulled into the driveway of a sprawling luxury villa. A number of men in casual clothes patrolled the grounds. Carnicero stepped out of the long car and walked directly inside the villa. Passing through the open design of the house, he made his way to the back patio. The backyard contained a large swimming pool surrounded by an intricate set of lush gardens. On the patio, sitting around a large glass table, was the Padre and a man Carnicero didn’t recognize. Music played in the background. It was a mixture of accordion and trumpets, a narcocorrido, or drug ballad. The vocalist told tales of the heroic exploits of the Padre. The Padre leapt to his feet when he noticed the longhaired man standing in the open-air foyer leading to the patio.
“That will be all,” the Padre said to his associate, who collected his papers from the table and left. “My son.” The Padre embraced Carnicero tightly.
“It’s been a long time, Padre.”
“I know. I’m sorry. It was difficult.”
“I understand. The school bus was a mistake. But I promise you, Padre — I’ll never go back. I’ll die first.”
“You won’t ever go back. You have my word. I’ll protect you, my son. Come sit down with me.” After the two men took their seats, a short white-haired butler came from out of the villa.
“Padre,” the man began, “may I bring you some breakfast?”
“Yes, please.” The man turned and left. “That’s Antonio. He runs the house for me when I’m not here, which is most of the time.”
“Are you still sleeping in a different place every night?”
“Of course I am. One can only bribe so many people for protection.”
“Who was the man you were meeting with? I don’t know him.”
“He is my new communications director. Straight out of Silicon Valley.”
“Communications?” Carnicero asked.
“Yes, cell phone networks are too easy for the authorities to monitor these days. We still use the Internet for encrypted messages, but we’ve needed a better way to communicate deep in the field with our processing facilities and along the border when our shipments cross. Besides, the service coverage in the middle of the country is poor anyway. I don’t want to be surprised by the police or our rivals because our lookouts can’t get a signal.”
“How can that man help?”
“We’ve built our own encrypted radio network. All around our territories we’ve built a network of concealed radio towers with powerful antennas. They’re boosted by repeaters that extend our communication range deep into the desert and provide us with an early warning network for shipments in transit into the United States. Computers actually allow us to target specific radios that our men carry and skip over others so that our messages stay local, not broadcast across the country. It’s brilliant, and the best part is that anyone can buy the equipment.”
“It is brilliant, but it sounds expensive.”
“True, but it’s totally green. The towers are powered by solar panels.”
“So you’re an environmentalist now,” Carnicero laughed. “The times have changed, but the people seem to love you.” He motioned toward the speakers still playing the narcocorrido.
“Yes, the music. It’s Internet radio from just across the border in Texas. The Mexican government has banned the national stations from playing the narco-ballads, but people still clamor for them. Do they love me or fear me? I’m not so sure, but as long as they do what I say, I’m happy. But sometimes they must be reminded. Here, look at this.” The Padre pulled a yellow leaflet from a folder on the table and passed it over. Carnicero examined it. It was an antigovernment leaflet warning of the consequences of being an informant. Below the warning was a black and white picture of seven naked men hanging from their necks beneath an overpass. “I’m having a plane drop thousands of them over Monclova in a few days. Look at this,” he said as he pushed a newspaper across the table. “Turn to page three.”
“The article about Monclova?” Carnicero asked as he skimmed the story about an arson attack against a local ice-making company. The company’s facilities had been set on fire and more than a dozen of their trucks destroyed.
“They were cooperating with the authorities. Lending them trucks that the police used for undercover surveillance. I don’t understand it — I never even tried to extort money from the company.”
“So how’s business?” Carnicero asked as he put the newspaper down.
“Fantastic, for the most part. My latest passion is American quarter horses.”
“Quarter horses?” Carnicero laughed. “What do you know about horses?”
“The best have four legs, run fast, and crap a lot. Most importantly, they’re an excellent way to clean the money.”
“So you’re just buying them to launder the product proceeds?”
“And occasionally bet on them. My favorite horse just won a race with a million-dollar purse.”
“Is he a champion?”
“Not really, but when the jockeys know who is going to win, they can make more money at the betting window than at the finish line. So I let them in on it and strongly suggest they let my horses win. Elsewhere, we’ve been diversifying our product markets. America is still our biggest consumer, but Europe is growing rapidly. Overall, costs are down, prices are up, and even the other cartels have been quiet lately, maybe a little too quiet. I recently increased our security at all the facilities. Of course, with you back, security operations are now in your more than capable hands,” the Padre said as he lit a thin cigar.
“Thank you, Padre, but the other cartels would be crazy to go to war against you. You’ve never been stronger.”
“I know, but it pays to be cautious. The more we have, the more we have to lose,” he said as he blew a smoke ring into the air. “Also, there is one specific person that I’m concerned about.”
“One person? Who?”
“Do you remember Barquero?”
“The Ferryman? Of course, he brought in most of our weapons from the United States.”
“He used to. His last shipment was the largest one ever. Military hardware stolen from the U.S. National Guard. It was an inside job, beautifully planned, but we had a disagreement. Or maybe I just changed the terms of our bargain when he didn’t deliver them all the way and left me with the responsibility of moving the shipment across Mexico’s southern border and then all the way north. It was a pain in the ass. I lost several good men. Anyway, he was upset, and you don’t let a man like him wander around upset. His temper is as bad as yours. With you in prison, I sent my next best sicario, Sandro, to do the job.”