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  Michael turned around, reached back across the rear bench and grabbed the pastor’s arm. The bent-over man dug his feet into the floor, preventing him from sliding across the seat. With one strong pull, the detective yanked him out of the vehicle. He landed on his feet, doubled over and huffing the desert air.

  The three men shuffled side-by-side toward the hole. Sool was rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. Michael limped alongside the sobbing pastor. After a few steps on loose earth, a sharp pain shot through the detective’s back. He loosened his grip on the pastor’s arm.

  The pastor wrestled his arm free and took off. He spun around and ran down the path treaded by the SUV. Michael took one step after the pastor before flinching. He grabbed his lower back and stopped. He looked in the direction of the stumbling, handcuffed man.

  The pastor’s head was tilted skyward. He wailed, narrowly avoiding every shrub and rock. He made it a few yards before tripping and falling face first into the dirt. A small salvo of dust erupted after the impact.

  The two investigators gawked at the pastor, now writhing face down on the desert floor. Sool rubbed the back of his neck before turning to Michael and gesturing to the fallen man.

  “Pick him up, let’s go.” Sool resumed walking toward the hole. It was still being excavated by two men. Michael trailed him toward the hole.

  “Is the car wired?”

  “Huh?”

  “Is the car wired? Should we get him on record?”

  “With what? He’s got nothing. Let’s hurry up.”

  “I want to get him on the record. He’s not much help to Maria Rosa out here.”

  “Of course he is. She’ll be happy to hear we sorted it out.”

  “We can’t tell her that. We can’t just tell her or the Harris family or any of the victims’ families that we just sorted it out. We can’t just give them our word.” Sool stopped walking and faced Michael.

  “What’s wrong with your word?

  “Nothing.”

  “Is your word not good enough?”

  “Not in court. Not if you don’t really want to nail these guys.”

  Sool chuckled.

  “We didn’t take UBL to court. We didn’t take Al-Alwaki or the Boston bombers to court. You got a shooter out on the street, you don’t serve them their fucking papers. That’s who we’re dealing with here. Two guys with a death wish. So what the fuck does it matter if we bring ‘em in or not?” He leered back at the pastor before continuing his march toward the hole. “Now are you going to get him or what?”

  Michael squinted back in the pastor’s direction. He heard David’s wails from twenty meters away.

  “What if we do bring them in?” Sool poured himself a cup of water out of the cooler attached to the truck’s bed. “What if we bring one of Los Hermanos in like one of the Boston bombers?”

  Sool sauntered back toward Michael.

  “He fries would be my guess.”

  “He looks like more of a suspect than they do right now. It was his van. And we don’t have proof that Los Hermanos were anywhere near Reino de Dios.”

  “Sure we do. Maria Rosa’ll testify.”

  “After we tell her we sorted it out with the pastor.”

  “Yeah.”

  “By burying him in the desert. Is that what you want to tell her? And you know, if he’s cooperating, maybe we can get him to testify too. He’s worth more to us in court than...you know, out here.”

  Sool scratched the back of his neck once more. He peered off to his left at the dirt path that led out of the valley. He took a swig of water and spit it out onto the white lakebed.

  “All right. You couldn’t you think of that back at the consulate? Fucking waste of time coming out here.” Sool spun around and strode toward the diggers. He shouted “dejar” at the men. One of the diggers threw up his arms up and yelled in Sool’s direction, but Michael could not make out the rest of their conversation.

  The detective hobbled over to the pastor. He remained face-down in the dirt. The loose earth muffled his sobs. Michael saddled up to the fallen man and slowly dropped to one knee.

  “Okay. Let’s go back. You admit having a physical relationship with one of the volunteers at the orphanage. Is that right?” The pastor dug his face deeper into the desert floor.

  “Yes.”

  “And one of them was Maria Rosa?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “David-”

  “Yes. Yes okay. I admit it.”

  “Okay. Thank you for your honesty. My partner and I...we’re feeling especially gracious today. If you can repeat what you just said on the record, I promise you can go back to America.”

  “Yes, yes I’ll do it. Oh thank you. Thank you. Thank God Almighty.” Michael grabbed the pastor’s elbow and lifted him back up to his feet. He escorted the disheveled man back toward the black Suburban. Sool and the driver were already seated inside.

  * * *

  The angle of the sun appeared unchanged as the SUV passed the security gate. A layer of light brown dirt sullied the vehicle’s sides. The pastor’s belongings were still piled in the parking lot. The driver pulled to a stop near the front entrance. Jen was standing in the shadow of the entrance’s alcove with her arms folded. A large bottle of water was in her right hand.

  She stormed over to the rear drivers-side door and opened it. She waited for Michael to exit the car and gently ushered the pastor out of his seat. Dried tears, saliva and dust still coated his face.

  “Mr. Poneros, I am so sorry for what happened to today.” Her eyes turned to Michael. She signaled to the pastor’s handcuffs. Michael produced a small razor blade from the multi-tool on his belt and cut the two ties. The pastor exhaled as his arms fell to his sides.

  “Our investigators can get a little overzealous,” she continued. “No citizen should ever have to endure what you just did. We’ll make sure they are reprimanded for what happened today. Would you like some water? Maybe a shower?”

  With new tears flooding his eyes, he pastor nodded “yes.” Michael remained by the vehicle’s rear door. He watched Jen escort the pastor through the front entrance. Sool remained seated in the front passenger seat with his head resting against the window. He was asleep.

  Michael barreled into his living quarters with his phone to his ear. He wiped a thick layer of sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his polo shirt. The other end of the line rang. A voicemail message began. Michael waited for the beep.

  “Hey, Mar. Sorry about earlier. Things are just a little, uh...I just want to make sure we look after Cole, all right? There are a lot of crazies out there. I don’t want to think what could’ve happened to him. Just make sure we always keep him in sight, okay? I’ll talk to you later when I get the chance. I love you.”

  Before he could hit the “End” button, an alarm sounded. Michael recoiled at a blaring wail. Three deafening bongs punctuated the continuous alarm. A piercing white light flashed every half second in the hallway.

  “Jesus, what now.”

  Michael emerged from his room covering his ears. The alarm amplified in the marble corridor. He saw the silhouettes of figures rushing for the exits. In front of them, a guardsman jogged in the opposite direction. His rifle was at low ready. As the guardsman approached, Michael recognized that it was Peters. The private waved the detective back into the room.

  Michael retreated to his living quarters. Peters stopped at the doorway and glanced in both directions down the marble corridor.

  “Gotta keep you here until we can clear outside,” he yelled over the siren. “Stay away from the window.”

  “What is it?”

  Peters did not reply. Michael backpedaled toward the window. He pulled back the curtain and peered outside.

  Dozens of men and women poured out of the building. A toddler ran alongside the line of adults. Tonya and the pastor were among the people running into the parking lot with their heads down. Dust still covered the pastor’s face.

 
; Two guardsmen ushered the group of evacuees away from the consulate. Another soldier crouched behind the short cinderblock wall at the base of the perimeter fence.

  Michael released the curtain and backed away from the window. He saw Peters scan the corridor. The alarm persisted. Michael removed the hearing aid and tossed it on the desk. He covered both ears with the palms of his hands.

  Twenty minutes later, the alarm ceased. Michael reinserted his hearing aid just as the radio on Peters’ shoulder emitted the words “all clear.” The guardsman released the grips on his rifle, and it fell slack on his shoulders. He turned around to face Michael.

  “Don’t run out on any alarms ‘til we get here.”

  “What was that?”

  “Bomb threat.”

  Peters stepped out of the doorway and into the corridor. Michael wiped more sweat away from his brow.

  The fire alarm went off two more times that evening. Michael remained in bed through each alarm. During the second alarm of the night, he patted around the desk for his phone. He received a message from Joe stating that he would be joining their briefing at 7:00 a.m. the following morning.

  Jen and Sool were seated on opposite sides of the table when Michael entered the conference room at 6:59 a.m. They did not utter a word when he arrived. The detective wore the same light blue polo as the day before. Sweat stained the fabric around the collar and arms. His hair stood up at the back of his scalp. The two sergeants were absent.

  Michael sat down in the large leatherette chair at the head of the table. He plopped his notepad down in front of him. A conference phone lay in the center of the table. Jen sat up in her chair and cleared her throat.

  “Okay, Joe. Detective Barrish just came in.”

  “Morning, Joe,” Michael said. “Good to hear from you.” The other line was silent.

  “Joe, are you still there?” Jen said.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, why don’t we-”

  “I’m gonna keep this brief. I just want to make my expectations absolutely clear. With your experience, the information you had, I expected this to be resolved in about seventy-two hours. You had everything you needed. You would let me know when you had our suspects apprehended or accounted for in about three days. I expected this all wrapped up this morning. What I did not expect was questions about why we had our prime suspect in custody, and why we let him go.”

  “Joe, I can-”

  “Jen, this is not discussion. I am going to say what I have to say, then the meeting’s adjourned. Got it? Going twenty-four hours without having a suspect was bad enough. That fucking circus we had with that woman was bad enough. I didn’t think we could start out worse. But this leak? That’s worse.”

  “Hey, Joe,” Michael piped up. Jen reached over and hit the mute button on the phone.

  “Now Michael, Guy...I was going to ask for an update today and see where you guys were at. Three days of closed borders, delayed flights, everyone’s looking at me for answers. I was hoping you guys could come up with something. But based on what happened with JDLC and the pastor, I’m not gonna bother asking. I know you got nothing. I had to name Chris Harris a prime suspect. That was great phone call to make. ‘Hey, Clara. Sorry for your loss. By the way, your husband’s a terrorist.’ Now I tried to be positive. I really thought I could get best work out of each you, maybe get you guys to the next stage of your careers. But clearly I was wrong. That one’s on me. But if news about the pastor gets out, it’s gonna be all over you too. We’re gonna look like a bunch of fucking boobs. So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re going to come back over here in the next five minutes. We have border patrol waiting. We have a new unit working state-side only. CISEN will work all angles over there. And you got some great 40K a year jobs waiting for you back home. All right? See you in a couple hours.”

  A loud click emitted from the phone, and a dial tone rang. Jen pressed another button on the phone. The dial tone ceased. The room was silent for a moment.

  “So Danielle’s not joining us, huh?” Sool said. Jen did not lift her eyes from the table. Michael took a deep breath, stood up and reached over to the phone. He started pounding on buttons until the dial tone sounded again. He hit the phone a few more times until he found the re-dial key. The line started ringing. An automated message instructed them to enter a security code.

  “Put it in.”

  “Detective-”

  “He’ll talk to me, okay. Just put it in.” Jen shook her head as she leaned in and pounded the nine-digit code on the keypad. A few seconds of dead air followed.

  “Assistant Director’s office.” A man’s reedy voice came over the other end of the line.

  “Can you put Joe on please?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “Tell him this is Michael Barrish. We go way back. Put him on please.”

  “He’s on another call.”

  “It’s about the bombing. Put him on now. Please.” Some static and crackling came through the other line. Michael loomed over the phone with his hands planted firmly on the table.

  “Yeah,” Joe groaned.

  “Joe, we’re meeting a key lead today. We can’t go back-”

  “No. Get back here now.”

  “It’s our best lead on this. It’s not just the bombing. It’s human trafficking. It’s-”

  “The fuck does that have to do with anything?”

  “We can’t give her to CISEN or whoever else is looking for her down here. She’s in danger. We can get her safely across the border. She can tell us all she knows.”

  “I can’t talk. Just get back here.”

  “She’s talked with Jen. She trusts her. Jen has worked her ass off for this lead. We get these two in touch, we’ll get what we need. Don’t let this one slip away, Joe. Please.” More static came through the other end of the line.

  “What time are you meeting?”

  “1100.” Another few seconds of static passed.

  “Get her back here quietly. I mean Red October quiet, you understand?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Joe.”

  “See you in a few.” Another click followed by the dial tone emanated from the phone. Michael sat back down in his chair. Jen silenced the phone. She looked over at Michael and cracked a bashful smile.

  “You got any street clothes?” Sool asked from across the table.

  “Sorry?”

  “You pack any street clothes?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You can get some from the lost and found,” Jen said. “Joe’s right. We have be really discreet on this one. Really discreet.”

  Michael laid out an extra-large, lavender-colored bowling shirt on the cot in his living quarters. A cigarette burn appeared just below the right shoulder. The detective’s sidearm, multi-tool and duffle bag sat on the bed beside the shirt. He peeled off his light blue polo and stuffed it into his already-packed duffle bag. He strapped on a bulletproof vest and pulled the brightly colored shirt over it. He zipped the bag shut, picked up his sidearm and clipped it onto his belt. He pulled the waist of the shirt down to conceal the firearm.

  * * *

  La Vita Bella restaurant stood on the southern corner of Federal Highway 1 and Avenida Altivez. Signs advertising pizza pies for 99 pesos hung in the windows. Green and red paint in the vein of the Italian flag coated the stucco storefront. A laundromat sat to the left of La Vita Bella. A motel was directly across the four-way intersection. The San Ysidro border crossing was less than three kilometers away.

  Peters was laying prone atop the motel roof. He peered through a rifle scope at the restaurant across the intersection. Garcia sat cross-legged beside him staring at his phone. Both were adorned with black bulletproof vests and baseball caps.

  A flurry of cars flew through the green light on Federal Highway 1. A man in the black t-shirt stood on the median selling bouquets and potted plants. Two vehicles pointed east on Avenida Altivez idled at the red light.

  Peters trained his sights on
a man walking north across the street from La Vita Bella. He turned east toward the restaurant and waited at the corner. Peters reached for the radio on his vest.

  “Unknown. Northwest corner. Male, white shirt.”

  “Roger that,” Dowd radioed back. The sergeant was standing behind the front door of La Vita Bella. He had a clear view of the man across the street through the glass in the door.

  The stoplight on Avenida Altivez turned green, and the man began to cross. He passed the flower vendor on the median and paced toward the restaurant with his head down.

  “Unknown. 10 yards out on your nine.”

  “Got it,” Blaylock replied from the back of the restaurant. He was positioned beside the wall next to the rear garage door that spilled out into the street. He held his rifle at low ready. Bronco sat on his hind quarters at the sergeant’s feet.

  Blaylock leaned over and glanced around the corner at the unknown man. He continued his stride down Avenida Altivez. He passed the garage door on his right and proceeded down the block.

  “Clear,” Blaylock radioed.

  Michael heard the chatter from a booth in the corner of the dining area. He squirmed in the hard plastic seat across from Jen. Sool leaned against the front counter with his arms folded. He scanned the street outside. A black, puffy down vest concealed his body armor. An illuminated board displaying images of pizza and pasta hummed behind him. Private Starr stood next to him with her rifle at sling ready.

  A few clangs emanated from the kitchen behind them. An employee emerged from the swinging door behind the counter. She collected some napkins from underneath the cash register. She glanced nervously at the guardsmen in the dining room before hurrying back to the kitchen.

  Sool turned to the clock above the counter. It was now 11:46 a.m.

  “All right, that’s enough.” He unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the counter. He stepped around Private Starr and made his way toward the kitchen.