Name of the Devil (10 page)

I
MISS HIS JUGULAR
and hit Esteban's collarbone. The blade still goes in and he screams. He pulls away from me and out of reach. I hear something metallic splash in the water below.

My gun.

It slipped from my waistband.

Fuck. It must have fallen into the cave during our struggle.

I could run for the trees, but I won't get far in the dark. He's done with the game. He'll shoot me before he lets me escape. There's only one place to go.

I jump into the hole and hit the ladder hard. It buckles on me, nearly throwing me off. But I hold my grip and keep climbing down, pulling my body into the dark.

Gravel stings me as Esteban runs to the edge of the hole and points his gun into the shadows. Silhouetted by the moonlight, I can tell he's trying to decide what to do. His original plan must have been to push me off the ladder when I climbed in at the top, but now I'm out of reach. I slide down the last few rungs and slip out of the light.

He aims the flashlight he took from the SUV around to spot me. Because he has to use one hand to brace himself over the edge to keep himself from falling, there's no way for him to simultaneously catch me in the light and aim.

A dark drop of blood falls from above through the beam of his
flashlight and splashes into the water. It's not the torrent I'd like, but I know I've hurt him just the same.

“Coming down?” I taunt. I want to make him hesitate. I need him to think I have the upper hand. My eyes slowly adjust to the dark. Sticking to the shadows, I go to my knees and start feeling around in the water for my gun.

The pool is only a foot deep, but the bottom is a murky gunk of sharp rocks, rotting vegetation, and the small bones of animals that fell down here and died. Slimy things slither past my fingers. Sharp objects poke into my hands.

The torch beam disappears for a moment, then comes back. I duck to the side just as he fires his gun. That's his plan: wait for me to step into the moonlight as I look for my gun, then shoot me.

I shrink against the wall, out of his reach, and my leg touches something soft. It's a body. Dr. Moya is slumped against a rock. I put a hand to his throat and feel a pulse. He makes a small moan and says something in Spanish. I'm glad he's still alive, but I have no idea how I'm going to be able to help him.

Esteban's shadow is visible in the circle of light cast on the water by the moon. His roaming flashlight beam falls on the ladder and inspects the area around its feet. He can't wait much longer, because I could go deeper into the caves. I might get lost and die, but there's a small chance I'd find another way out, or be able to outlast his patience.

He's not going to let that happen.

What he can't comprehend is that there's no way I'm leaving Moya alone right now. That's my biggest weakness. But whatever kind of sociopath Esteban is, he doesn't see that.

The ladder shakes as he takes his chances that I haven't found my gun yet. I haven't. I keep digging into the horrible ooze to no avail. It's most likely right in the moonlit middle of the water, where I can't search.

Esteban is the only one that's armed right now. And I think he's past the point of making my death look like an accident.

He takes another step, then pauses, pivots and points his torch into the dark recesses of the cave. I pull a rock free from the bottom and throw it across the pool.

Esteban fires at the moving target, but then he realizes the trick and aims at the direction it came from.

I'm still out of range for now. Unfortunately, there's nowhere behind me to go. If I want to move, I have to run through the light. Which would be suicide.

Still on the ladder, he has the higher ground.

Normally that would be an advantage . . .

He descends to the next rung.

I think.

What makes him vulnerable?

Gravity.

I run for the ladder.

I leap into the air and kick it with both feet.

The bottom of it buckles, gets knocked free from the ground, and slides out from underneath him. I hit the water on my side and roll free as the ladder comes toppling down. Esteban falls the full thirty feet and slams into the rocks. There's a sickening crack followed by a splash. His screams are muffled by the water as his head goes under for a moment.

Broken, sprawled out, he flails. I stagger to my feet, ignoring my bruised hip, and pry the gun from his fingers. He lets out a howl as he tries to lift himself on his broken arm. I pistol-whip him unconscious so I can find my gun before he does. It's a savage thing to do, but this is a matter of survival.

“Remind me to stay on your good side,” says a weak, but alert, Dr. Moya.

I cross over to him and grimly smile in the moonlight before probing his arms and legs for broken bones. “Who is he?”

“A policeman, I believe. He looked familiar.”

“Seriously?” I was hoping the badge was a fake. Now I've done it. This is even worse than I thought. I may have just killed another cop.

E
STEBAN IS A
dirty cop. They're like cockroaches: where there's one, there's more. I've met some hardworking Mexican police who risk their lives every day to bring justice, but all it takes is a few corrupt ones and you no longer know whom to trust—the whole system falls apart. I've got nowhere to run.

Esteban had kicked Moya down the ladder just before I got there. Fortunately for the professor, he landed on his arm and got only a mild concussion. Esteban himself is in slightly worse shape. He shattered a leg, his arm, and at least one rib.

I right the ladder to fetch some materials from Moya's SUV so I can make a splint for his sprained arm before helping him up out of the hole. I wrestle with leaving Esteban at the bottom of the cave. It would be the safest course of action, but it's not a moral or an ethical one.

My phone still isn't working, so I can't call for backup. If I leave him, he'll probably be alone for hours before any help can be sent back to him. His wounds are severe enough that he could die.

I couldn't live with that.

My only choice is to use the winch on Moya's SUV to pull Esteban up. I sling the cable under his arms, padding it with a blanket. Moya controls the motor as I guide Esteban's body up the ladder. He screams bloody murder before passing out, which makes the most difficult part a little easier.

With Moya covering him with his own gun, I put Esteban's arm and legs in a splint using duct tape and broken branches. To be safe, I handcuff his free wrist to a handle in the back of Moya's SUV.

“If he moves, hit him,” I tell Moya, who is now sitting in the passenger seat, as I turn the ignition.

“Gladly.” Moya is holding up better than I expected.

“Where's the nearest hospital?”

“There's one in Tixato, but there might be a problem . . .”

“Right. It's next to the police station?” I recall. “That's a little inconvenient.”

“
Si
. Most of them are good men, though.”

“But we don't know which ones he knows. We also don't know who he's working for. Hell, I don't even know why he wanted to kill me.”

“He was after you?” Moya gives an exaggerated sigh. “There's a small mercy for me.”

“How far is the next hospital?” I ask.

“About thirty miles.”

“Damn. They could be waiting.”

“How do you know?”

“It's what a good cop would do. Or a bad one. If Esteban was supposed to do this for someone else, they'll be expecting a report telling them that it's taken care of. When it doesn't come, they'll know something went wrong.” I check my phone again for a signal. I still can't get through. “Does your phone work?”

“It got broken in the fall.”

“How about Esteban's?”

Moya reaches into the backseat and rifles through the barely conscious Esteban's pockets. The old man is tough. He barely grunts as he makes the effort. “I found two.”

“Of course. One's a burner.”

He checks them both. “Neither seem to be working right now.”

“What is it with the cell phone signal around here?”

“Sometimes it goes down. I've heard the gangs will take out towers when they want to keep the police away.”

I slam the steering wheel. “Christ!” I can't call Ailes for help, and I can't go to the police.

We reach the end of the dirt road and get on the highway. I head north, more out of instinct than any logical reason. Almost midnight, the road is deserted. There aren't any streetlights, so Moya's headlights provide the only illumination other than that from the clouded moon. Another car could be ten feet behind me and I'd never know.

As we drive I try to think of a plan. I need to get both of them medical assistance. If I find a working phone I can call for help then leave them to be found. The trouble lies in trying to track down a landline this late and in this day and age.

“What was that?” Moya breaks my concentration.

“What?” I stare into the darkness beyond the road.

“Something went past the window. Like a big bat.”

“Maybe it was a big bat? You said they live around here.”

“Not that big. Maybe I'm delirious,” he replies and shakes his head.

“You holding up okay?” I ask. I'd never even asked my grandfather that at the airport. Do people have to be physically hurt in front of me for me to notice their pain?

“I've done worse. I'm getting too old to be stumbling around in caves.”

“You're not going to make it out of here,” Esteban says weakly from the back. “There's no place to go.” His hoarse voice is full of pain.

“Who are you working for?”

“It doesn't matter. We're all dead now.”

“I can get you help.”

He laughs faintly. “You can't even make a call.”

“Tell me what this is about. We can make a deal.” I angle the rearview mirror so I can see him and keep my attention on the road.

“There aren't any deals. None of us will see dawn.”

“They're going to kill you because you screwed up?”

“Essentially,” he replies.

I try to push him into giving up more information. “So how's it feel to know you're about to die?”

He raises his head and looks out the window. “For what it's worth, sister, my heart was never in killing you, I hope you know that. I didn't have much of a choice.”

“Who? Who put you up to this, Esteban?”

He doesn't respond.

“If you think you're going to die, why not tell me?”

“If I keep my mouth shut, I'll get a merciful death. They'll leave my family alone.”

“What did Moya see outside?”

“A bat,” replies Esteban.

“Bullshit.” He's hiding something. I'm on the verge of pulling over and aggressively interrogating him.

“Bat . . .” He lets outs a laugh. “They're watching us. Right now, men are on their way to kill you. You won't even make it to the next town.”

There's a small glow in the distance. “Is that the town?”

“No,” says Moya. “It's a bodega. A market with a little kitchen. A woman and her father run it. They live in the back.”

I pull into the parking lot. It's a small cinder-block cube of a building. The front is tiled? plastered? with a rainbow of signs for sodas and candy. The only opening I can see is the glass door, its exterior covered with metal bars. The inside is dark.

“Can you walk?” I ask Moya.

“Yes, I'm good. I think my arm is only bruised. I will get the key for the store.”

Moya returns with the confused woman and her father. They see Esteban in the back of the SUV, and Moya gives them an explanation that's too rapid-fire for me to know if he's telling the whole truth.

I write down Ailes's number on my business card. “Go with them. Don't go to a hospital. Go to a friend's house and try to call this number from there.”

“What about him?” He points a thumb at Esteban.

“He's staying with me.” I look to the dark sky. “Hurry before their bat-thing sees you.” It may be nothing. It might be a drone.

After helping me to drag Esteban into the store, Moya talks the reluctant woman and her father into taking him to a safe place. I park the SUV behind the back of the store so it's not visible from the road.

Esteban could be all talk about roadblocks and other people coming after me, but I don't want to take the chance. If I come across a roadblock, they will gun me down before I can slam on the brakes. It's also too dark and there are too many dangerous curves in the roads. I don't know my way around here.

My safest bet seems to be hunkering down in a secure place. The bodega looks like a World War II pillbox if you ignore the flashy posters and colors. I decide we're better off waiting for help in here than out in the open.

I bolt the main glass door from the inside and drag a refrigerated case in front of the opening, then I push the freezer from the kitchen across the store's back entrance. To see out, I use a screwdriver I find in a toolbox under the counter to scratch holes in the poster that obscures the glass above the refrigerator case. Finally, I yank the racks from the shelves and wait.

Esteban slumps in the corner, silently watching me.

Just as I feared, forty minutes later I hear a truck pull into the gravel parking lot in front of the store. Through one of my poster holes, I spy five men in army fatigues climb out. A second pickup
truck, with a heavy machine gun mounted to the bed, parks directly across from the front door.

A voice calls over a loudspeaker in accented English. “Agent Blackwood? Are you okay?”

“Looks like you've been rescued,” says Esteban.

I give him a sharp look. If this is the cavalry, why do I feel like I'm an Indian?