Authors: Andrew Peterson
Franco wasn’t completely devoid of compassion. He knew this woman was terrified beyond all control. He had the power to ease her fear or enhance it.
“I know you’re frightened, but I’m not going to rape you. All I want is information. Now I’m only going to say this one more time. If you scream or try to run, I will hurt you. Do you understand?”
The woman nodded.
“I’m going to uncover your mouth.”
“Please, I don’t have much money in the house.”
“I’m not here for your money. I want you to sit on the edge of the bed and answer my questions. Do you think you can do that?”
She nodded.
“Don’t try anything stupid. If you attempt to run, you’ll be punished. Now please sit down.”
The woman complied, keeping her legs together with her hands in her lap.
“Where is your husband? You’re married, yes?”
“I don’t know where he is.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“He left yesterday morning.”
“Did he say when he’d return?”
“Tonight,” she said, but it sounded forced.
“Please don’t lie to me.”
“He said it might be a few days.”
“So he didn’t tell you where he was going?”
She shook her head.
“Where does he work?”
“At embassies.”
“Your husband works at embassies? In Managua?”
“Yes.”
“Which ones?”
“Mostly United States and Canada.”
“What does he do at the embassies?”
“I don’t know. He never talks about his work.”
Franco turned on the nightstand light; he wanted to see her face more clearly. That’s when he saw it, a small framed photo. He stared in shocked disbelief, then picked it up.
“This is your husband?”
“Yes.”
“This guy, right here.” He pointed to a clean-shaven man with a full head of dark hair standing next to several US Marines in dress blues.
“Yes.”
Viper!
Franco felt his stomach twist. “Was Pastor Tobias your husband’s father?”
“Yes.”
“How long have you been married to him?”
“Twelve years.”
“How long has he worked at the embassies?”
“Seven years.”
“Does he work for the government?”
“I don’t know.”
“What
do
you know about his work?”
She wiped a tear and didn’t answer.
“I know you’re frightened, but you’re doing fine. You said he doesn’t talk about his work much. Have you overheard any of his phone calls, anything that might give you a clue about his work?”
“I’ve heard him talking about American and Canadian companies.”
“What kind of companies?”
“I’m not sure. Mining, I think.”
“Mining?”
“Yes.”
Intriguing.
“What else can you tell me?”
“I don’t know. He travels to America and Canada a lot. Sometimes he’s gone for weeks.”
“Do you think he’s up north now?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He didn’t pack for a long trip.”
“Is that your SUV in the garage?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of vehicle does your husband drive?”
“A truck.”
“A pickup? What color and make?”
“A tan Ford.”
“What is your security code to the house?”
She gave him the number.
“Does his office computer require a password?”
“I don’t know. He never lets me touch it.”
“What about you? What do you do for work?”
Her voice cracked again. “I’m a volunteer at the hospital. I also manage a nonprofit program there.”
Questioning this woman further would be useless. She was either a really good liar or she truly didn’t know much about her husband’s line of work. He had no desire to torture her in order to find out.
Franco pushed her backward and straddled her with his thighs. He pulled his handgun and struck her on the side of the head. The trick was hitting hard enough to cause unconsciousness but not hard enough to kill or cause permanent damage.
She managed a yelp of terror before going limp.
He eased off her and checked for a pulse. Faint, but present. He’d stay put a little longer to be sure the woman didn’t regain consciousness too quickly. He glanced at the TV. A black-and-white western showed a posse of mounted lawmen chasing a lone bad guy through a rocky canyon. The bad guy kept pivoting in his saddle and firing at his pursuers.
Franco pocketed her cell phone and left her bedroom.
Down the hall, he entered the office, closed the blinds, and turned on the desk’s light. He powered on the computer, and not surprisingly, he was greeted with a log-in password screen. He made several attempts to log in using common passwords, but the system locked up after five attempts. It was worth a try, but getting information out of his old kilo friend would have to be obtained the old-fashioned way—through an interrogation. Franco conducted a quick search of Estefan’s office, looking through file drawers and opened mail for anything that might shed light on the man’s profession. Verifying what his wife had said, he saw several textbooks on mining in a small bookcase.
Back at the door leading to the garage, he punched in the security code. The LED turned green.
He returned to the bedroom and hoisted the woman over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry technique. She felt light, no more than fifty kilograms. Hauling her through the house and out the sliding glass doors to the western edge of the property took less than a minute. Back in the garage, he grabbed one of the five-gallon gas cans he’d smelled earlier and returned to the master bedroom. He left it there and began scanning the ceiling for smoke detectors. He found four.
Using a chair from the dining room, he reached up to the ceiling and removed the battery from the kitchen’s detector. He repeated the procedure in the other three locations, including the garage. If the devices were wired into the security system, the fire department’s response would now be slower. Someone would have to see the fire and call it in. Because of the late hour, the house would probably be fully involved before anyone noticed it. Franco knew modern homes didn’t burn easily unless they had some help—such as an accelerant. The gasoline would speed things up nicely. To give the fire more oxygen, he opened some of the windows. Next, he located the attic access in the first bedroom and stood on the bed to push the cover up and aside.
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.”
“If he went into my house, he would’ve seen photographs of me.” Estefan pounded the steering wheel. “Shit!”
“We don’t know if he went inside. We don’t even know if he did this. Estefan, please slow down.”
“I had an argument with my wife before I left. We were mad at each other.”
“Estefan, slow down!”
“Okay! Damn it.”
Harv said, “Try not to assume the worst.”
“She would’ve called or left a message. ‘Hi, Estefan, how’s your business trip going? Oh, by the way, our house just burned down.’”
Nathan didn’t respond. Estefan was right. She would’ve called—assuming she could.
With Estefan’s permission, Harv took Estefan’s phone, put it on speaker, and played the voice mail message.
“This is Lieutenant Enrique Mauro of the Nicaraguan Police. There was a fire at your house this evening. Please call me back as soon as you can.”
The lieutenant left his number.
Harv opened the glove box. “Do you have a pen and paper in here?” Estefan didn’t answer, but Harv found what he needed, played the message again, and wrote the phone number.
“It’s probably best if you call back right away,” Nathan said. “If they suspect the fire was arson, the police will automatically put you on the short list of suspects. Is there any way it could be an accidental fire? Does your wife smoke?”
“We both smoke cigars, but she knows she’s not supposed to smoke in bed.”
“Please don’t take this wrong, but does your wife drink?”
Estefan didn’t answer right away. “Our marriage isn’t doing so well. I’m gone a lot.”
“Then she could’ve been drinking and fallen asleep with a lit cigar?” Nathan avoided using the term “passed out.”
“Cigars don’t keep burning like cigarettes do. They go out.”
“That’s true, but they burn for a while. All I’m saying is that we can’t rule it out as an accidental fire. Did your house have a security system or smoke alarms?”
“It has both. We also have a Rottweiler. The bastard probably killed my dog. He’d never get past him otherwise.”
“Again, we don’t know Raven did it,” Nathan said. “I’ll admit the timing’s bad, but it’s still not conclusive evidence. You should call the police back while we’ve still got a signal. Did you tell anyone you’d be out of town for a while? Anyone at work?”
“No. I really will be a suspect, won’t I.” It wasn’t a question.
“It’s standard practice for the police to look at family members.”
“And I’ll have no way to prove I didn’t do it. It’s not like you guys can come down to the station and vouch for me.”
“You don’t have to prove you didn’t do it. I’m assuming your justice system works like ours?”
Estefan didn’t say anything. His mind was clearly in turmoil over his father’s murder, his house burning down, and the uncertainty of his wife’s condition. This had to be tearing him up.
Harv said, “I’ll dial the number for you.” When it rang, Harv put it on speaker and handed the phone to Estefan. Not surprisingly, he got dumped into Lieutenant Mauro’s voice mail.
“This is Estefan Delgado calling you back. Please return my call as soon as you can.” Estefan recited his phone number twice.
“Okay,” said Nathan. “That’s good. Now we need to think about what you’re going to say. Can you tell him you went up north on business? You said the area around Santavilla is identified for potential leases. Can you say you came up here to look the area over?”
“I can do that, but I didn’t say anything about it at work.”
“I don’t think that’s a major problem,” Nathan said. “You can say it was a last-minute decision. Come to think of it, your cell phone might contain proof you weren’t in Managua when the fire broke out.”
Harv said, “I think the work-related angle’s a good approach, but we don’t want Estefan’s answers to sound too rehearsed. It might be best if you don’t have an answer for every question this Mauro might throw at you.”
“I agree.” Nathan said. “You weren’t in Managua when the fire started. Beyond that, you’ll just have to see where his line of inquiry goes.”
Estefan smacked the steering wheel again. “This fucking sucks!”
“We’ll get through it,” Harv said.
Nathan didn’t respond. There were times it was best to be silent. The next few miles seemed endless. They got stuck behind a semitruck and couldn’t pass. Nathan felt Estefan’s anger building.
When Estefan’s phone rang, it startled him. His nerves were frayed, exactly what Raven would want and hope to accomplish.
“That could be my wife. Give me the phone.”
“Pull over,” Harv said.
Estefan did the opposite. He laid on his horn, hit the gas, and recklessly passed the semitruck on a blind curve.
“Shit, man!” Harv said. “That was dangerous. Getting us all killed won’t help your situation.”
Nathan was more firm. “Don’t do it again.”
“Calm down,” said Harv, “and I’ll put your phone on speaker.”
“Harv, you hold the phone,” Nathan said.
Estefan turned his head and said, “Hello?”
“Is this Mr. Delgado?”
“Yes.”
“This is Lieutenant Mauro from the Nicaraguan National Police.”
“Is my wife okay?”
“That’s why I’m calling.”
Estefan clenched his jaw.
“Are you there, Mr. Delgado?”
“Yes.”
“Your wife is in the hospital. We found her in your backyard. She has a blunt-force head wound.”
“What are you saying, she’s alive?”
“Yes, she’s unconscious, and she’s in critical condition. The doctors don’t think she’s in danger of dying, but she might need surgery to relieve pressure on her brain. Her sister is at the hospital with her. You might want to be there as well.”
Estefan hit the steering wheel hard enough to break it. The pickup swerved.
Harv tapped him and silently mouthed the words “pull over.”
“Mr. Delgado, are you okay?”
Nathan leaned forward and poked Harv—hard.
“Mr. Delgado?”
Understanding Nathan’s silent prod, Harv ended the call.
“Estefan! Pull over,” Nathan yelled.
“That cocksucking son of a bitch! He didn’t have to hurt her!”
“Pull over.
Now!
”
Estefan cut the inside corner of a curve too closely and lost control. The pickup fishtailed into the oncoming side of the road.
Estefan recovered but too late. They grazed a barbed-wire fence, crossed back onto their own side, and ended up halfway in the ditch with the tailgate of their truck protruding into the road at an angle.
“Damn it, Estefan!” Nathan whipped around, looking for the semi they’d passed a few seconds ago. It would emerge from the blind corner at any moment. “Get us the hell out of here!”
In horror, Nathan watched the trees next to the road burst with light.
“Estefan!”
Two seconds later, piercing headlights barreled straight toward them.
The blat of the semi’s air horn penetrated their cab as the rig’s driver veered to the left to avoid hitting them.
The truck roared past, missing Estefan’s rear bumper by less than a foot.
In what seemed like slow motion, the semi’s left wheels found the shoulder.
The rig began leaning.
Rather than go straight into the tilled field, the driver tried to recover and stay on the road—a bad move with a worse result.
Nathan felt a glimmer of hope as the rig teetered on its left wheels. His optimism ended when he realized the trailer’s lateral momentum was too great, sealing the rig’s fate.
Rocks, dirt, and shredded plant life erupted as the overturned trailer plowed into the earth and came to a violent stop.
Estefan threw the pickup into four-wheel drive and backed onto the road.
Nathan knew he intended to flee the scene.
“No!” Nathan said. “We aren’t leaving until we know the driver’s okay.”
“He’s okay,” Estefan said and hit the gas.
“Harv!” Nathan yelled. “Make him stop!”
Harv reached over and grabbed the steering wheel. “Estefan, you either stop right now or we’re done.”
“Okay, damn it! Okay.”
Harv kept iron in his voice. “Now pull over onto the shoulder—safely.”
Nathan scanned the road in both directions but didn’t see any other vehicles. Because of the curvy terrain, there was no way to see more than fifty yards in either direction. A car could come up on them at any moment. Their only warning would be the headlight glow.
“Harv, go see if he’s okay. Double-time.”
“I’ll do it,” Estefan said with resignation. “We don’t want the driver to see either of you guys.”
Even though Estefan sounded calm, Nathan said, “We’re a little short on confidence right now.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“No BS, Estefan. We want the truth. Hang on a sec.” Nathan fished a bundle of cash from his backpack. “Tell him you’re sorry and give him the money. Stay on this side of his windshield and make voice contact only. Don’t let him see you. Get going. Turn on your flashers first.”
Nathan watched Estefan jump out and follow the fan-shaped swath of destruction. Even in the bleed light from Estefan’s headlights, Nathan noticed the truck’s exposed underbelly was caked reddish brown with road scum.
Nathan heard Estefan’s voice as he yelled to the driver, asking if he was injured. He didn’t hear a response. Estefan repeated his question.
“Nate, are we scrubbing?”
“I don’t know yet. Let’s see how Estefan recovers. He just learned his wife was bludgeoned and might need surgery. How would we feel?”
“The same way.”
“We’ll cut him some slack, but it’s not open ended. I just hope the driver’s okay. If his window was open, he might have a crushed arm, or worse.”
“I smell diesel, but I don’t think the rig’s going up. At least I hope not.”
“We aren’t leaving a seriously wounded man here. If we have to take him to a hospital, we’ll scrub the mission and head back to alpha.”
“Agreed. If the guy’s a wildcatter and doesn’t have insurance, we just bankrupted him.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that. Hop out and take a quick look at our tires. I’m too tall. If anyone drives by, they’ll remember my size.”
Harv was back five seconds later. “We’re good, but he’s got a ruined paint job from clipping the fence.”
Nathan was tempted to say Estefan deserved it. He watched his friend toss the bundles of cash in front of the rig’s windshield and hustle back to the pickup.
“He’s really pissed off, but he’s okay.”
Nathan waited.
“I swear! He told me he wasn’t hurt.”
“Okay, punch it. We don’t want him to get your license plate when we drive past.”
They drove in silence for a few seconds.
“Estefan, this will be difficult for you to accept, but we can’t go back into Managua.”
“What? Why the hell not?”
Nathan kept his voice even. “Whoever attacked your wife probably intended to kill you. We have no idea how many people were involved. If it was Raven, he might not have been alone. Even if all three of us had been there, there’s no guarantee we could have changed the outcome. We might all be dead. We also have to consider that your house and your office are now under surveillance by Raven.”
“So what do we do? Nothing?”
“The endgame is Raven, and we need to fight him on our terms. We need to slow down and think things through. I’m really sorry about everything that’s happened to you. I can’t imagine how you’re feeling right now.”
“I’d like to personally thank Raven for turning my world to shit
. . .
before I beat him to death with a tire iron.”
“All right, all right. Now listen, you aren’t going to accomplish that in Managua—for a lot of reasons. We need to set up an ambush and force him to come to us.”
“And how do you propose we do that?”
“By sticking to our plan. We can’t fight him in an urban environment. Your sister-in-law is with your wife. As brutal as this sounds, there’s nothing you can do besides sit at her bedside and hold her hand. Under different circumstances, a car wreck or other injury, sitting at your wife’s bedside wouldn’t be an issue, but our circumstances are anything but normal. Metaphorically, we’re in the middle of a battle. We can’t abandon our positions and go home. If we don’t nail Raven, your family will never be safe again.”