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  Across from him the door to his office opened, one half of the sliding doors parting, moving silently on its rollers. A gap no more than a foot wide appeared and a long leg slid through, followed by the lithe figure of a young girl, a satin black shift clinging to her.

  She pushed the door shut behind her the moment her body passed through it, walking one hip at a time into the room.

  “There has still been no word from Lita,” Viktor said, fighting to keep his voice neutral, to not let the old man hear his distaste. His gaze danced over the girl as she stood there, her long hair hanging down in dark waves, her nipples erect beneath the light material.

  “And?” Sergey demanded.

  “I sent Pavel up yesterday to deal with it. I have not yet heard from him, but-“

  “Pavel will take care of it.”

  The intent of the statement was clear, but Viktor let it slide, his mind preoccupied with the girl across from him. He watched as she pressed the back of her thighs into the armchair across him and slid her body onto it, her skin standing in stark contrast against the dark material.

  “You are right, Uncle,” Viktor said. “Pavel is a good man. I can trust him.”

  If not for the preoccupation in front of him, the words would have tasted putrid on his tongue. He shook his head even as he said them, angry at what his position had been reduced to.

  “Yes, he is,” Sergey said. “And you can.”

  A moment of silence passed, Viktor staring at his prize, knowing she was just moments away.

  “Is that it?” Sergey asked a second time.

  “Yes, that is it,” Viktor said, leaning forward in the chair, smiling at the girl, a ravenous glint in his eye.

  “Same time next week then,” Sergey said. “And try not to be late.”

  The call cut away to dial tone as Viktor pressed his palms into the desk and rose to a standing position. He placed the phone back in its cradle, already forgetting the pointed barb his uncle threw at him to close the conversation, and peered down at the girl.

  “Now who, might I ask, are you?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hutch got me on an Air Force flight out of Andrews at five o’clock in the morning, the last man on a bird packed tight with navy grunts headed to San Diego. Most of them looked like they hadn’t been done at Annapolis more than a day or two, their faces unlined, their hair still buzzed ridiculously short.

  My title for making it onto the plane, and for the duration of my investigation, was as an Official Consultant to the DEA. I was given a badge identical to the one I’d carried five years before and told to wear a tie, shuffled right back into the rank and file like I had never left.

  The only two differences were that I wasn’t being paid and I got to keep my hair. The first one I agreed to without a fight, the second one Hutch did the same.

  Neither of us had the time or inclination to sweat the small stuff.

  Given the three hour time difference between the coasts, I landed into San Diego at eight a.m., three hours after takeoff. A sedan was waiting for me when I arrived, a perk of having one of the ranking officials in the Administration calling in favors. A brand new agent was waiting for me when I stepped off the plane, his black suit and sunglasses making him obvious amidst a sea of sailors in uniform.

  A formal introduction and exchange of handshakes was the sum total of our interaction as we piled into the generic black car and drive away, both of us lost in our thoughts. Me, still trying to piece together everything that was happening, determine my next move. Him, no doubt pissed about pulling the grunt duty of having to go and pick me.

  With traffic it took us a little over an hour to make the trip across the desert, the morning sun burning away the overnight dew and promising to bring another warm day with it, regardless what the calendar said. In silence, we pulled up in front of the DEA Southwest Headquarters and I climbed out, waving thanks to a car already pulling away from the curb.

  Bag in hand, I took a quick look at the place, the image exactly as I remembered it from five years before, down to the size and shape of the bushes lining the front.

  Government spending at its finest.

  A pretty young SoCal blonde smiled at me as I entered, giving me a quick up-and-down as she did so. I couldn’t help but notice the smile didn’t make it all the way to her eyes, apparently my shaggy hair and airplane rumpled clothes not meeting her approval.

  “Good morning, how may I help you?”

  “Yeah, my name is Jeremiah Tate. I’m here to see Mia Diaz,” I said, glancing past her to the corridor extended out through the middle of the building. Despite the hour many of the offices stood dark, the home bases to agents out working in the field. A small handful of staff could be seen passing between the others, most staring down at papers while they walked, the mood somber.

  From where I stood, I could not hear a single voice.

  “One moment, please,” she said, lifting a phone from the desk and bringing it to her ear. She struck a sequence of keys and whispered into the receiver before nodding and returning it to its cradle.

  “She’ll be out in just one second,” the girl said, the smile a little wider.

  Keeping my bag in hand, I took a step back and waited. In most government buildings, a second meant I could be waiting upwards of a half hour. From what little I knew about Mia Diaz, it was more likely to be a nanosecond.

  She didn’t disappoint.

  My gaze had not yet done a complete lap of the foyer before the determined click of heels against a tile floor echoed down the hall. I turned to face a tall, striking woman marching towards me in a grey pant suit with blue v-neck t-shirt under it, her hair pulled back behind her. As she walked forward she stuck a hand out towards me and said, “Hawk.”

  “Diaz,” I replied, returning the shake.

  “Please, right this way.”

  She turned on a heel and led me back in the direction she’d came, a few faces appearing in doorways as we marched onward. I set my attention forward and ignored the stares as we went, careful not to let on that I even sensed their presence.

  I wanted to believe there was no reason for anybody to be curious about my arrival, though I could imagine any number of stories had floated through the halls since my departure.

  Diaz led me to a door standing open and slid to the side of it, motioning me onward. I passed through with a nod of thanks and waited as she shut the door behind us, circling around me to her desk.

  The last time I was in the office, it was occupied by Hutch, not long before our final meeting in the trailer a few miles east of where we now stood. The same blonde wooden desk faced the room, dividing it in half, with the same dented metal shelves lining the wall above it. A steel filing cabinet stood in the corner, every item in the place replete with a metallic serial number sticker on it. The only things that had changed in the entire room were the knickknacks strewn about and the condition of the desk.

  Hutch was a notorious slob, letting papers pile up for months. Diaz didn’t have a stray item anywhere.

  “Please, have a seat,” she said, unbuttoning her jacket and dropping down into her chair.

  I lowered my bag to the floor and did the same, settling into a plastic chair that was too narrow, pinching my hips and ribs. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

  “Not at all,” she said, shaking her head. “As I’m sure you noticed on the way in, there’s been quite a bit of speculation about you around here for a long time. Seeing you walk through that door is like viewing Bigfoot in the wild.”

  I smirked at the analogy, my head rocking back a few inches. “So you’re telling me most people here didn’t believe I existed?”

  “Quite the contrary,” Diaz said. “I think most people were fearful that you really did, that it was all true.”

  I nodded once in understanding. That explanation made a lot more sense.

  “I apologize if Hutch strong-armed you into bringing me on,” I said. “I recognize
this is your house now. I’m not here to get in your way, just maybe poke around at some things I’m sure you don’t have the staff or time for.”

  Diaz pursed her lips in front of her and tilted her head to the side, considering the statement. “We’re overworked and undermanned, the standard government protocol, I won’t deny you that. Depending on what you’ve got though, I might be inclined to jump in with you.”

  My eyes narrowed a bit as I glanced over at her, the situation beginning to make sense. I had anticipated being met with open hostility, bringing with me a potential hornet’s nest that could consume an outpost of this size. To avoid all that, Hutch had simply not told her why I was en route.

  Whether that was a gift or a death sentence, I was about to find out.

  “So he didn’t tell you?”

  “Just that it was very big, and that I would definitely be interested,” she said, lifting her palms towards the ceiling before dropping them just as fast.

  My shoulders raised in a quick shrug and I said, “It’s big alright, but whether you find it interesting or end up wishing we’d never met remains to be seen.”

  Any sense of levity receded from Diaz’s features as she stared back at me. She raised her right hand and curled her fingers back towards herself, motioning for me to continue.

  I had already given her fair warning, so I dove right in. I told her about Lita, about Mateo Perez, about a man currently in lock up in West Yellowstone and Hutch on his way to see him now. I told her everything, encapsulating the entire story in under three minutes, hitting every high point without going into excessive detail.

  When I was done I fell silent, watching her digest the information, her face retreating into a stony mask. I waited a full two minutes for her to say anything, glancing up every so often as she set her gaze on the door behind me and put together everything I’d just said in her head.

  When she finally spoke, her words surprised me. She didn’t lash out and demand answers. She didn’t challenge me on any points. She didn’t even ask me any immediate follow-up questions.

  Instead she said, “Mateo Perez voluntarily walked out of witness protection two weeks ago. It was against our strong advice, but he did so anyway.”

  “Any idea why?” I asked.

  “Some guesses, nothing concrete.”

  I nodded. “Any reason to believe his location had been compromised?”

  “He seemed to think so.”

  I arched an eyebrow at her, awaiting an explanation, but she waved a hand at me, letting me know we would get to it later. I could venture a pretty substantial hypothesis as to what she was thinking and why she refused to say it out loud, nodding my understanding.

  “What kind of parameters did Hutch give you for my being here?”

  “None,” Diaz said, shaking her head from side to side. “He said your official position was as a consultant. I could give you as much assistance as I wanted, but I wasn’t to obstruct you in any way.”

  “Something tells me he didn’t put it quite so eloquently.”

  “Either help him or stay the hell out of his way,” Diaz replied, making air quotes with her fingers as she did so.

  “Nice.”

  “He also made some quote about hunting griz, but I didn’t quite catch that one,” she added with a shrug.

  The corner of my mouth tracked up, though the smile didn’t make it all the way across. “Movie quote. Long story.”

  “Ah,” Diaz said, nodding. “That makes two you’ll have to tell me then.”

  The corner retreated back down into place as I stared at her, knowing what she was alluding to. It was a story I replayed in my mind every night, but not one I was especially fond of retelling.

  Had not done so once in five years, in fact.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Those are my terms,” Diaz said. “Truth is I don’t appreciate having the brass call in and dictate down to me, but in this case I could use the outside eyes. And the fact that I won’t have to babysit you, even if you are a few years out of the game, helps a lot.”

  I nodded, rolling the proposal around in my head. Given the situation, my showing up at a moment’s notice, asking to parachute in with something that could be paradigm changing for the entire region, it was more than fair.

  I knew for a fact Hutch wouldn’t have responded so well had the same thing been imposed on us. Damned sure knew I wouldn’t have either.

  “Done,” I said, nodding. “Not right now, but before it’s over.”

  Diaz nodded in agreement, folding her hands together atop her stomach. “Okay then, where to start?”

  “Hutch is in Yellowstone working on Lita and her mystery brother, so that leaves us with Mateo. I assume you’re still keeping tabs on the Juarez’s?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  A hulking guard in a tan shirt and brown slacks led Carlos Juarez down a narrow corridor, every breath sounding labored as he pushed it out through his nose. The equipment strapped to his belt jangled with each step he took, a cacophony that reminded Carlos exactly where he was, where he never wanted to be again.

  The walk ended abruptly at the end of the hallway with a single inward-swinging door, the top half of it made from glass crisscrossed with chicken wire. On the opposite side of it Carlos could see a room split in two equal parts, a clear plastic divider bisecting the space. On one side sat two women, each perched on stools. Several feet separated them, both holding phones to their ears and peering across at young men in grey canvas pants and matching short-sleeved button downs.

  “Go on in,” the guard said, each word jumbled together, a complete lack of enunciation. “Take the far left stool. He’ll be out in a minute.”

  Carlos nodded and grabbed the door handle, sliding into the room. A negative energy seemed to hit him as he stepped inside, a combination of fear and nervousness, the smell of body odor and sweat in the air. Neither of the women glanced his way as he walked past, toning down his usual swaggering gait, averting his gaze from the two inmates sitting on the other side of the divider. He settled himself down onto a squat round stool with a cushioned top, his knees folded up towards his stomach, and waited.

  Two minutes after taking his seat, the door in the far back corner of the room opened and his cousin shuffled through. There were no cuffs or chains on his wrists or ankles, but his posture seemed to indicate he was used to wearing them, everything bunched up tight, not moving more than a few inches.

  Carlos stood as his cousin made his way to the corner, extending a fist to the plastic and pressing his knuckles against it. A faint smile crossed his cousin’s face as he extended his own hand, reaching out slowly, as if he were afraid the imaginary cuffs would restrain him, and returned the gesture.

  Manuel Juarez was older than Carlos by three years in real world terms, though he had always carried himself in a way that made him seem much older. His time inside had done nothing but exacerbate the chasm between them, his movements slower, his mannerisms more reserved.

  As the two settled onto their respective stools and took up the phone receivers on the wall beside them, Carlos couldn’t help but feel he was staring at a man twenty years his senior. Lines now encased his cousin’s mouth and eyes. Grey hairs permeated his hair and goatee. A sense of weariness hung around him like a cloud.

  “Good to see you, Manny,” Carlos said, forcing a smile.

  “Yeah, you too,” Manny replied, nodding. He didn’t bother to return the smile, letting Carlos see the worry on his face. “You know you shouldn’t be here though, Cuz. It isn’t safe.”

  “It isn’t safe anywhere right now,” Carlos said, the smile retreating from his features. He pressed the receiver as tight as he could to his mouth and whispered, “They found Mateo.”

  Manny pulled the phone away from his face and dropped it on the counter in front of him. He looked away to the side and ran a hand across his forehead, his mouth turned down in a frown.

  After a long moment he picked the phone up and stared
back at Carlos. “When?”

  “The package arrived two days ago. Doing the math, I’m guessing a week, week and a half.”

  “Shit,” Manny whispered, extending the word out several times its usual length. “Did he go up north, like he said he would?”

  Carlos glanced back over his shoulder. The two women on his side of the room were both engrossed in their conversations, each one staring straight ahead. The elderly woman seemed to have tears in her eyes while the younger one looked to be just seconds from exploding.

  Behind him was a sheet of one-way glass extended across most of the room, a cadre of guards on the other side watching his every move.

  “I don’t know,” Carlos said, shaking his head. “I assume so. It was what we always agreed.”

  Manny nodded, glancing up past Carlos towards the glass behind him. “Yeah.”

  Carlos rose an inch off the stool and adjusted himself, lowering back down on to it. He leaned his upper body in another few inches and said, “What do you want me to do?”

  A long moment of silence passed as Manny stared at the glass, shaking his head.

  “Cuz?” Carlos asked, his voice low, probing.

  Still, Manny stayed locked in his thoughts, no response.

  “Cuz!” Carlos spat in an urgent whisper, drawing a quick look from the elderly women to his right.

  The word seemed to snap Manny awake, causing him to blink several times, shifting his gaze back to Carlos. “Worst thing we ever did was enter that partnership.”

  “I know,” Carlos whispered, bobbing his head, “but we didn’t have a choice. You know that.”

  “Didn’t we?” Manny said, the right side of his face twisted up in disbelief. “What if we hadn’t? Everybody would be alive? I’d still be in here?”

  Carlos leaned back a moment and ran his free palm down the length of his thigh. More than once he had considered the same question, often coming to the same conclusion as Manny. He himself might also be in jail if they hadn’t gone through with it, but given the losses they’d taken in the time since, it might have been worth it.