The Lawless Kind (19 page)

Suddenly he lifted his gun. I didn’t flinch because he’d aimed it back at his SUV. He fired five shots, placing three in the front grill, two in the centre of the windshield. ‘There,’ he said, a cloud of cordite hanging in the air. ‘Looks like we were ambushed. Saves us answering any awkward questions about why we didn’t run you down. Now, get going. They arrive before you’re out of sight and I’m going to have to start shooting at you. I don’t trust your pal over there to miss if he shoots back.’

‘Trust me. He wouldn’t.’

He smiled again, a twinkle reflecting off his glass eye.

‘See you, Joe.’

‘Hope not,’ I said, and turned away.

Chapter 23

Jorge Molina’s benevolent mask had slipped, revealing the sadistic creature that Howell Regis always suspected lurked behind the thousand-dollar haircut and Botox. The fact that Molina’s was a base character was no revelation; in fact, Regis had counted on Molina’s brutish nature when first he’d groomed and then recruited the man to his scheme.

Having strangers invade his home and abduct his son wasn’t what had caused Molina’s rage so much as his soldiers’ inability to deliver the heads of those men to him. He was currently in one of the large meeting rooms screaming threats, punctuating his point with a punch or slap. Fearful of what lengths Molina would go to next his troops were rushing off in search of the interlopers, considering disappearing should they fail to bring back the heads of Joe Hunter and his friends.

After spotting and identifying Hunter and Rink out near the front gates, Regis had slunk back inside the mansion, to wait out the storm and to figure out how he was going to mollify Molina when the asshole turned his attention on him. There was only so long that Regis could keep up the mask of benevolence he wore and if Molina chose to get physical, well, fuck the scheme. In his belt he’d tucked his gun, and he wasn’t loath to place a round or two between Molina’s teeth if it came to it. There were plenty other egotistical little shits among the cartel bosses to be cajoled and manipulated into line. Still, for the time being it remained in his interest to reassure Molina that this slight hiccup should not throw a wedge between them, or disrupt the plan. Money, resources, and most of all time were an issue for Regis, or more correctly for those directing him.

The Mexican cartels were growing more powerful every day. Some of the smaller factions were still only loosely knit and involved in armed conflict with each other, while jostling for control of the lucrative routes into the US. But some, like the powerful Sinaloa cartel, were run with military precision and might. Molina’s outfit was small potatoes in comparison, but he’d affiliated his group with them. His father, Felix Eugenio Molina, remained an influential and respected voice, because he’d convinced the Sinaloa bosses to infiltrate and align themselves with the Mexican federal government and military, with a view to annihilating the rival groups, therefore controlling the multi-billion-dollar drug- and people-trafficking enterprises.

Now, the Sinaloa cartel was made up of so many defecting federal agents and military personnel, that should they dominate the other cartels they would be in position to launch a
coup d’état
against the federal government. If that day came, factions within the CIA wanted their own men at the helm. For years, in secret, Regis and other CIA agents had trained, supplied and sponsored cartel footsoldiers, while also preparing assets the likes of Jorge Molina to take positions of command in the new government.

When stumbling over Walter Hayes Conrad’s scheme to send his hitters into Molina’s household Regis had feared the worst, and had mobilised his team of hired mercenaries to halt them. Conrad was engaged in a different and opposing plot to destabilise the coyote gangs up north, and it had come as a surprise that the old bastard had placed Molina in his sights: why would he have to send Hunter to snatch Molina’s child? It didn’t make any sense to Regis. There was more to it than met the eye, and Regis wished now that he’d overheard more of Conrad’s discussion as he’d lurked outside the command module van, eavesdropping after the gunfight at the mine. At the time he’d been more concerned with discovering if his execution of the last of the coyotes had raised any suspicion. Regis hadn’t killed the man in cold blood to cover Hunter’s part in the slayings, as he’d made out, but to shut the man up before he could blurt out anything more. ‘Please . . . I won’t tell anyone . . .’ the coyote had begun, and Regis was sure that he would have ended with, ‘that I’m working for you.’

Happily, neither Conrad nor Hunter had seen the execution as anything other than the cold-blooded actions of a CIA cleaner – something both had experienced in the past – and his involvement in the sponsoring of the coyotes hadn’t been uncovered. But he hadn’t been as pleased to hear the two men plotting an attack on Molina. If the plan to place their man at the head of the next government were derailed by the injudicious actions of a sub-division director unaware of the plot, it would be a blow to all involved. Regis’s own boss, Thomas Caspar, would blame him, and rather than give Regis the go-ahead to groom an alternative asset, he’d hand the task over to another agent better placed. Such an eventuality would spell the death of Regis’s career, and he’d be burned with impunity. Indeed, he could expect no less than another CIA cleaner to execute him as coldly as he had the coyote.

Through the walls he could hear that Molina’s apoplexy hadn’t diminished. Regis’s fantasy about shooting the man had never been serious. Kill Molina and he’d never get out of the house alive. Kill Molina and he’d be back to square one. It was important that he manoeuvre the scheme back on track. While Molina was blowing up a storm over his stolen heir he wasn’t concentrating on the major issues at hand: snatching the reins of control from his father, and securing his place at the head of the cartel. Felix Eugenio Molina had the ear of Joaquin ‘El Chapo’ Guzman, leader of the mighty Sinaloa cartel, not to mention Mexico’s most-wanted man, and it would not do for his ill health to jeopardise his influence before Jorge was in position to take his father’s place. Cancer and Alzheimer’s disease were dual time bombs, and Regis had no idea how much time was left on the clock.

He thought he might have a solution to the problem.

If he helped recover the little brat, it would calm Molina and bring him back to the negotiating table with a clearer head and considerable gratitude. What better way to have Jorge in his pocket than have the man indebted to him for bringing back his son?

He took out his cell phone and punched in buttons.

At the other end a man answered curtly.

Regis didn’t bother with formalities, he simply went into business mode – after all, that was the language mercenaries understood.

‘There’s a change in instructions if you’re interested in naming a price. Yes, indeed. That is agreeable. Good, then we have a deal?’

Receiving an affirmative, he smiled, his face taking on the death’s-head grin that so perturbed those who saw it.

‘Bring back the child,’ he said. ‘Oh, one more thing, Marshall. I will pay double – call it a bonus – if you also bring back the heads of Kirstie Long and Joe Hunter. Their delivery is the only way to appease
Señor
Molina.’

Chapter 24

Ten miles north of Hermosillo wasn’t far enough from Jorge Molina’s house to feel safe, but it was where we’d earlier agreed to rendezvous. After our run-in with Marshall, Rink had led me back to our car, while I checked the route behind us in case we’d picked up a tail. All seemed clear and Rink drove us away from the hillside, avoiding the main routes, until we discovered a highway out of the city, leaving behind both the police and Molina’s soldiers. It took the best part of two hours from blasting our way out of the compound until we arrived at the meeting place: a parking lot at the rear of a derelict diner that was a dilapidated, graffiti-scored eyesore on the roadside.

Harvey was first out of the panel van when we pulled in alongside it. He seemed his usual cool self, but couldn’t hold the mixed emotions in check. He was both relieved to see us alive and worried for what was still to come.

‘Jesus Christ, guys, don’t do that to me again.’ He came forward to grab each of us in a manly hug. ‘I was worried you hadn’t made it out.’

Slapping him on his shoulders, I said: ‘We made it. It was a close call, though.’

‘I can see that.’ He appraised my dishevelled state, taking in the blood, dirt and slivers of glass. I looked like crap but at least I wasn’t full of bullet holes. ‘The guys wanted to go back for you but I told them we had to keep to the plan . . .’

‘That’s exactly what you should’ve done,’ I reassured him.

‘Wasn’t an easy decision.’

Velasquez and McTeer joined us, and hands were shaken and shoulders slapped. The guys had done as asked and all had ended well.

‘OK,’ Rink said, ‘now we have to get moving again. We need Kirstie and Benjamin in the car with you guys; me and Joe will take the van.’

If the panel van was being tracked it was time to dump it. The car Rink had purchased was large enough for the three men, woman and child, plus the few pieces of clothing, supplies and equipment they required. We could now replace the van with something less obvious. Time was an issue, but there was something I wished to do first.

‘Just give me a minute with Kirstie.’ I caught a brief glance from Rink, but he knew I wasn’t planning on ‘canoodling’ with Kirstie again, I only wished to check on her and the boy. He nodded at the others to give me some space. They walked away a short distance, while Rink related what had happened after the gates were rammed and they took off. Old soldiers love to tell and hear war stories.

Feeling some trepidation, and with no idea why, I opened the back doors of the van and looked inside. Kirstie was lying down on a bed of jackets, her small son held in the protective circle of her arms. She was murmuring to him, but as the doors swung wide she blinked up at me. Her face was a pale oval in the dimness, but her grey eyes – sparkling with tears of relief – shone. I climbed inside and went towards her, sinking to my knees despite the prickle of glass against my skin, and peered down at the boy.

‘How is he?’

‘He’s fine. Sleeping naturally now.’ Kirstie used her fingertips to brush a stray dark curl off Benjamin’s forehead. How often had she repeated the gesture since taking Benjamin in her arms? Many times, I guessed.

I raked through my pockets and came out with the bottle I’d grabbed from the nightstand in Benjamin’s bedroom. ‘Either Jorge or someone else was feeding him this.’

Kirstie’s features relaxed as she eyed the bottle. It was as I’d assumed: the formula was nothing more sinister than a paracetamol suspension, a syrup used to treat pain and fever in small children and infants. This was further confirmed when Kirstie drew down Benjamin’s bottom lip to show where his gums appeared red and swollen.

‘He woke up as we were driving here. I . . . I’m not sure that he remembers me. It’s been so long, Joe. How do we ever get those years back? How do I become his mother again?’

‘Love.’ My answer stated the obvious, but what more was there to say? ‘He’ll get to know you soon enough, Kirstie. Once you’re home the bond will grow again. Trust me.’

‘Do you have children?’

I shook my head. I’d never been as lucky.

‘You were married, though, weren’t you? Harvey said you and your wife split up.’

‘We did. I was married to Diane for fourteen years. Sadly, things didn’t work out as we’d planned.’

‘She didn’t love you?’

‘Quite the opposite. She loved me too much to stick around and watch me self-destruct. She couldn’t take the violence that constantly surrounded me. She didn’t want to end up a widow.’

‘Do you miss her?’

‘With all of my heart. There isn’t a day goes by when I don’t think about her. Sometimes it’s just for a second or two: I’ll see a face in a crowd that reminds me of her, or someone says something that brings her face to mind.’

‘Is there any chance that . . .’

‘We’d get back together? No. Diane has a new husband. She’s happier with the arrangement than I am, to be honest.’

‘But you’ve moved on, right?’

‘Yeah.Took me a while. I found someone else, but then I lost her too.’ I had no desire to go over the past. It hurt too much.

‘Kate Piers,’ Kirstie said. ‘Harvey told me about how she was killed.’

‘Harvey seems to have told you quite a lot.’

‘Don’t blame him; I wanted to learn more about you. He also told me that you and Imogen were together for a while. Imogen was Kate’s sister, right?’