The Rules Of Silence (26 page)

The afternoon heat had driven them inside. The sun was now at forty-five degrees in a clear sky, nothing to block the heat until the horizon swallowed the light. Macias had yet to open the e-mail from Elías Loza. With an attachment. Something made him cautious, made him not tell Luquín what he had. He glanced at Luquín, who was pacing back and forth in front of the windows looking out onto the deck.

Macias opened the file. No message, which was odd. He opened the first attached picture file. The familiar allée of trees, the legs of people under the canopy of the trees standing in front of the guest cottage. Two men and a woman. He guessed the Cains and one of the technicians. The second picture file: a longer shot showing the two technicians on the veranda and the three people still at the front door of the cottage. There was another person in play now in addition to the technicians they already knew about. Third picture file: Loza’s camera concentrating on the unidentified man, who had left the Cains and started down the allée alone. Fourth and fifth picture files: taken from another position, not the retaining wall. The unidentified man at the edge of the woods, his left arm holding a cell phone. But the angle was bad, mostly from the back. The last shot showed the man glancing back as he entered the woods, just his eyes showing over the top of his hand, which was holding the cell phone.

Macias had been sitting with his elbow resting on the dining room table as he stroked his mustache with his index finger, thumb under his chin. His finger stopped. Everything that had been swirling around in his mind, so many of the details to be balanced in his scheme that he had been preparing for a full month, came to a sudden halt. All sensory perception evaporated except his sight, and his sight registered nothing but the eyes … and something vaguely familiar about them. Where had he seen these eyes before?

Chinga——!
What in the fuck was this? He looked up, glancing at Luquín, who was absently picking at a scab on the back of his hand and gazing out across the pool to the valley below and the hills beyond toward Cain’s house. He shot a glance at Roque, who was sitting to one side of the room, reading—well, looking at the pictures in—a copy of
People
magazine.

Macias went back to the photograph, just to confirm his sensation of something familiar. Shit, yes. But he didn’t know who this was. He didn’t know.

But it wasn’t necessary that he know who this was. The fact that he was there, the fact that he was leaving Cain’s property in secrecy, was a clear indication that something was going on behind the scenes. Something was cooking. They were not, after all, seeing everything that Cain had going on.

Unable to control it, Macias could feel the slow arrival of a dark, hairy fear. How had his people missed this? What was Luquín going to do when he heard about this? If they could believe what their bug had picked up, in twenty-four hours Tano would have his money. How was he going to react to this latearriving revelation that threw everything into question?

Could they believe the bug? Something was going on here. And how long had this unidentified man been working for Cain? Who was he talking to on the cell phone? What had he been doing in the guest cottage? Macias knew they had set up an electronic control room in there to deal with communications countermeasures, if nothing else. But what if there was something else? What if Macias was only hours away from an implosion here?

His mind was racing, hurtling ahead in an effort to anticipate what his situation might be, what his options might be. Was he too late? Just in time? Ahead of Cain’s game? What was Cain’s game? How good was his game?

Just then Macias’s incoming e-mail pinged again, startling him. From Loza. Another picture file. Only one. Macias opened it. It was a photograph of two men crossing the courtyard behind Cain’s veranda. Both men were carrying automatic weapons slung over their shoulders.

Macias sat very still, not wanting to attract attention to himself until he figured out what he was going to do. Why hadn’t Loza sent a message with the picture files? Had he been in a hurry? Had he been caught before he could send a message! Did Cain know that Loza had sent these? And to whom?

Did Cain really intend to pay up the money the next day in order to save lives? Or was this just a ploy to keep Luquín hanging around until they could move against him? Was Cain setting a trap?

Did Macias have time to turn things around, to salvage the situation?

The questions flew at him so fast, he felt he was experiencing the emotional equivalent of data overload. But in this case it was fear overload, and the threatening result was not a system crash, but uncontrollable panic.

He could save Luquín’s life by evacuating him right now. Just walk over to him and tell him, put him in the Navigator, and take him to the airstrip. He would be safe in Mexico in time to watch the evening news.

But did this unidentified man’s presence mean that it was all over? If Macias followed his own rules, yes. Any sign of a countering effort meant quitting the scheme. This was the fucking U.S., after all.

On the other hand, they were only hours away from collecting a damned fortune.

Macias immediately closed the Loza e-mails and erased them. He tried to clear his thoughts. Think. That guy could’ve been anybody. Just because he was there didn’t mean he was competent or accomplished at whatever it was he was doing. Didn’t mean he was a professional. Maybe Cain was trying to play Spy Man.

But what if this was a serious move? What if this was the endgame and Macias’s greed was clouding his reasoning? Both Macias and Luquín had agreed that the reward was worth the risk, but if it failed, well, then they had differing points of view. Luquín took every failure as a personal insult. As irrational as that was, it didn’t change the fact that he believed it.

And now, the arrival of bodyguards meant that Luquín’s order to kill Rita Cain was impossible in the short term.

The pressure for Macias was sudden and excruciating. Cayetano Luquín would have him killed for this one. If not immediately, then later, when Macias was least expecting it. Tano would see the failure of this operation—the loss of so much money—as an unforgivable betrayal.

Suddenly, getting Luquín out safely seemed less of a priority. In fact, it actually seemed like a stupid move.

This wasn’t a time for half measures. Everything had to be put on the table for consideration.

Chapter 42

The two fishermen had been maneuvering the bass boat along the northern bank of Lake Austin for half an hour, every so often putting in next to the cliffside woods, tying up temporarily to an overhanging tree and then casting their lures into the shade along the bank. The boat was covered with a canvas canopy to keep the searing afternoon sun off them as they dabbled along, heading in the direction of the looming steel arches of the Loop 360 bridge.

They were having lousy luck. The ski boats were active on this particular afternoon, roaring up and down the center of the long lake, throwing an endless series of swelling wakes toward the wooded shores. The fishermen stubbornly worked their way in the direction of the bridge, stoically tolerating the rolling action of their boat, casting uselessly into the thin margin of shadows thrown onto the water by the woods that crowded against the limestone cliffs.

Finally they tried one last spot. After tying up close to the bank, they pulled the boat under a thick shelter of oaks. From across the lake the boat was almost hidden, but no one noticed. The bass boat had been piddling along for three-quarters of an hour now, and all of the attention on the water was attracted to the skiers who blazed up and down in their lanes in the lake’s center. Summer afternoons on this part of the lake were given over to water sports that were louder and faster than fishing.

From the clifftop homes above, the bass boat hadn’t been visible at all for the last half hour.

The boat hugged its shady bower for nearly twenty-five minutes. The ski boats continued to plow liquid furrows in the lake, only to have them dissipate in swells that headed slowly for the shores in a lugubrious flight from the boats that had created them.

Finally the anglers had had enough. Slowly the boat emerged from overhanging vegetation under the high cliffs and moved out into the lake. After crossing to the other side, it turned southward and picked up speed as it headed downriver toward the main part of the city. Soon the boat was clipping along, wasting no time. It was too far from shore and moving too fast for anyone to see clearly under the deep shade of its canvas canopy. But anyone who had had the opportunity, or cared enough to follow closely the boat’s progress up, and now down, the river, would have made the curious observation that there seemed to be only one angler in the bass boat now.

When the telephone rang, Rita picked it up in Titus’s office, where she was still making calls about Carla.

“May I please speak to Mr. Cain? ”a man asked.

Rita froze. He had a Spanish accent. All of the planning, all of the tactical maneuverings, were taking place over secure transmissions. What was this? Was it unrelated? She threw a look at Janet, who was standing at the window.

“May I tell him who’s calling?”

“He’s expecting me.”

Another alarm bell.

“Just a second, ”she said, “I’ll have to connect you to his phone. ”She punched the hold button and spoke to Janet. “This is someone asking for Titus. Mexican accent. Won’t leave his name.”

“Just put him through, ”she said, and then she turned aside and spoke softly into her mike.

Herrin was tapping away on the laptop found in the orchard, with Titus and Cline looking over his shoulders. Cline, who was wearing headphones and a mike on a long cord, was the communications hub for everyone. He heard all transmissions among the bodyguards and all the phone calls.

“Uhhh … , ”Herrin said.

The three of them were looking at a picture of Rita just about as naked as anyone could be and still be wearing clothes. She was beautiful.

“Son of a bitch, ”Titus said. “How many of those are there?”

“Uhh … one other, ”Herrin said, closing the image.

“Let’s see it, ”Titus said, and Herrin hit the keys.

Unbelievable.

“Delete it, ”Titus said, “and keep going. ”Jesus Christ. He was furious, and uneasy with the creepy feeling that came over him as an image popped into his head of some guy crouching behind the stone wall taking nearly nude pictures of Rita.

Herrin’s fingers snapped over the keys in double time, as if to get the hell away from those images as fast as possible. Then he hit the ones he was looking for. Five shots. He went through them quickly, slowing on the last two. He threw them both on the screen at the same time. The three of them stared at the photos.

“I just don’t see how you could identify him from those,” Titus said.

“I guess that depends on what kind of software they’re going to use, ”Herrin said.

“Yeah, I guess so, ”Titus agreed. “But, right off the bat, I don’t see how this is any great revelation for them.”

The phone rang on the coffee table in front of the sofa. Surprised, Titus saw that it was coming from his office. He went over and picked it up. He glanced at Cline, who seemed to be listening to some other communication.

“Titus, ”Rita said, “this is some guy with a Spanish accent for you. Wouldn’t give his name.”

“Did he say what he wanted?”

“He said you were expecting the call.”

Titus turned to Cline, who was already nodding at him and heading for the digital trace-and-record setup sitting on folding tables against one wall.

“Titus, I’m coming over, ”Rita said. “I want to hear this.”

Before he could object she disconnected, and he glanced at Cline.

“She can use those headphones over there, ”Cline said, pointing at the other end of the table. “We’re good to go.”

Titus punched the button on the phone.

“This is Titus.”

“My name is Jorge Macias. I believe you know about me already.”

Titus, stunned, said nothing.

“I think you do, ”Macias said. “I want you to know that I am taking a deadly risk by making this call to you. I have to meet with you, Mr. Cain. We have to talk.”

Another pause. Titus didn’t know what to say. The cottage door flung open and Rita and Janet came in. Herrin caught them, cautioned them to be quiet, and guided Rita to the headphones across the room.

“I don’t know who you are, ”Titus said. “What’s this about?”

“Listen to me, ”Macias said. “There is no time to play games here. Your situation is critical. Things … out of my control, are happening. Things that were not anticipated. We are now in a situation that is getting very close to being all or nothing—for both of us. And if we don’t talk, we are both going to regret that we didn’t.”

“And I’m supposed to believe this?”

“Believe it. All I have to do when I hang up here is push one button on my cell phone and everything on this end of this situation disappears. ”Pause. “But, Mr. Cain, I think you know by now that that will not be the end of it for you. And, believe me, you have no idea how much worse it can get.”

Silence.

“Does that mean anything to you? ”Macias asked.

Long pause. Titus saw no use in pretending any further.

“Yeah, ”he said, “it means something to me. Tell me, though, what’s happened … what’s changed that makes you want to talk to me?”

“I have to tell you that in private. Only you and I can make the decisions we have to make. We have to understand each other very clearly.”

Titus glanced at Rita, whose eyes were wide open as she shook her head no.

“You understand, don’t you, ”Titus said, “that if something happens to me—”

“Mr. Cain, you’re missing the point. Nothing’s going to happen to you. In fact, now that I’ve made this call I can’t afford for anything to happen to you. You’re wasting time. When can you meet?”

Titus’s antennae were vibrating. You didn’t have to be an expert in intelligence tradecraft to see that this could be a major shift in the momentum of this ordeal. Was it possible that Macias was thinking of compromising Luquín? Titus’s gut told him this could be a crucial turning point.