Fear No Evil(Alex Cross #29)(54)

Sampson cleared his throat.

I said, “Nana Mama, Bree, and Jannie will be glad to take care of Willow.”

He struggled but said, “Mexico City, then.”

“You two take the direct flight from Boston,” I said. “I’m going to need to make a detour first.”





Chapter





61


Fremont County, Colorado



Shortly after nine p.m. that day, Warden Ainsley Perrin led me deep into the Alcatraz of the Rockies, and soon we were once again outside the room where I’d spoken with Alejandro.

“The judge gave you thirty minutes,” Perrin said, opening the door.

“I’ll use every second of it, starting at hello,” I said and entered the small room. I felt creeped out again at the sound of the door shutting and locking behind me.

Alejandro seemed puzzled to see me when he entered the booth on the other side of the bulletproof glass, but then he shrugged and sat down to be electromagnetically fused to the chair.

When the prison guards left, the former cartel boss said, “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Dr. Cross.”

“I was kind of feeling the same way,” I said, holding up my palms. “But life has a way of playing boomerang with you.”

“An hour in sunlight,” he said. “Whatever it is you’re after, I want sixty minutes in real sunlight once a week. An hour once a week or I’m sitting tight.”

“I can’t promise it,” I said.

“Then get the promise.”

“I don’t have time and neither does your family or your cartel.”

Alejandro narrowed his eyes. “What’s happened?”

I told him about the attacks and counterattacks that had taken place since we’d last spoken, shortly before my emergency flight to Paris.

“Maestro made his latest move this morning,” I said and described the bodies dumped on the steps of the Mexican supreme court.

“Who were they?” he asked.

“A not-yet-identified Caucasian male in his forties.” Alejandro’s brows raised slightly. “General Raoul Guerra, of the—”

“Guerra!” Marco said, surprised, but then he sat back. “And the third?”

“I’m sorry, Marco,” I said. “It was your cousin Enrique.”

Alejandro’s shock was complete. Tears came to his eyes. “No, not Enrique. He was supposed to be out of it. Straight man for our straight businesses. Ah, Jesus.”

“The three of them—Enrique, Guerra, and the dead white guy—supposedly signed confessions,” I said. “I’m on my way to Mexico City tonight to read them.”

“And what, you just decided to drop in and hit me with this?” he said, blinking back the tears. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s much more than a courtesy visit, and I give you my deepest and sincerest condolences. I know you and your cousin were very close.”

“Damn straight we were close,” Alejandro shot back. “As kids. But he was never meant for the rough stuff, you know. He had brains. Book smarts.”

“I’m sorry.”

He stared at his lap a moment before lifting his head and asking, “So what else?”

“It’s clear that Maestro means to destroy your cartel whatever the collateral damage,” I said. “I think there will be more deaths in your immediate family in the very near future.”

Marco hardened. “You know this how?”

“Maestro sent me a text, saying he plans to stamp out your cartel by stamping out your bloodlines,” I said. “Including your wife and your children. No mercy.”

Alejandro chewed on that a moment. “So why are you here?”

“To try to stop needless bloodshed. But to do that, I need your help.”

“What help is that?” he asked suspiciously.

“A foolproof way to contact the current leaders of your cartel when I’m on the ground in Mexico City sometime early tomorrow morning.”

He squinted at me. “Why?”

“To warn them of what’s coming and ask them to stop the retaliations in the United States in the meantime.”

Alejandro laughed scornfully. “Why would they do that? An eye for an eye still rules south of the border, hombre.”

“I say they’ll do it for their own self-interest. With all due respect, your cartel has proven its ruthlessness, but M has more than cruelty in his corner. We believe he may have access to the NSA, the kind of people who can listen in on your phones, the ones who know exactly where you are at all times.”

“That’s some movie nonsense.”

“Believe it,” I said. “Or don’t believe it, but act as if it’s true, because it is. Maestro is going to start picking off your family—your wife, your kids. Give me a name, Marco. Give me a number so I can warn them.”

The former cartel leader gazed at me for a good thirty seconds before he said, “One hour in the sunshine.”





Chapter





62


Mexico City



The following morning, I was up drinking strong coffee after sleeping for an hour on the plane and getting another two hours of fitful drowsing in my hotel room. Ned Mahoney and John Sampson had arrived here long before me but they looked barely more rested than I did when they came down for breakfast in the little café off the lobby.