Fear No Evil(Alex Cross #29)(59)

Claudio had a reputation for impulsiveness, jumping to conclusions based on emotion rather than fact, so she said, “What makes you think it’s them?”

“I slipped five grand to the woman running the counter at the jet service. The charter was covered by one of the passengers. His name is Matthew Butler. I have copies of his passport and those of the people traveling with him.”

“But what makes you think it’s them, Claudio?” she repeated impatiently.

“I’m getting to that, Emmanuella,” he grumbled. “I had her look to see if Butler had chartered other jets recently through the same leasing network. He had. Four times in the past six weeks. And here’s why I think it’s them. The dates and the destinations line up with most of Maestro’s victims. Catherine Hingham, the CIA agent found in Washington. FBI agent Mason White in LA. DEA agent Eddie Hernandez, again in Washington. And now the three dead yesterday.”

Emmanuella thought about that, then said, “Well done. I mean that, Claudio. But I need to know more. I need to know everything about this Matthew Butler and the people who were with him.”





Chapter





67


Washington, DC



Two days later, in the early evening, Mahoney, Sampson, and I landed at Dulles International, feeling tired but happy that the cartel had not retaliated against the family of Dean Weaver, the CIA officer killed and left at the courthouse entrance in Mexico City, before they could be put into the witness protection program.

At home, after I’d hugged everyone and gotten the latest family news, Nana Mama told me she’d saved me dinner before saying she was feeling tired and went upstairs to read. Jannie and Ali were out in the front room binge-watching the latest season of Ozark. Bree stayed with me in the kitchen and drank a beer while I ate an excellent meat loaf and told her what I could about the dead CIA officer’s confession.

Weaver wrote that he had recruited Catherine Hingham into the network of U.S. law enforcement agents corrupted by the cartel. He named two others at the CIA as coconspirators and described his relationship with General Guerra and Enrique Alejandro.

Weaver said he and Guerra had been meeting for years, figuring out ways to subvert efforts by non-corrupt U.S. agents to halt the flow of narcotics north. Like the other victims of Maestro, Weaver began his relationship with the cartel when he took a small bribe during a time of financial distress.

“What about the other two confessions you read?” Bree asked. “The general’s and Alejandro’s cousin?”

“Both were written in Spanish but Captain Rodriguez translated them for us,” I said. “Guerra was corrupt from year one and rose in the ranks as the cartel grew. It was a mutually beneficial thing. He had tens of millions of dollars in accounts in South America. In return, the Alejandros got protection and influence.

“Enrique got involved because Marco was sent to prison and Emmanuella needed him to step in. He had been active in the cartel less than a year when Maestro tortured and killed him.”

Bree said, “Marco’s sister has no idea who M is?”

“Actually, the opposite,” I said, taking a sip of beer. “She told me she believed she was close to identifying him. She said he’d made a mistake coming onto the cartel’s home turf.”

“You believe her?”

“I have no reason not to believe her.”

“Will she tell you if she identifies him?”

I thought about that and shook my head. “I doubt it. If she told us and we got to Maestro first, we’d probably figure out everyone corrupted by her money. No, I think Emmanuella will use every ruthless means at her disposal to try to wipe out M and his men before we can get anywhere near them.”

Bree got me some ice cream to go with the blueberry pie my grandmother had baked that afternoon. “What about Paladin?” she asked, setting it before me.

“They’re sifting huge quantities of data for us.”

“According to my boss, they’re incredibly good at it.”

“Well,” I said, yawning and getting up to rinse off my dishes, “if so, we should have a better idea of where to focus our efforts in a day or two. Mahoney got the FBI director to request Paladin sifts on the Alejandros and on Maestro and M, a deep dive including the dark web.”

She finished her beer. “What was she like? Emmanuella?”

“Cold, beautiful, ruthless. But also very shrewd.”

“How so?”

“I have a GPS transmitter in my belt, but Mahoney couldn’t track me because she had jamming devices operating all around her. Once I got in their car, it was as if I didn’t exist.”

“Well, I’m grateful to say you do exist,” Bree said, coming into my arms and kissing me. “I feel like going to bed early.”

“Do you, now?” I said and kissed her deeply.





Chapter





68


Northwest of Laramie, Wyoming



On the Circle M Ranch, near the mouth of a canyon that ran back into forest and wilderness, Matthew Butler sat on the porch railing of his log cabin drinking a cold beer. It was a warm evening with a bluebird sky.

The ranch grass was high and green, ready for a second cut. Horses were cantering about their pastures. Some of the ranch employees’ children were playing tag in the late-day sun while their parents drank beer and ate barbecue at picnic tables.