Devils and Dust (25 page)

A few minutes later, Angela was in the front seat, Esmeralda strapped in and semiconscious in the passenger side. Angela looked at the blonde. “I don’t suppose you know where the American consulate is, do you?”

The girl looked blank. “The what?”

“Never mind,” Angela said. “But if you or any of the other ladies have been wanting to leave, now might be a good time.”

The blonde looked back at the house, then out at the end of the alleyway, where traffic was rolling by on a busy street. She looked back at Angela. “Did you really kill Miguel?” she whispered.

“Yeah,” Angela said. “I kind of had to.”

The woman leaned into the car window, grabbed Angela’s head, and kissed her full on the mouth. Angela tried to pull away, but was blocked by the seat’s headrest. The woman broke the kiss and looked into Angela’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it,” Angela said. “You can come with us if you want.”

The woman looked at the mouth of the alley. “Go,” she said, “before anyone else comes. I need to get the other girls.
Vaya con Dios
.”

“
Vaya con Dios
,” Angela replied as she started the car.

T
HE
A
MERICAN
consulate in Ciudad de Piedras looked more like a prison than a diplomatic post. It was a plain, three-story building made of smooth gray concrete, located far back from the street behind an equally featureless high concrete wall topped with concertina wire. A line of metal bollards set into the concrete kept vehicles away from the wall, funneling all traffic into a two-lane driveway. White-painted guard posts flanked the metal gate.

It had taken Angela a half hour to find the place. She’d fled the neighborhood of the brothel at high speed, barely stopping at intersections, constantly checking the rearview mirror to see if she was being followed. As soon as she was satisfied that no one was behind her, she pulled over to where a man was standing on the corner, as if looking for a ride. As Angela motioned him over, the man approach with a smile on his face. The smile died as he saw the unconscious girl in the front seat.

“
Donde esta el consulada Americano
?” Angela called out, but the man was already backing away. “Shit,” Angela said.

She put the car back in gear and rolled on. It was then that she noticed the mobile phone nestled in a cradle attached to the dashboard. She couldn’t figure out at first if it was a hands-free system, much less how to turn it on, so she yanked the phone from its cradle and dialed 040 for information. As soon as the operator came on the line, Angela asked the address of the American consulate. After that, it was a matter of finding the car’s GPS system and making her way there.

As she turned into the long drive and neared the gate, she saw the Marine guard unsling his weapon. He began speaking rapidly, head bent in the direction of a microphone on his lapel. Puzzled, she slowed down and looked in the mirror. There was a black SUV in the street behind her, parked across the entrance to the driveway.
Shit
. She accelerated and pulled up to the guardhouse. The Marine looked impossibly young to Angela, but he held the rifle as if he knew how to use it. The sight of Esmeralda slumped in the front seat caused him to blink in confusion. “I’m an American citizen,” she said. “My name is Angela Sanchez. I’ve been held prisoner by one of the local drug traffickers. This girl was wounded helping me escape.”

The Marine looked back up the drive, then back to Angela. “We got a report that someone was going to show up here in a stolen vehicle. Robbed one of the local businesses and killed the manager.” He swung the weapon to bear on Angela.

“You have
got
to be kidding me,” she said.

He didn’t look like he was kidding. “Stay in the car, ma’am.”

“Damn it,” Angela said, “we don’t have time for this. This girl is bleeding to death, if she hasn’t already. We need
help
.” The Marine didn’t answer or budge. “Look,” she said desperately, “look at who’s behind me. Does that look like the local cops?”

“No,” the Marine said, “but that does.” He nodded toward the top of the drive.

Angela looked. A blue and white pickup with a light bar on top had pulled up. The word POLICIA was stenciled on the side with a gold star beneath it. She turned back to the Marine. He was speaking into his mic. “Please,” she begged. “The cops here work for Mandujano. Or Zavalo. If you let them take us, they’ll kill us.” A thought occurred to her. “Tell someone upstairs we have information about Auguste Mandujano’s involvement in human trafficking and illegal immigration. Please.”

“Wait one,” the Marine said. He spoke again. Angela looked back. A pair of stocky men in police uniforms had gotten out of the pickup and were approaching. One appeared older, with gray streaks in his hair. Otherwise they were almost identical with their brush cuts and mirrored shades. They might have been father and son. The Marine got done speaking and exited the guardhouse, holding his weapon at the ready. “Help you fellows?” he said in English.

The older cop on the right seemed to be the one in charge. He answered in Spanish. “This woman is under arrest for robbery and murder.”

The Marine smiled apologetically and shrugged. “Sorry,” he said in English. “
No comprendo
.”

The younger one spoke up in English. “These two are wanted criminals. We’re taking them in.”

The Marine nodded. “That’s what I hear. Thing is, one of ‘em’s an American citizen, and the other one’s hurt. I got to kick this one upstairs. Kinda above my pay grade. Sorry. If you guys would just wait a couple minutes, maybe we can—”

“We’re not waiting,” the young one said. He reached for the pistol on his belt.

The Marine raised his rifle and pointed it. “Ah-ah,” he said, “Let’s not do anything silly, now.”

“There are two of us,” the young cop said, but his hand had stopped midway to his holster. “You are alone.”

Angela heard a metallic rattle and a grinding sound. She looked forward and saw the gate slowly moving aside. Sitting several yards behind it was a desert sand-colored Humvee. A turret atop the vehicle held a multibarreled minigun, pointed at the men in the driveway. The man behind the gun looked grim.

The Marine was still smiling. “Gentlemen, I am a member of the United States Marine Corps. I am
never
alone. Now why don’t y’all trot on back to your vehicle and sit in the AC while we get this straightened out? It’s a hot day.”

The two men, frozen in place, stared at the Humvee. The younger one slowly lowered his hand. Then he mumbled something and turned away. The older man followed. They walked back to the police truck, heads held high, and backs stiff.

“Assholes,” the Marine muttered. He leaned over and looked inside the Mercedes. “Sit tight, ma’am, we got a medic coming.”

“Thank you,” Angela said.

Another young man in a Marine uniform was striding out past the Humvee, a medical bag slung under one arm. He reached the car and yanked open the passenger door. He had red hair and fair skin scorched by the sun. He knelt and slid two fingers to Esmeralda’s neck looking for a pulse. He grimaced. “She’s alive, but barely. She needs a hospital.” His voice had a country twang that reminded her of home.

“If you take her there,” Angela said, “the people after us will kill her.”

“Well, that settles it, then,” the red-haired medic said. He stood up and motioned at the Humvee, which began to slowly back up.

“Get the car inside,” he said to Angela.

“We ain’t got authorization to let ‘em in yet, Sergeant,” the guard warned.

“And I give a fuck about this why, exactly?” the medic responded. “You got a problem, talk to Mr. Huston. He’ll back me up.” He looked back at Angela. “Get a move on, lady.”

Angela moved forward, letting out her breath as she cleared the gate. A pair of Marines ran up with a stretcher. As she got out of the car, they began carefully loading Esmeralda onto it.

“Excuse me,” a voice said.

Angela turned. The man standing next to her was tall and slender, dark-complected, with large dark eyes and a neatly trimmed beard and mustache. Despite the heat, he was dressed in a dark suit, which fit him as if tailored, and a red tie.

“My name is Huston,” he said, holding out his hand. “I work here at the consulate. If you would come with me, please.”

T
HEY WERE
headed back into town, both Keller and Oscar cuffed in the back of Castle’s patrol car. Oscar said nothing, just sat and stared out the window. Keller leaned forward and spoke through the metal grating, which separated the front of the car from the prisoners in the back.

“Castle,” he said.

“Shut up.”

Keller ignored him. “Do you know what’s going on out at that farm? What that church is up to?”

“Don’t know,” Castle said. “Don’t care. Now sit back and shut up.”

“They’re kidnapping people. Illegals. We don’t know what they’re doing with them. Not for sure. But we both know it’s nothing good. Especially for the women. You know what I’m talking about.”

Castle said nothing.

“You ever read any of their literature? Seen their website?”

“They mind their business,” Castle said. “I mind mine.”

“They’re white supremacists, Deputy,” Keller said. “They think people like you and my friend here aren’t even human. They think God appointed them to be supreme.”

Castle snorted. “I let myself get all bent out of shape every time some crazy-ass white man puts somethin’ stupid up on the Internet, I’d go outta my goddamn mind.”

Oscar spoke up. “Do you have children, Deputy?”

“No,” Castle said, “if it’s any of your business. Which it ain’t.”

“I believe that those people have kidnapped my sons,” he said. “They’re holding them.”

Castle looked in the rearview mirror, back at them. His brow furrowed in concern. “Why do you believe that, sir?”

Oscar and Keller looked at each other. “It’s kind of a long story,” Keller said.

“Uh-huh. Maybe you should tell it to your lawyers, then.” He was pulling to a stop in front of a small building set back from the street, with a narrow strip of grass and shrubs in front of it. A fading wooden sign attached to the front said SHERIFF.

Castle got the two of them out of the car and shepherded them to the front door. He had to pause to take the front door key out of his pocket and unlock the glass front door.

“Kind of small for a sheriff’s department,” Keller remarked.

“It’s a substation,” Castle said. “Don’t use it much.”

“So why bring us here?” Oscar asked. “Not the main station?”

“Orders,” Castle said. “This way.” He led them into a tiny office with a pair of empty desks—the tops bare as if no one worked there. The lights were off, the only illumination provided by bars of light filtering through the partially opened venetian blinds.

“Orders,” Keller repeated. He looked at Oscar, then back at Castle. “Don’t those orders seem a little odd to you?”

“I just work here, sir. Stand over there.” He pointed to a spot a few feet away, on the other side of the desks. Keller and Oscar shuffled over to stand side by side in the place indicated, as Castle found another key on his ring and opened a metal door covered in flaking red paint that stood across the room. The door opened with a shriek of hinges long unused. “In here.”

“What is in there?” Oscar said.

“Holding cells. Come on, move it.”

“Holding cells?” Keller asked. “For what?”

“Holding,” Castle said. “Now get in.”

“If I go in there,” Keller said, “What are you going to do?”

“Wait for the Sheriff,” Castle said.

“Instead of taking us in and booking us. And this still makes sense to you?”

Castle dropped his hand to the Taser on his belt. “You going in there, or you wanna ride the lightning in?”

Keller considered his options. He didn’t have many. He’d counted on his instinct about Castle, thought he could talk him into helping them. He’d apparently been wrong, and that miscalculation was going to get him and Oscar locked up. After that, he sensed, things were going to get very, very bad. But he was unarmed, handcuffed, and faced by a man with a variety of ways to take him down and force him into the cell that awaited him beyond that door.