Guajardo took her customary seat at the far end of the table, well apart from the officers of her board of directors, who had clustered at the near end. The windows had darkened in synchronicity with the afternoon sun superheating the glass, casting her in a strange mix of light and shadow, her skin certain to maintain its powdery radiance with the sun’s rays too muted to disturb it.
“I’m going to have to rethink my decision to keep you on in the wake of my father’s regrettable accident,” she told Velasco.
Velasco combed a hand through his hair, leaving stray strands clinging to his forehead. “Accident? Is that what you call it when his animal of a son threw him off a fourth-floor balcony?”
Guajardo rocked back in her chair casually, disappearing further into the shadows as she found the gaze of the one other woman in the room, Isabella Barrera. “I’m surprised to see you here siding against me, Isabella, given that I extended the due date for the balloon payment on your loan for a third time last month.”
The others at the table shifted uneasily.
“Oh,” Guajardo continued to Barrera, “I guess that hasn’t come up in your discussions yet.”
“This meeting,” started Velasco, “was called to discuss the series of questionable decisions you have refused to explain despite the board’s repeated requests. The purchase of this toy factory in Guadalajara, for one thing, a software company you’ve invested tens of millions in without a single product to show for it for another. The development of this game preserve in Los Mochis at a cost of tens of millions more, and your absurd overvaluing of that manufacturing plant in Germany previously owned by Siemens. These inexplicable investments, totaling nearly a billion dollars, have effectively liquidated the cash position of the company, forcing us to borrow well above prime to maintain our day-to-day operations around the world, even as our bond rating is threatened.”
Velasco stopped, as if to await a response from Guajardo, growing antsy when none came.
“Perhaps you weren’t listening to my charges,
señora
.”
“Charges? I thought they were statements made in error.”
“On the con—”
“I say that in full knowledge of the fact that you signed off on those investments, Ricardo,” Guajardo interrupted.
Velasco’s features flared. “I did nothing of the kind!”
Guajardo removed an envelope from her handbag, slid it the length of the table, and watched it stop just before it reached Velasco. He opened it and removed the four pages from inside.
“Perhaps your memory is fuzzy,” Guajardo said as he unfolded the pages. “Let me refresh it. Time was of the essence to preserve that cash position you are suddenly so protective of, so I sent my assistant over while you were entertaining.”
“No,” Velasco said, regarding the pages now. “This was about the acquisition of that petroleum company the board voted to support. We had to act immediately. You required my signature on the board’s behalf to move the deal forward.”
“I’m afraid that’s not my recollection at all, Ricardo.” Guajardo nodded in feigned understanding. “Of course, you had done several lines of cocaine by the time my assistant arrived. She took some pictures of you with pen in hand, signing those pages now before you and not the ones pertaining to the petroleum deal. I have the pictures on my phone, if you’d like me to share them. Perhaps you should have reviewed the documents more closely before signing them.”
Velasco slumped in his chair, the others sinking too, as if afraid Guajardo might be coming to them next.
“We are prepared to call an emergency shareholders meeting,” Velasco managed, sounding far less threatening than he’d intended to.
“At which,” Guajardo followed immediately, “I am prepared to motion for the ouster of the entire board.”
“Including yourself?”
“I am preparing a new slate of officers that includes none of you. Of course, should I prevail, Isabella, your note would come due immediately. And, Germán,” she said to another board member, “the cost of your private use of the company jets would need to be itemized and repaid. Alberto, meanwhile, would have no choice but to divest his holdings in the company, thereby revealing the fact that he has claimed three times their value in the numerous loans and mortgages he has taken out to support both his family and the family of his mistress.”
Guajardo looked to the final man at the table, Carlos Bailleres, but stopped just short of addressing him, since he had been the one who’d tipped her off.
“So go ahead, Ricardo, call your shareholders meeting,” Guajardo said, rising from her chair. “Try to oust me. It’s time to clear the air, to reveal ourselves to those whose bidding this company does. I have nothing to hide. How about you?”
P
ART
F
IVE
They were the glory of the race of rangers;
Matchless with horse, rifle, song, support, courtship,
Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affectionate
Bearded, sunburnt, dressed in the free costume of hunters.
Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”
44
S
AN
A
NTONIO
“A fire hose, Ranger?” D. W. Tepper asked, as if still having trouble believing it himself.
“A fire hose?”
“I thought you’d be proud of me, Captain.”
“And why’d you think that?”
“Because I didn’t shoot anybody.”
“You mean, at first.”
“I got them to show themselves. Eliminate the kind of collateral damage you always accuse me of causing.”
Tepper rolled his eyes and felt about his desk for his pack of Marlboro Reds. “Ranger, collateral damage follows you around like toilet paper on a boot. I’m starting to wonder if you can even breathe without somebody getting knocked over.”
“Tell that to Sandoval, D.W.”
* * *
Gazing out the window made Caitlin realize how late it was. The sun streamed gently through, the spring warmth at this time of day pleasant compared to the typically oppressive summer, when the sun’s rays turned harsh and unforgiving. She had lost the whole day in Austin, facing a bevy of expressionless state and local investigators who claimed they were only interested in the facts, only to dispute them at every turn. Caitlin wondered if they’d been informed of a similar shoot-out that left bodies behind just a few nights earlier in Providence, a question that was answered when an ATF agent assigned to the regional office in Austin broached the subject.
“Do you consider yourself trigger-happy, Ranger Strong?”
“Not at all, sir,” she’d told him.
He seemed miffed by the stridency of her response. “So we shouldn’t be concerned by two nearly identical incidents in the course of a single week?”
“You should not, sir.”
“And why’s that, Ranger?”
“Because I didn’t use a fire hose up in Providence. Are we done here yet?”
* * *
“I’d like to tell that to Sandoval,” Captain Tepper was saying now. “I’d like to ask him some questions too. Except I can’t, since he’s dropped out of sight and is likely back underground in Mexico by now.”
“A good thing, by all accounts.”
Tepper formed a circle with his lips and made a whistling noise, like wind whipping through the trees. “Hear that?”
“What?”
“Hurricane Caitlin beginning to blow, the warning charts bursting beyond the red. Your friend Jones has been lighting up my phone all day, complaints coming from every agency in the alphabet about how the Rangers messed up this conference it took them three years, three decades, aw hell, maybe three centuries to set up. And, speaking of the alphabet, have you ever heard of PR?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Tepper rose and moved to the office’s lone window, cracking it open to let the heat in as if tired of the stale recirculated air layered with nicotine. “How about politics? That mean anything to you?”
“Do I look like I’m running for office, D.W.?”
“Not what I’m talking about, Ranger.”
“Then what
are
you talking about?”
Caitlin thought Tepper was looking at her as if she had just dropped in from another planet. “Know what my grandkids’ favorite cartoon is right now? That one with the moose and squirrel from years ago—you know, Rocky and Bull-something. Part they like the most is when Sherman and Mr. Peabody take trips through time in the Way Back Machine. Ranger, I do honestly wish such a device existed so you could be transported someplace where you actually belong.”
“What exactly did I say or do this time?”
Tepper continued to scorn her with his eyes, the ash growing on his cigarette. “You can’t take a fire hose to a poolside full of people.”
“You got a better idea under the circumstances?”
“Yes, I do. How about anything else? How about anything that doesn’t bring complaints to Austin and beyond?”
“A man’s life was at stake here, Captain.”
“But tomorrow’s papers won’t write about that. Tomorrow’s papers’ll write about an out-of-control Texas Ranger spraying innocent folks with enough water to douse a brush fire.”
“That’s crazy.”
“No, that’s
politics,
Ranger. And if you haven’t figured it out yet, you’ve gotta start asking yourself questions your granddad and even dad never had to worry about. I don’t think old Earl ever used a cell phone or a computer in his life. To Jim Strong, a twenty-four-hour news cycle would’ve sounded like something you’d find on an energy-saver washing machine. But that’s what you’re up against now and it’s just as dangerous as a gunman and can ambush you twice as quick. I seriously doubt even a fire hose would have much effect on the situation.”
Caitlin wanted to shake her head, but didn’t. “You really believe that, D.W.?”
“I believe I had to say it.” Tepper plopped back into his chair and pressed out what was left of his cigarette, kicking ash up into the air. “Maybe you should tell me what you got planned next.”
“How does finding the killers of those five kids in Willow Creek sound?”
“Not good enough. Gotta be more specific.”
“Whoever did it used some kind of skinning knife on the victims. You need me to be more specific than that?”
Tepper leaned forward and fished a fresh Marlboro from the pack. “Remember when you tried hiding these things from me?”
“Doesn’t seem like I got my point across.”
“Because I could always get more. Walk outside the building, throw a stone into the air, and you’re bound to hit some place that sells Marlboros.” He hesitated, his eyes widening in the room’s dull light, telling Caitlin he was about to make his point. “That’s the way it is for you, Ranger. You can’t walk from here to there without pissing somebody off or doing something I’m gonna regret later.” Tepper made a show out of lighting the cigarette. “And I’m starting to figure you can’t give that up any more than I can give these up. Love for you to tell me I’m wrong if you feel otherwise.”
Caitlin reached across the desk, plucked the Marlboro from Tepper’s mouth, and pressed it out in his ashtray. “I imagine a fire hose sprayed into you every time you lit up might force a change in thinking, D.W.”
“There a point to that somewhere?”
“Only that there’s a time and a place for everything.”
Tepper was about to respond when his phone rang and he answered it without taking his gaze off Caitlin.
“Your point’s been made, Ranger,” he said, replacing the receiver. “Your friend Jones is on his way up.”
45
S
AN
A
NTONIO
“Where’s Sandoval?” Jones demanded, standing at the top of the stairs where Caitlin had intercepted him.
“Who called off the Ranger detail?”
“Answer my question first.”
“Safe.”
“That’s not a place, Ranger.”
“It beats the ground. Your turn.”
“Somebody with Homeland’s security code made the call.”
Jones rose to the top step, even with Caitlin now. He liked sticking out his chest and straightening his spine as gestures of intimidation.
“Where is Sandoval?”
Caitlin held her ground, hands planted firmly on her hips. “Seeing the sights.”
“Bullshit.”
“Call it whatever you want.”
“What I want is for you to come clean and start helping me pull this op out of the shredder.”
“Don’t think I’m following, Jones.”
He shook his head, all pretenses of calm and moderation gone from his demeanor. “You have any idea how much we’ve got riding on Sandoval?”
“What’s going on here has nothing to do with that.”
“I don’t give a shit. He belongs to us. That means if you want to meet with him again you go through me.”
Caitlin moved so close to him she could feel the heat of his breath. “The man just found out his son’s dead. Does that mean anything to you?”
Jones stiffened, fighting against the step back he clearly wanted to take with Caitlin giving no ground. “This is business.”
“I’d like to show you a picture of what was done to Sandoval’s boy. You ever go hunting, Jones? Because hunters got this knife they use for skinning and field dressing an animal. Killing with a weapon like that isn’t quick and tends to be pretty awful. How much more of a picture do I need to draw for you before you get your priorities straight?”
Jones’s expression didn’t change. “Drugs have evolved into a major national security issue, and Sandoval’s our best chance to do something about that.”
“I’ll make sure I mention that next time I see him.”
Jones’s features flared, his eyes widening so much Caitlin could see the thin wavy veins that looked like spiderwebs stitched toward his pupils. “So you
do
know how to reach him.”
“Never said I didn’t. I’m investigating the murder of his son, Jones. That requires some follow-up.”
“Is it true a few of the other victims belonged to two of the biggest names in the cartels?”
“And one belonged to a high school teacher dying of cancer. This isn’t about drugs.”
Her response left Jones shaking his head, his neck cracking audibly. “Wake up and smell the century, Ranger. You’re not the sun, you’re just one of a zillion planets spinning around it. I’m sorry we can’t account for your sense of morality every time we run an operation, but unless you undergo a severe change in your view of the world, you’ll end up finishing out your career visiting elementary schools.”