well with Kelly. They only had the word of one of Syd’s shadowy connections to go on, and God only knew what his motivation was for ratting out the bodega. “What if they’ve got nothing to do with Los Zetas?” Kelly had asked back at the motel.
“Then we go on our merry way,” Syd claimed.
Kelly very much doubted that was true. The bodega door closed behind them. Almost subconsciously she began to count, trying to keep herself from imagining what was going on inside.
What the hell am I doing here? Kelly wondered. She’d been so gung ho to feel useful again, she hadn’t thought through what kind of moral compromises working with Syd would present. Already she felt dirty, and they hadn’t even done anything yet. She was no Pollyanna; she knew there was a seamy side to Jake’s new line of work. She just hadn’t realized how seamy.
Kelly had hoped that coming down here would restore her sense of purpose, and that after they found Mark she’d have a chance to look into the allegation that Stefan Gundarsson was still alive. But the reality of that suddenly seemed absurd. Jake would flip if she told him she intended to track down a fugitive alone. And the truth was, she didn’t even know where to start looking. She hadn’t been able to get in touch with the P.I. who provided the earlier lead. She didn’t speak Spanish, and based on what everyone was telling her, the Mexican authorities wouldn’t be helpful. On top of which she didn’t have the authority or clearance to be doing any of this. She’d wanted to dig up enough concrete evidence to convince her boss to reopen the case and put her in charge of it. But that possibility seemed increasingly remote.
Out of the corner of her eye she examined Jake. His face was inscrutable. For a second, it seemed as if he were a total stranger, and she was seeing him for the first time. She flashed back on the day they’d met, in the command-center trailer during her campus case. He seemed colder now, harder. It had been a long three years for both of them. Had he really changed so much since then? Or was her mind messing with her again?
Kelly shifted in her seat. Her leg was sore. The pressurization on the plane had caused it to swell and the socket of her prosthetic felt unusually tight. The lack of sleep wasn’t helping, either. The Xanax had worn off and she could sense the panic lurking, waiting for an opportunity to rush in. It felt like there was a spotlight on their cars, as if everyone passing by had pegged them as intruders. Kelly knew she was being paranoid, but she couldn’t help herself. Half of her was afraid that at any moment someone might open fire, drilling their cars with automatic weapon fire. The other half was worried that the people inside the store were involved in the kidnapping of Mark’s team. And she could imagine what Syd would do to them if that turned out to be the case.
Syd emerged from the store with Kane at her heels. She pulled on a baseball cap, their signal to meet her at a prearranged location a block away.
“Must have gone well,” Jake commented from the front seat.
“How do you know?” Kelly asked.
“No shots fired,” Maltz said from beside her. They were in the same seating arrangement as before, with Jagerson driving. She had yet to hear him say a word, and was starting to wonder if he even spoke English.
Kelly gazed out the window at the passing storefronts. They were in the northeast quadrant of Iztapalapa. To her eyes it was indistinguishable from the rest of Mexico City: row after row of run-down buildings, streets riddled with potholes, choking smog and horns and blaring music. Her only other trip to Mexico had been a vacation in Puerto Vallarta years before. This is a far cry from that, she thought wryly.
Jagerson eased the car over to the curb.
Syd approached Jake’s window. She leaned over as she spoke. Kelly’s eyes narrowed at the peek of bra revealed by that maneuver.
“Shopkeeper is dirty all right. He didn’t have them there, but he probably has others.”
“How do you know they weren’t there?” Kelly interrupted.
Syd barely glanced at her. “Because he heard a rumor that the guys we’re after were in a van crash on the Mexico-Puebla highway early this morning. They were being moved out of the city. He thinks the hostages got away.”
“He’s sure?” Jake asked.
“Sure enough,” Syd said. “I made a call, we should have a copy of the accident report within the hour.”
“Are they all okay?”
“Apparently.”
“How’d you get him to tell you all that?” Kelly asked. “How do we know he’s not lying?”
Syd grinned at her. “I asked nicely.” She turned back to Jake. “I’ve got the general location of the crash. I say we head out there, see what we can find. It’s only a few clicks east.”
“What about the other people?” Kelly asked.
“What other people?”
“You said he was keeping other hostages above the store.”
“Yeah?” Syd gazed at her levelly.
Kelly turned to Jake. “There has to be someone you can call.”
He paused a beat before saying, “Kelly, no one’s supposed to—”
“Someone must be looking for them. Maybe one of the other K&R companies.”
“Not if they’re local,” Syd snorted. “Hell, you don’t even have to have money to get kidnapped down here. Some of the gangs offer a layaway plan.”
Kelly stared Jake down. Finally he said, “I’ll have Demetri drop the AFI an anonymous tip.” Syd started to protest, but he cut her off. “Meanwhile, we go check out that crash site.”
“What if the cops are still there?” Maltz asked.
“They won’t be,” Syd said. “Happened early this morning, everything’ll be cleared up by now.”
“And if some of the Zetas are there?” Kelly asked.
“Then we consider ourselves lucky,” Syd said. “I’m dying to talk to one face-to-face.”
Seven
Mark Riley hunched in the shadows beside the pharmacy. One of the great things about Mexico was that you could get almost anything in their drugstores, from Botox to antibiotics. Until recently, most were poorly guarded. But lately addiction levels had spiked, and there had been a corresponding rise in pharmacy robberies. Many, like the one he was currently facing, had taken security precautions: an armed rent-a-cop was perched on a stool inside the doorway. He was clearly bored, eyes glued to the television set behind the counter. Still, he had a gun, which complicated things. Mark would prefer getting what they needed without hurting anyone. Hopefully this guy wouldn’t want to play cowboy.
“What do you think?” Decker asked in a low voice.
Mark had nicked a baseball cap from a sidewalk cart, and he pulled it low over his eyes. “We could try another one. Not a fan of dealing with a guard.”
“We could. But Kaplan doesn’t have a lot of time,” Decker pointed out.
He
