want to say it,” she replied. “But, yes.”
“It’s only natural,” the soldier replied. “If you weren’t suspicious, I’d think you were crazy.”
“Call me sane, then.”
“Good. As for the trust, we’ve started building it. I can’t believe you’d sit there waiting for the bomb, then drop those shooters, if you were on Macario’s payroll.”
Pureza felt her cheeks warm at the sound of her own thoughts, spoken by this man. “I can say the same for you,” she said.
“Okay. We’re straight on that, then. Next, you have to ask yourself what one man—or the two of us together—can possibly accomplish in the face of killer odds.”
“You should become a mind reader,” she said.
“I’m sticking to the obvious,” Bolan said. “We’ve already cleared the first hurdle, trashed Macario’s plan and sent four of his hardmen home in body bags. He’ll be angry over that, and sometimes anger breeds mistakes.”
“You’re right about the anger,” Pureza said. “His rage is almost legendary, and the punishments he metes out are…extreme. As for mistakes, he’s made none yet that I’m aware of.”
“Wrong. We’ve seen the first already,” he said. “We’re still alive.”
“Is that a victory?”
“Damn right. Now all we have to do is stay alive and keep hitting Macario where it hurts most, until he runs out of steam.”
“Perhaps you underestimate him,” she suggested.
“I’ve been up against his kind before,” Bolan replied. “They’re tough, no doubt about it. But they’re only human. Humans die.”
“It’s all-out war, then?”
“To the bitter end. If you want out, the time to bail is now.”
“And spend the rest of my short life in hiding? No, thank you.”
Her answer seemed to satisfy him. Bolan simply said, “Okay. We’re good to go.”
“One thing you must remember, Mr. Cooper.”
“Make it ‘Matt.’”
“All right. One thing you must remember, Matt.”
“Which is?”
“We’re only human, too.”
4
“You trust him to deliver, Naldo, after he failed the first time?”
“It was a peculiar circumstance,” Macario replied. “My guess would be that Germán failed to take enough men for the job. Jorge is normally dependable, and he’s aware of what will happen if he fails a second time.”
Esteban Quintaro didn’t seem convinced, but he had not become the cartel’s second in command by challenging Macario. Instead of arguing, he shrugged and said, “No doubt you’re right.”
“The DEA man was eliminated,” Macario said. “That’s something in our favor. It leaves—what, another six or seven in the city?”
“Eight,” Quintaro said. “I have their names and photographs.”
“I’m only interested in the ones who got away.”
“We know the woman,” Quintaro said. “Arcelia Maria Pureza, a lieutenant with the National Police assigned to the narcotics unit. She is thirty-one years old and lives at—”
“Have we tried to buy her, Esteban?”
“On two occasions. She declines our friendship.”
“Foolish pride. Why is she still alive?”
“You never before gave the order to eliminate her, Naldo.”
“You have her home address.”
“I do.”
“Put soldiers on it. If she turns up there, they should attempt to bring her in alive.”
“Alive, Naldo?”
“For questioning. I wish to know the name and the affiliation of her gringo friend.”
“With that in mind,” Quintaro said, “I’ve checked at El Dorado and prepared a list of new arrivals from the States. There were fifteen gringos traveling alone, six more in pairs. Our friend at DAS is gathering a list of their hotels.”
“Check all of them,” Macario replied, knowing before he spoke that the instruction was unnecessary.
And he worried that it might be a wasted effort, too. The stranger, whomever he was, might well be traveling under an alias. There was a fifty-fifty chance that when they learned his name at last, it wouldn’t help.
“While you do that, Esteban,” he continued, “reach out to our friend in Washington.”
“The congressman from—”
“Yes. It’s doubtful he’ll know anything about such matters, but there is a chance—a small one—that he can assist us. The American police kowtow to politicians.”
“And if he can’t help?” Quintaro asked.
“Thank him for trying. Send him a bonus.”
Quintaro’s face revealed his personal opinion of rewarding failure, but he wisely left the words unspoken. “As you wish, Naldo,” he said.
“What’s your opinion, then? About our man of mystery,” Macario inquired.
The question seemed to take Quintaro by surprise. In truth, Macario seldom sought his lieutenant’s opinion. He preferred to give orders and leave Quintaro to carry them out. On this occasion, though, he tried a different tack.
“He won’t be DEA,” Quintaro said.
“Why not?”
“If he’d been sent from Washington, officially, he would have met them at the U.S. Embassy, not in the Pink Zone. He’s avoiding contact with the diplomats.”
“Which tells us…what?”
“He’s unofficial, operating off the books. Perhaps the CIA?”
“They aren’t involved in drug investigations,” Macario said.
“As far as we know,” Quintaro replied. “Under the so-called war on terror, who can say?”
The man had a point. Macario’s attacks on various American officials, culminating with the massacre at the Palace of Justice, could be enough to put the CIA on his trail. Which
