OVER THE U.S.

MONDAY, 1:00 A.M. CST

STEELE SAT IN THE part of the Learjet that had been transformed into a flying office for the use of whichever St. Kilda consultant needed it. The wheelchair was a tight fit in the working space, but it didn’t matter. If he needed anything, Dwayne would get it before Steele even knew he wanted it.

Dwayne handed over a satellite phone. “It’s Mazey with the land and cell phone taps. Something is going down.”

“Steele,” he said calmly, taking the phone. But his heart kicked in the hope that they’d caught a break. “Go ahead, Mazey.”

“We’ve had multiple hits on her home and cell phone, all from Ted Franklin, all within the last hour.”

“Messages left?”

“He wants his ex-wife to go to Lomas, where he’ll call her at midnight.”

“What, where, or who is Lomas?”

“We’re working on that, sir. It’s a fairly common name in the area.”

“Midnight.” Steele looked at his watch and folded his lips unhappily. “We’re not going to be on the ground in time to help you with this one. Call Faroe and see what Grace knows.”

“His phone is off. Hers is ‘out of area.’”

“Mother of-” Steele bit off the curse. “Where is Faroe?”

“Assuming that he’s still carrying the phone, our satellite monitor puts him in Tijuana.”

“That’s a large place. Do better. What about the boy?”

“Still at All Saints. Assuming-”

“That he has the bloody phone with him,” Steele finished impatiently.

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“The team watching Sturgis’s office saw him get in a car whose plates came back to the U.S. government. The driver shook the team. We didn’t have enough assets in place to tail a real pro. No one has seen or heard from Sturgis since.”

“Bloody hell.”

“John told me the feds have withdrawn surveillance from the La Jolla house, but the Mexicans are all over the place like a rash. He left a message on Dwayne’s phone, but-”

“The phone is turned off,” Steele finished. Since John was Mazey’s husband and the head of all surveillance teams on this consultation, Steele knew that the information was solid. “Dwayne is with me. Forward all intelligence to the number he’ll give you.”

Steele handed over the phone to Dwayne, called up the satellite monitor, and split the screen. One dot stayed put above Ensenada. One dot was mired in Tijuana.

He tried Faroe’s number himself.

Nothing.

Grace’s number.

More nothing.

“Anything on Lomas?” he asked Dwayne.

“Too much. We’ll never get it sorted out by midnight California time.”

“Can you override Faroe’s off switch?”

“If he hasn’t dicked with it, yes,” Dwayne said. Then he told his frustrated boss what Steele already knew. “But if Faroe shut down his phone, he had a good reason. The life-and-death kind.”

Steele didn’t argue. “What do you make of the fact that the feds withdrew from the La Jolla surveillance?”

“It means they know more than we do.”

“Precisely. Get someone monitoring all government communications channels within sixty miles of the border. Key words ROG, Hector Rivas Osuna in any combination, Faroe, Grace, Judge Silva, Ted or Theodore Franklin, Calderon, Lane Franklin, All Saints or Todos Santos, Bank of San Marcos, Banco de San Marcos.”

Dwayne leaned against the desk, punching in numbers, waking up the St. Kilda consultants who specialized in monitoring scrambled federal channels.

“Think it will do any good?” Dwayne asked as he waited for someone in Texas to answer.

“In the next hour? Doubtful. Do it anyway.”

Steele stared at the red dot mired in Tijuana.

Damn it, Joseph, call in.

ALL SAINTS SCHOOL

SUNDAY, 11:04 P.M.

IN DARKNESS, LANE STARED at the whitewashed ceiling. Sweat ran cold on his ribs. The phone Joe Faroe had given him was under his pillow, along with an alarm clock Lane didn’t think he would need anytime in the next century.

He was so wide awake his eyeballs burned.

He told himself he wasn’t going to check the clock under his pillow again. But he did.

About two hours until Faroe called.

If he called.

Call me, he prayed silently. I’m going postal here in the dark, thinking about-

I won’t think about it.

Won’t.

Won’t.

Won’t.

His silent chant kept time with the waves piling against the beach, chubasco waves shouting the storm to come.

He hoped the tropical fury would wipe out the school.

Cigarette smoke and something sharper, more chemical, slid through the open window. The guards were just outside, laughing and talking among themselves.

Taking bets on whether Lane would survive the coming day.

Call me. Please!

TIJUANA

SUNDAY, 11:06 P.M.

THE SILENCE IN THE Escalade was thick enough to slice and serve on bread. Even with every window open, the SUV stank of sweat. Meeting with Hector did that to men, no matter how tough they thought they were.

Faroe and Grace sat close, close enough that she could use his body heat to warm herself. Whenever she started to say anything, he squeezed her silently.

Don’t talk.

The vehicle finally stopped by the bright lights of the hotel where Faroe and Grace were registered. Faroe lifted her out and then turned toward Mustache.

Grace couldn’t hear what Faroe said as he drew Mustache slightly away from the other gunmen, but she did see the exchange of something, palm to palm. As soon as Mustache climbed back into the Escalade, the driver shot out of the light like his tires were on fire.

“What was that all about?” she asked Faroe.

“Recruiting.”

“What?”

“St. Kilda needs more contacts in Mexico.”

“Spies.”

Faroe shrugged.

“The lies and betrayals never end, do they?” she said quietly.

“There’s plenty of lying and betraying to go around on both sides of the line.”

Grace looked at Faroe. He’d let his game face slip. He was weary with something deeper than a simple lack of sleep. He handed the bellman a claim check for the car and waited silently, staring at the tips of his new boots.

“What happened?” she asked softly, stepping closer to him. “What was Hector so eager to show you?”

“A body that’s going to hang from a freeway bridge sometime tomorrow morning. Only it isn’t a body yet. It’s mostly still the guy who laid that bomb down in Ensenada.”

“We have to tell the-” Her voice broke. She let out a ragged breath. “Never mind. Old reflexes.”

“Don’t worry, amada. He’ll welcome death.”

Grace closed her eyes against the bright lights of the city.

“You leave anything at the hotel that you can’t live without?” Faroe asked.

“The only thing I can’t live without is my son.”