Grace looked at the phone like it was a snake. “What are my talking points?”

“First, we have Ted sacked up and ready to chat with Hector about the missing millions.”

“That should get Hector’s attention.”

“Second,” Faroe said, “the price of that conversation is Lane, alive and well, on this side of the line. We won’t go south to do this deal. If Hector wants the money, he has to come north.”

“He won’t like it.”

“He’ll take it. He doesn’t have any choice. Third, it happens now. We do the high-noon thing at the border. Hector chooses the place.”

“Got it. What part of the plan aren’t you telling me?”

Faroe blew out a hard breath. The drawback to a smart woman was that she was smart.

“Hector wants the meeting for obvious reasons,” Faroe said.

“Money.”

“Yeah, but he also wants to kill Ted.”

Grace’s eyelids flinched, but all she said was, “Can he kill Ted and not kill everyone else who’s there, including Lane?”

Faroe smiled the kind of smile that wasn’t reassuring. “You learn fast, amada. I’m betting Hector will try to kill everyone, including Ted’s FBI handlers if they insist on going into the tunnel with him.”

“What will you do to prevent Hector from killing everyone in sight?”

“You’ll be the second to know.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the best I can give you,” Faroe said. “I’ve designed a trap that Hector can’t refuse-he’ll use his tunnel to bring Lane north and kill Ted. But Hector doesn’t know what we know.”

“Which is?”

“A paranoid warlord on crack will think he can set up the exchange in his warehouse over on Otay Mesa, kill everybody who’s there just for shits and giggles, and run back south like the weasel he is.”

“From here, Hector’s plan looks good,” Grace said bluntly.

“His plan will only work over my dead body.”

“That’s not funny.”

“At least if I die,” Faroe said, “there will be a good reason. I’m not sure I can say that about some of the other times I nearly bought it.”

Grace looked at him for a long time. Then she closed her eyes and told herself that if she could play showdown poker with the head of a federal task force for fifty million dollars, she could do it with the Butcher of Tijuana for her son’s life.

Couldn’t she?

Faroe waited for one of the longest ten counts of his life. When he couldn’t take anymore, he said, “Amada? You okay?”

“No. Call Hector.”

“You sure?”

“Just do it!”

Faroe punched in the number, hit the transmit button, and held out the phone.

Grace took it and began counting rings.

On the fourth ring, a male voice said, “Bueno.”

“I need to talk to Hector Rivas,” she said in English.

“?Quien habla?” the man demanded.

“Grace Silva.”

“What you want?” the man asked.

“Hector knows what I want. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you. Get him.”

Faroe waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Just when he thought Hector wouldn’t take the bait, Grace began talking.

“Hello, Hector.”

“Ah, Your Honor, how strict you are,” Hector said in Spanish. “Poor Fernando is whipped. He takes such good care of your son, too.”

“He’d better. Without a live and healthy Lane, you’ll never see your hundred million again.”

Hector made a rhythmic, juicy sound.

“Put Lane on the line,” Grace said.

“No es possible,” Hector said in Spanglish, loudly, like a man trying to get through to a very dim person.

She grimaced. His words were a little slurred, a little hissed. He’d been drinking as well as smoking. “It’s very possible. If I don’t have proof of life, you don’t have Ted’s files.”

“The boy, he fine. Take my word.”

“And here’s a hundred million. Take it to the bank.”

Hector laughed out loud. “Aiee, a ball-breaker.”

He shouted an order in Spanish.

Grace hit the mute button. “He thinks I’m a ball-breaker. He’s telling someone to bring Lane.”

Faroe’s grin was a hard slice of white.

She released the mute just as Lane’s voice came on.

“Mom?”

“Are you okay?” she asked quickly.

“Yeah, I guess so. They even brought me a Big Mac for dinner. Whoopee.”

“Do you have everything you need?” she asked carefully.

“Uh,” he hesitated, then understood what she was asking. “Yeah, I’ve got everything I need. I’m-Wait a minute. I wasn’t done!”

“You see?” Hector asked in Spanish. “Your son is good. Now, where is your husband?”

“You mean my ex?” she asked. “Last time I saw Ted, he was folded into a car trunk, in handcuffs and leg chains and with a gag in his mouth. Joe Faroe is nothing if not thorough.”

Faroe laughed silently.

“Que bueno,” Hector said, chuckling. “You bring him to me right now and I give you Lane.”

“No.”

“?Que?” he asked sharply.

“I’m not going to do business with you in any part of Mexico. That is not negotiable.”

“I so sad. You no trust Hector.”

“Yes, it’s sad, and it’s not going to change,” Grace said crisply. And her fingernails dug into her palms. “You pick a place on this side of the line for the exchange. You have two hours to set it up.”

“Ah, you worry I kill the boy after noon.”

“I think you’re too smart to be that stupid,” she said. Especially if you lay off the booze and crack. “The problem is Ted-we can’t keep him in the trunk forever.”

Hector laughed so hard he choked. “Aiee. Such a woman! But I no can cross the border.”

“If tons of marijuana can, you can. You have millions of reasons to.”

“Do you have the information?” Hector asked in rapid-fire Spanish. “The banks, the transactions, all the numbers-you understand?”

“I understand. We have what you need. Faroe, ah, persuaded Ted to talk.”

“These records, you truly have them?”

“The records will be present at the exchange.” She gave Faroe a cold, lawyerly smile.

There was a humming silence.

Grace’s nails dug deeper into her hands.

Faroe pried apart her left hand and rubbed the scarlet crescent marks.

“Do you know the Otay Mesa crossing?” Hector asked.

“Yes. I know the Otay crossing,” she repeated so that Faroe would know.

He closed his eyes in relief or prayer.

“We trade there,” Hector said in Spanish. “Bring Ted Franklin. I will hear from his lips the truth of the records. You understand?”

“Yes. Ted will be with me. Where, exactly, do we meet?”

“I will call you. And, senora?”

Grace’s heart stopped, then beat faster. “Yes?”

“Joe Faroe will be with you and Ted. No one else.”

“Joe? I hadn’t planned-”

Hector talked over her in rough English. “Faroe come or no deal. I want that smart gringo where I can see him. ?Claro?”

“Very clear. He’ll be with me.”

Hector hung up.

So did Grace.

“Did I just hear you promise that I’d be with you?” Faroe asked.

“Yes. Is that a problem? He’s obviously going to use the warehouse just like you said.”

“Yeah, but I hadn’t planned to be there with you.”

Surprised, Grace asked, “Where were you going to be?”

“At the Mexican end of the tunnel, sneaking up on Hector.”

Silence.

“What’s Plan B?” she asked.

“I’m working on it.”

Faroe went to find Father Magon. If anyone had a direct line to Carlos Calderon, it would be the Vatican spy.