Doubleback: A Novel (36 page)

Georgia blinked.

“But it’s an interesting theory. The cartel could have angled off the main drain at some point,” Whit said. “We may be able to get an engineering plan. Or blueprints. They’re probably public record.”

“We don’t have time,” Georgia said. “And we’d just be duplicating what Raffi already figured out.” As they approached the border, traffic thickened and slowed. She turned off the highway just before they reached the guard booths. “What about the other end?”

“In Esteban?”

She nodded. “Maybe there’s a way to for me to sneak in from there. Do you know where it is?”

“I don’t. But even if I did, you’ll never get through. It’s got to be heavily guarded.”

“I wonder if Raffi checked it out.”

“I’m telling you,” Whit said. “It’s a waste of time.”

Georgia pursed her lips. Then she smiled “Maybe not.”

•   •   •

“Carmelita, I need to talk to your brother.”

Georgia had driven to Carmelita Herrera’s home in the barrio, hoping to catch her before she left for work. The woman answered the door, but when she recognized Georgia, her expression turned sour. “You should not be here. Please. Go away.” She tried to close the door.

“Wait.” Georgia wedged her foot in the space. “We need to talk.”

From deep inside the house came the strains of a Spanish TV soap opera.

“Raffi is dead.”

Carmelita’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes registered shock. “What happened?”

Georgia briefly explained. Tears sprang to the woman’s eyes. “
Madre de Dios!”

Georgia let her grieve for a moment. Then, “The thing is, you knew exactly what he was doing, didn’t you?”

Despite her grief, a knowing expression came into her eyes. “Come in.”

Georgia stepped inside the home. “Why did you let me believe
he
was responsible for murdering people in the desert?”

The woman blinked fast, as if trying to regain her composure. “You were a stranger. I thought you were his enemy.”

Georgia nodded. She understood. She’d shown up without warning, probing Carmelita about Raffi, illegal immigrants, and drugs. At that point, in fact, she thought Raffi
was
her enemy. Now, though, she needed help. She chose her words carefully. “Carmelita, I want to finish what Raffi started.”

Carmelita’s lips parted in surprise. “Why?”

“Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Carmelita paused, then shook her head. “Raffi was the best. If he did not succeed, what makes you think you will?”

“I don’t know that I will.” Georgia lifted her chin. “But I have to try.” She told Carmelita about the tunnel. “I want to approach it from the Mexican side, and I believe your brother knows where it is. Can you persuade him to take me to it?”

Carmelita was quiet for a moment. Then a faint smile crossed her lips. “You do not need him.” She cocked her head.

Now Georgia’s jaw dropped. “You know?”

“How do you think I crossed?”

•   •   •

Georgia hooked up with Whit back at Lanedo that afternoon. He led her to the back room where several wooden crates lay on a bed. The labels on them were faded, but she could make out a few words here and there: fuse igniters, primacord, Comp C-4. Whit opened one of the crates and lifted out six small blocks wrapped in dark green plastic. They were about ten inches by four inches by two. He slipped them into a backpack. Then he opened a smaller crate and pulled out half a dozen objects that looked like nails. Attached to the top of the nails were cylinders about the size of large bottle caps. On top of the caps were miniature switches.

“Detonators,” he said, holding one up. “They have tiny batteries inside. With a timer. You can set it up to an hour.”

Georgia knew that state-of-the-art equipment like this was only available through the military. Fort Huachuca wasn’t far away. “Must be nice to have a demolitions depot just up the road.”

Whit grinned. “Things tend to fall into your lap when you’re in the right place at the right time.” He handed her the detonators. “Any questions?”

Georgia had taken a class on explosives at the Academy years ago, but technology had evolved since then. “C-4 is fairly stable, isn’t it?”

“It’s covered with a thin plastic coating, which makes it less sensitive to heat and shock. They used to use it to heat food over in ‘Nam. But it packs a pretty nice punch when it’s triggered by a detonator. A few bricks can destroy an eighteen wheeler.” He showed her how to poke a tiny hole in the C-4 with a pen. “It’s really not hard. You only need this big a space.” Georgia squinted— it was only about a quarter of an inch. “Then you push the detonator in, set the timer, and run like hell.”

She nodded. “How many charges will I need?”

“Depends how long the tunnel is. At least three bricks. Maybe four, equally spaced. But I gave you enough C-4 and detonators for six. Try to put them in inconspicuous spots, not too near each mouth. And give yourself enough time to get out.”

“There’s no way we can use a remote control detonator?”

“You know the answer to that.”

She did. The charges and the detonators would be underground, which would make above ground wireless signals chancy. She sighed.

He threw a pair of night vision goggles, a knife, and a flashlight into the backpack. “Add ten to fifteen minutes to however long it takes you to get into the tunnel, so you have enough time to get out.”

She nodded. “What about collateral damage?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I’m ready to set the charge and somebody happens to be in the tunnel?”

He was silent. Then he shrugged. “That’s your call. You know what’s going to happen if they catch you.”

She pressed her lips together.

He made her go through the steps one more time, then handed her the backpack. As she slipped the detonators into her blazer pocket, something occurred to her.

“Why don’t you do it with me? It would help me out.”

Whit seemed to consider it. “I thought about it. But this really isn’t our agenda. Our targets are usually the people Raffi wants to protect. Like I said, this is an isolated case of mutually converging interests.”

She wasn’t sure whether to believe him. Maybe he just didn’t have the guts.

“One more thing,” he said. He drew out her Sig from a pocket and handed it back to her. “You’re probably going to need this.”

•   •   •

Later that afternoon Georgia picked up Carmelita, who’d called in sick to work. Georgia had showered, put on clean clothes and make-up. Carmelita was wearing make-up too, and her hair was swept back in a soft, sexy style. She wore a flowery sundress, which was just a little too revealing, strappy sandals, and dangly earrings. Again Georgia was reminded of the beauty she once was.

Georgia had stowed the backpack in the trunk and threw some underwear, bras, and tank tops over it. She was terrified the agents would search the car at the border, but both Carmelita and Whit said the chances of that happening were small. Cars were usually searched coming back to the States. They were just two friends crossing the border for some afternoon shopping and margaritas.

Still, when they reached the crossing, Georgia’s heart began to race, and her palms felt sweaty. She lowered the window and smiled at the guard. An overweight, balding man in uniform and wraparound shades, he asked for her driver’s license. She handed it over. Carmelita did the same. The agent examined them, then leaned his head in, and scanned the Escort’s interior.

“You’re a long way from Illinois.”

She nodded and forced another smile. “Vacation.”

He grunted. “Whose car is this?”

“It’s mine. Well, it’s a rental,” she said nervously.

“The contract, please.”

She leaned over and snapped open the glove compartment. Thank God she hadn’t stashed her Sig in there. She fished out the rental agreement, hoping her hands weren’t shaking too much, and handed it to the agent. He studied it. Beads of sweat popped out on her forehead.

Finally, he handed it back. “Have a good afternoon.” He waved them through.

Relief poured over her. She put the contract back in the glove compartment.

The Pan American Highway cut a broad swath down the western half of both border towns, but Esteban was even shabbier and more crowded than the barrio in Stevens. Georgia drove past block after block of cramped homes and one-story structures, all standing on flat gritty ground. Both towns supposedly lay between the Sonora and Chihuahua deserts, but the sandy soil and relentless heat made it seem like they were seamlessly connected.

When they reached Calle 4, they turned east and spent a few hours shopping and eating until well past dark. At around ten Carmelita directed Georgia to a bodega on a crowded street a block from the border. There was no sign in front, and the only indication it was a store was a halfhearted display of lettuce, mangoes, and beans propped up on crates outside. Carmelita made Georgia drive past it, then circle the block to make sure no one was around. They found a parking place two blocks away. Georgia killed the engine.

“You sure that was the place? It looks so—”

“Down here it is an open secret. Everyone knows.”

“How come the police or border agents don’t raid it? Board it up?”

Carmelita rubbed her fingertips together. “The cartel makes sure no one has a need to.” She pulled a tube of lipstick out of her purse and angled the rear view mirror her way. “And if that doesn’t work, they kill them.” She calmly applied her lipstick. It was bright red. As Carmelita blotted her lips, Georgia wondered how far she would go, if she was in Carmelita’s place. She wasn’t a prude, but she had never traded sex for power, professional or otherwise. In fact, the idea was repellent. But there didn’t seem to be any other solution. At least one that wouldn’t require time to put into action. Still, it was a risk. “Carmelita, maybe you shouldn’t do this. We’ll figure out something else.”

The woman waved her words away. “Raffi was a good man. I think you are good, too. I want to do this. I do not want to find more little Diegos.”

“Still—”

Carmelita raised her finger to her lips. “I know what men want,” she said softly. “It will work.”

Georgia swallowed. They both got out of the car. Georgia opened the trunk, pulled out the backpack, and hoisted it over her shoulders. Then she returned to the front and stowed the keys under the seat. She hoped the car would still be there when they got back.

“In case I don’t make it.”

Carmelita shook her head. “Do not talk that way.”

Georgia closed the door. “Let’s go.”

chapter
44

T
hey’d agreed in advance that Carmelita would go in, ostensibly to pick up a few groceries, which would give Georgia time to case the neighborhood. If Carmelita didn’t come out in a few minutes, it meant she was proceeding. If she did, they’d abort and try again later. Meanwhile Georgia would work her way around to the back of the building. Carmelita said she thought there was a back door. Maybe a window, too.

She rounded the corner of the building and came to a small, unfenced yard. A dumpster leaned against the wall, emitting a rancid smell. Georgia picked her way through beer bottles, rotting food, paper, and god knows what else on the ground. There were no alleys in this part of the world, which she found a little unsettling. Back home they provided sure-fire escape routes, so essential that people wrote entire books about them.

But there was a back door. And a dirty window six feet off the ground. She found a cinderblock, pulled it over, and stepped up. Through the window she could see two men playing cards at a table. A lamp cast a dim light on the cards. A bottle of booze— tequila she thought—sat on the table, and the men took turns taking swigs. A skinny band of light from the front of the store poured through a narrow hallway. Although the window, covered with layers of grime, limited her sightline, Georgia saw flashes of Carmelita’s flowery dress moving back and forth.

One of the men looked up from his cards. Something had caught his attention. Had Carmelita called out? He muttered something in Spanish, got up. He was tall and brawny. He headed to the front of the store. His companion, who was wearing a billed cap, stole a look at his cards.

Georgia peered around the room, trying to spot the entrance to the tunnel, but the glass was so dirty and the room so dark she couldn’t see much except two closed doors. One might lead to the tunnel. She was surprised at how casually it was guarded. Just two men. Did that mean it was a quiet night? Or did it mean the cartel was so powerful they knew no one would mess with them?

Georgia looked to the front of the store. The tall man’s body blocked most of the light, but Georgia caught glimpses of Carmelita. She was cocking her hip, placing one hand on it, and flashing a come-hither smile. She’d decided to impersonate a working girl, new to town. To prove her worth, she was offering a free sample. Georgia hadn’t liked the idea, but Carmelita was adamant. “It is the only way to distract them. You will see.” Georgia finally acquiesced.

She watched, trying to listen, but the conversation was muffled, and in Spanish. Billed Cap, who was still at the table, swilled down more booze, but was watching Carmelita and his buddy. At one point, he let out a laugh, but there was a cruel edge to it.

The tall guard scowled. Billed Cap stopped laughing. The tall guard shuffled back to the card room. Carmelita followed, her smile never wavering. She gestured provocatively, and said something low and throaty. The man ran his tongue around his lips. Carmelita’s smiled widened. She groped for his hand, and moved it to her breast. Both men leered. Damn if she didn’t bat her eyelashes.

More conversation between the men. Tall Guard’s voice grew loud and harsh. Billed Cap’s tone was resistant, but Tall Guard was clearly in charge. He pointed to the back door.

“No,”
Billed Cap barked.
“No voy a mover
.”

Tall Guard launched into a diatribe of shouting and gesticulating. Billed Cap sank back in his chair, looking afraid. Carmelita stayed by the passageway, but her smile had lost some of its wattage. Tall Guard pulled out a gun and aimed it at Billed Cap. He shuddered and crossed himself. Carmelita threw up her hands, cried out, and waved in the general direction of the back door. Tall Guard grunted and waved his gun. This time Billed Cap got up, picked up the tequila, and lurched to the door. Georgia stepped down from the cinderblock, hurried around the side of the building, and flattened herself against the wall.