The Spider Thief (26 page)

Snyder lowered her steepled fingers. “He duplicated the ink?”

“No. That’s what the North Koreans did, in a state-of-the-art laboratory. Our suspect used automotive paint. Specifically, a GM color, possibly Chevrolet. Ironically enough, it looks the same to the naked eye.”

Cleo pointed at the counterfeit bill. “So what you’re saying is that you could spend this bill just about anywhere without getting caught.”

“Even at a bank.”

Graves leaned back in his chair, exhaling. He met Cleo’s gaze and raised his eyebrows, as if to say: Look what your guy got himself into.

Hollis leaned forward, her eyes showing a glint of hunger. “The Secret Service is extremely interested in finding this individual.”

“We’ll do everything we can to help,” Snyder said. “As soon as we take Andres down and prosecute him, we’ll turn him over to you.”

“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Hollis said. “This is a matter of national security, and the Secret Service has jurisdiction. My office will handle the disposition of any action on Andres from this point forward. The Bureau is not to approach Andres under any circumstances.”

Snyder sat motionless for a moment while she digested that, then nodded. “Okay.”

“The hell with that.” The words erupted from Cleo before she could stop them. “What does that mean, we are not to approach him?”

“My office will continue to monitor him as a person of interest, but we cannot risk disrupting any lead to our unknown counterfeiter. Not for any reason.”

Cleo stared. “The man is a murderer. He has a hostage, right now, as we speak.”

Hollis put her tools and hundred-dollar bills away with machine-like precision, saying nothing.

Snyder cleared her throat. “All we have to go on is Ash’s word. And frankly, that’s not credible.”

“So you’re just going to let Andres walk?” The words sounded so unreal, Cleo could barely get them out. She turned to Graves, wordlessly pleading for backup.

Graves leaned in. “With all due respect—”

“That’s all, Graves.” Snyder locked gazes with him.

After a long moment, Graves dropped his gaze to the table and said nothing.

Cleo stared at him in disbelief. “Graves. You have to back me up on this.”

Snyder stood up. “Cleo, let’s talk about this outside.”

“What? No, let’s talk right here.” Cleo stabbed the table with her finger. “Andres is a murderer, and he needs to be brought to justice.
Now
. Once we locate him, we need a team ready to go in and retrieve Ash’s brother, whom Andres abducted. At gunpoint.”

Hollis snapped the latches on her case. “We have no evidence of that.”

“Are you
fucking
kidding me?” Cleo shot to her feet. “Ash is in custody right now. He can tell you. Go ahead, ask him. I’ll wait.”

Snyder came around the table. “Cleo—”

To Hollis, Cleo said, “Have you even read his statement?”

Snyder touched her gently on the arm. “Cleo, calm down.”

Cleo jerked away. “No, I’m not going to calm the hell down until I get some answers. She can’t just walk in here and do this.”

Snyder gave her a look that said she could, in fact, do exactly that.

Hollis cleared her throat. “Do you think you can be objective here, Agent Garnett?” She glanced at Snyder, then back at Cleo. “I understand you were recently suspended, but even so your supervisor petitioned strongly for your inclusion in this meeting. Apparently, she thought you might have something constructive to add. I’m still waiting for that.”

“How can you flatly deny that Andres is a killer?” Cleo said. “How can you justify coming in here and obstructing our investigation like this?”

“There is no investigation, Garnett,” Snyder said. “It’s all you. It’s always been you.”

Cleo fought back tears, her breath shaking in and out of her. She gripped the edge of the table, afraid to let go.

Hollis got to her feet and picked up her attaché case. “We’re done here, except for the prisoner transfer.”

Snyder hesitated, her gaze going from Cleo to Hollis and back. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out.  The room settled into airless silence.

Hollis cocked her head, like an insect, waiting.

Snyder looked down at the tabletop. “I’ll have Agent Graves handle the transfer of custody.”

“You can’t go along with this,” Cleo said weakly.

Graves looked up at her at last, but she didn’t see guilt or shame in his eyes. She saw pity. As if he just couldn’t respect her anymore. And that was even worse.

“Cleo, just . . .” For once, Snyder seemed at a loss for words. “Let’s get a cup of coffee.”

“I’ll see you in hell,” Cleo said, in a voice she didn’t recognize as her own. She threw the door open and marched out of the room.

“Cleo,” Snyder called after her. “Cleo!” She followed her out into the hall and caught up with her. “What the hell was that? Do you have any idea how hard I’ve gone to bat for you?”

“Don’t bat for me. Bat for Andres. In fact, why don’t you bat for Mauricio, who’s out there right now, scared out of his mind?”

“We don’t have
any
evidence that there’s been an actual abduction. All we have is the statement made by your ex-boyfriend. And let’s face it, he’s not exactly a Boy Scout.”

And just like that, the ice that Cleo had felt frozen inside herself all this time shattered. She leaned close to Snyder, close enough to smell the mint on her breath.

“I quit,” Cleo said softly. With those words, her anger evaporated, leaving nothing behind.

Snyder shook her head as if she honestly didn’t understand. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I should’ve quit a long time ago, but I always held on. I always told myself, I need to toe the line, I need to follow the rules, like Graves. And if I do that long enough, I can work inside the system to bring Andres to justice.”

“Cleo, don’t—”

“I’m not finished. I know you’ve stuck your neck out for me, Snyder. But not when it counts. Because getting Andres, right now, is the only thing that matters to me, and you’re just going to roll over and give up. So thank you. Thank you for making this all so clear to me now.”

Snyder went motionless, thinking. “You’re not serious. Cleo, don’t do this.”

“This is the only thing left I can do.”

Snyder stared at her, speechless.

“Keep the badge,” Cleo said, patting her softly on the arm. Then she turned on her heel and marched to the end of the hall, kicked open the door and kept going, out into the burning sunlight.

Legacy

Mauricio hadn’t been to the ghost town since he was in high school. Even then, with Ash taunting him, he’d been afraid to set foot inside the sagging, half-toppled buildings. Now that he was sitting on a warped wood floor, listening to the long-abandoned house creak in the wind, his fear ran through him like a constant electrical current.

As night fell, scattered candles lit the small room. Salvador had guarded him for a while, but now it was Lazaro, who sat with his massive revolver balanced on his lap. He had swung open the cylinder, big enough to drink coffee out of. One by one, he filled its chambers with brass-capped red shotgun shells.

Lazaro noticed Mauricio’s stare and grinned. He was missing a lower tooth. He shut the cylinder with a remarkably soft click. “The Judge,” he said, holding up the gun with no small amount of pride. “This gun, he use to belong to Ramiro. Now, he is mine, an’ with him, I protect you.”

From what?
Mauricio thought. He nodded from where he sat, his back pressed against the crumbling wall. “Thanks. I guess.”

Andres came in then, humming a haunting melody, and dismissed Lazaro. He studied Mauricio with a critical eye, like a chef checking on dinner. Then he went over to a pile of gear in the corner and squatted, balancing on his toes so that the tall heels of his shoes hovered inches off the floor. He tended to something inside a small plastic case with a carrying handle. The candlelight was too dim to make out what was inside.

“Your mother, she was kind to you?” Andres said suddenly.

Of all the things Mauricio expected to hear, that was not one of them. “Um, I guess. I don’t really remember her.”

Andres gave him a disapproving stare, then went back to his plastic case. “You should remember her more. Out of respect.”

“I was really just a toddler when she passed away. My dad remarried and had Ash.”

“Selena, your mother, my sister, she was so beautiful. So innocent. She believe his lies, help him steal my spider and run away. It was many, many years before I find out where she go. And by then, she was already gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

Andres didn’t seem to notice. “Your father, he steal my sister, and
La Araña
, in the night. When I wake, they are gone. I was a broken man.” He let out a long breath and opened the plastic case. “Many years later, I have no one, nothing. I live on the streets, in filth. But then,
La Araña
send me a sign.”

Mauricio was about to ask him what he meant when Andres stood up and turned around holding a giant gray tarantula. Its hairy legs spread the width of his cupped hands. Its dark body had eight gold bands that radiated out from the center of its body, framing its glittering eyes and thick fur-covered fangs. Just the sight of it made Mauricio want to bolt out the door.

“She was a messenger,” Andres whispered, his hushed voice quivering with energy.

The spider stirred and picked its way carefully up onto his forearm. Every little movement it made told Mauricio to run.

“One day, I wake up before the sun rise, no clothes of course, and this spider, she is on my chest. Light as a feather, I cannot even feel her touch. Right here.” Andres stepped close and touched the fingers of his free hand to Mauricio’s chest.

Mauricio, gaze riveted on the tarantula, forced himself to stay put. It was hard to breathe.

“She stand there, on me,” Andres said. “No moving. She jus’ look me in the eye. I know then, she is mine. She was send to me.”

Mauricio’s voice came out a squeak. “That didn’t, you know, freak you right the hell out?”

“Oh, I was very worry. I could have roll over, crush her in my sleep. That would be a tragedy. Such a beautiful creature, she is.” The spider climbed a few more inches, stopping at Andres’s elbow. “She come to tell me, my life have a purpose. To rebuild the lost city. To make a new world for
La Araña
. You father could have join me in this destiny, but no. He betray me in the night, flee to America.” Andres’s voice dropped to an angry hush. “He leave a note, not even man enough to speak to me. Say if we stay in the lost city, we will die,
La Araña
makes us sick.”

“Sick?” Mauricio said. “Is that true?”

“After a time, the body withers, yes. But the spirit will grow stronger, live forever. The body is only a prison for the spirit.”

A chilling thought occurred to Mauricio. “So it’s like a drug, the spider’s effects. You were all strung out in the jungle.” He tried to visualize it, a group of Colombian hippies worshiping the gold spider. “Oh God. No wonder my dad never talked about it.”

“The traitor? No. But I, always, I will tell you the truth,
mi sobrino
. This, you can trust.”

“Well, that’s comforting.”

“Good. Is good you should be comfort. You will not fall to the curse, the wrath of
La Araña
. No, you have a destiny now.”

Mauricio tried to fake a smile, but that failed as Andres took his arm in a bone-bruising grip and coaxed the tarantula to climb onto it. The spider glowed in the candlelight.  Its legs moved across Mauricio’s skin like molten gold. Its touch was feather-light.

Mauricio felt himself slipping past terror into a sort of trance. He felt like he was outside his own body, watching it happen from a great distance. The tarantula climbed up his arm, one hairy leg at a time, its thick abdomen held high.

“You are my blood,” Andres whispered in his ear. “I will teach you the ways of
La Araña
, so that like me, you will live forever.”

Unmarked

As they hurtled down the dark highway, the only positive thing Graves could say about his new partner, Brewer, was that he didn’t waste time. Brewer sat in the driver’s seat in a way that suggested the seat belt was only barely restraining him. He managed to curse every driver in front of him without breaking the stream of his own conversation. And he drove like a baboon.

If there was any plus side to letting Brewer drive, it was that they’d be able to deliver Ash to the Secret Service that much faster, and Graves could finally wash his hands of this whole foul business.

Ash, for his part, sat morosely in the back.

“Moron!” Brewer barked, as a white cargo van cut him off. He planted his fist on the horn. “You see that?”

Graves didn’t bother to answer. He dug in his jacket pockets, hoping for a forgotten vial of Dramamine. He found something and held it up to the dashboard lights, but it was only a roll of Tums. He took a couple anyway.

“All I’m saying is, think about it,” Brewer said, tailgating the van. “A striped red and white Ford Torino, in broad daylight, and
nobody
sees where it goes. Nobody. You believe that?”

“Somebody knows,” Graves said absently. “They’re just not talking.”

“Yeah, but think about it. Nobody? Gimme a break.”

While Graves tried desperately to ignore him, Ash rapped on the partition.

“What’s with the escort?” Ash said.

Graves snorted. “Don’t give yourself too much credit. There is no escort.” Granted, the van in front of them was moving pretty slow. And oddly enough, it was missing its license plate light.

And there were identical white vans on either side of them, pacing them, boxing them in.

As Graves watched, a fourth van pulled up behind them, its headlights uncomfortably close.

Brewer planted his fist on the horn again. “You see this? I can’t get around this jackass.”

The dark highway vanished as the windowless white vans edged closer.