He realized that if he tried to pick a truth and was wrong, it would all be over quickly. He looked at the captain’s scar and he studied the anger in his eyes and decided.
— Not for the tarpon. For protection from the cartels.
— You cannot bring such a weapon into Mexico.
— Maybe the Army should have them. How many good soldiers have been murdered in Mexico since the war on drugs?
The captain stared morosely at Bradley. Then he turned and barked something at the man behind him, who quickly left the room.
Bradley heard the voices and scuffling outside. In the headlights he saw a group of four men pushing Cleary and Vega along in front of them. Cleary’s face streamed blood shiny in the light and Vega’s head was down like someone trying to avoid a camera. Another soldier held open the back door of one of the SUVs and they shoved Cleary inside. Vega stepped in after him and the man slammed the door shut, then looked inside as if they might have gotten away already.
The man who had frisked Bradley now came from the bathroom holding Bradley’s expense wad of roughly forty-nine thousand dollars and his Glock and the AirLite. All of this he dropped to the bed.
— You killed sixteen Zetas in Campeche yesterday, on the highway.
— We were attacked.
— Where are all of your friends?
— Merida.
— Who are they?
— They are Americans. There are ten of them. We work with Baja state police and Baja Sur and others in the north. Our bosses have talked with Calderon himself.
— I have heard of this weapon you have. It is used by Carlos Herredia and his North Baja Cartel.
— It’s a very good weapon. Read what it says on the slide.
The captain picked up the gun.
— There is a telescoping butt, capitan. Press on the two small buttons and it will appear.
The captain found the buttons on the rear of the gun, just under the slide, and the end of the butt popped out. He pulled it to its furthest reach and looked at Bradley again.
— May I step into the bathroom, capitan? I have some things to show you.
The captain motioned to the first soldier, who then followed Bradley into the bath. He rummaged in the side of his duffel and pulled out the silencer and an extended fifty-shot clip, holding one up in each hand for the man to see. He nodded gravely.
Back near the bed he handed them to the captain, who screwed the silencer onto the barrel threads. He popped out the nine-shot magazine and snapped home the gracefully curving extended clip. Guns and ammo, thought Bradley: the universal language of cops and bad guys.
— It will fire all fifty rounds in five seconds. Or you can leave it set on semi. It’s real accurate. Take it. It is a gift from me to you.
— It must be confiscated.
— I understand. Confiscate the one on the desk, too. Please.
One of the soldiers strode to the desk and unveiled the machine pistol waiting under the Merida newspaper.
— Of course the cash is for the Mexican Army also. It will buy lots of good equipment and hire some more good men. Please leave me the smaller sidearms, captain. It’s not good to be in Mexico without defense. As you know.
The captain looked at the money, then up at Bradley.
— All of this will be kept as evidence.
— Of our friendship?
— Of your crime.
— What crime?
— The murder of sixteen.
— They were Zetas. We did you a favor.
The captain looked at the lead soldier, who pulled a pair of old-fashioned metal handcuffs from his belt and cuffed Bradley’s hands behind his back.
— Capitan? What’s wrong with you? I offer you my friendship and gifts of respect for you and your men. And you do this? I ask you now, man to man, to let me be free in Mexico. I’m not here to fish. I do not like fish or fishing. I’m here to find my wife. She was kidnapped by the Gulf Cartel at gunpoint. From my home in California. Armenta has threatened to skin her the day after tomorrow. I love her as you love your wife. Please, allow me to save her from rape and death. If you can find it in your heart.
The capitan listened in intent silence. The hairless patch in his right eyebrow gave him a vulnerable look but his eyes were dark and very alert. The scar continued up his forehead and into his hairline. Bradley could almost see the wheels turning inside the man’s brain.
— Where is she?
— Here in Quintana Roo.
— Quintana Roo is very large.
— North of Kohunlich and east of Bacalar.
— This is only jungle. You must have coordinates if you are looking for her. Or a map.
— I have neither. I’m waiting for the information.
— You can continue your story on the way to our base.
— I’m a friend. I’m a cop. We are distant brothers. Let me go take care of my wife. You have my gifts.
— I don’t need your gifts. No gringo comes to Mexico and murders sixteen men.
— Zetas.
— So you say. But why is a Zeta not a man?
— The Zetas are killers and torturers. And who made you God?
— We go now.
“Fuck!”
The captain nodded at the first soldier. A moment later he came from the bedroom with Bradley’s satellite phone clipped to his belt and the bricks of cash in both hands.
Handcuffed or not Bradley held a third-degree black belt in Hapkido, a pain-based Korean attack system designed to break bones, blind, maim, and kill. When the soldier tried to walk past him Bradley kicked him hard on the chin and put him down. The captain swung his AR-15 too slowly and Bradley cracked the outside of his foot against his head and the stout man rocked to his left. Bradley jumped into the air and launched the same foot the other way, the hard top of the arch catching the captain flush on the cheekbone. The man crashed butt first to the floor with a dazed look on his face.
Bradley was outside in a flash. He sprinted around the casita and into the jungle and he could hear the bullets flying past him hitting the trees and branches. But the AR-15s threw so much lead at him that he knew he had to hit the ground or take a bullet so he plunged headfirst to the root-knotted jungle floor and lay there with his heart pounding as the bullets cut through the foliage above him and his hope fled.
Soon they were upon him. He tried to rise and run again but one of the men tackled him and the two others were soon above him, their fists and boots finding their marks. His cheek was smashed into the earth and he felt the grind of mud in his ear then the wallop of a boot to his mouth, then another. But mostly he felt his heart breaking because he knew he had no chance now and Erin would wait at the cenote alone tomorrow. And then what? What would she do? The blows rained down and each one of them felt deserved, a reminder of his spectacular incompetence. Somehow he found his footing and struggled up, but quickly they knocked him back down.
The gringos were taken not to a Mexican Army base but to a decrepit warehouse somewhere near the village of Ramonal. It was a long low building with a colonnade along the street and a veranda that sagged between each column. The window openings were boarded over with plywood and there were no lights outside or in and Bradley could see no entrance as they drove past.
The driver pulled around the south side and parked deep in shadowed darkness. Two of the Army vehicles were already there, Bradley saw, and the others were behind them and he could see a faint rectangle of light from the door that stood open above the loading dock.
— The party house?
Bradley’s voice sounded roughly unfamiliar, and with his swollen tongue he felt the dangling tooth and the sharp edge of its broken neighbor. His lips burned and felt twice their usual size. His shirt front had a red swath down the button line.