The Fall Moon Page 16

  “So what did Heisenberg say that Schrödinger thought was so stupid?”

  I smiled. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously. What are you going to do instead, keep turning over questions you already know you can’t answer?”

  I sighed. “I’m not a physicist. I don’t really understand this stuff. I just read about it sometimes.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It wasn’t just Schrödinger. It was Einstein, too. There were a whole bunch of them arguing about this in the ’20s.”

  “What did Heisenberg say?”

  “He said it was impossible ever to know precisely where something was and how fast it was moving. The more you knew about where it was, the less you knew about how it was moving. But if you focused on how it was moving…”

  I trailed off, thinking suddenly about my own words and what they meant, and Dehan filled in what I had left out. “The less you knew about where it was.”

  “Exactly…”

  “You’re going to have to explain that to me properly some time. I think that’s D.C. pulling in there.”

  She was right. D.C.’s big, dark Buick was turning in to the gas station. We watched it pull up outside Wendy’s Burgers. The engine died and he climbed out. He stood a moment looking around, then pushed into the restaurant. I looked at Dehan. She shrugged. We scanned the lot and the road in both directions. There didn’t seem to be anybody watching, nobody had pulled in directly ahead of him or after him. A moment later, he stepped out again and stood staring around the lot. He pulled out his phone, thumbed the screen and a second later, my cell rang. He stared in our direction, frowning. We stepped out from among the trees.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  I told him, “We needed to make sure you were alone.”

  He scowled. “Jesus… What the hell’s going on?”

  “Not here.”

  “Get in the car.” He pointed to the Buick. “We need to get you to the Field Office and debriefed.”

  We climbed in and he pulled away onto the I-19, headed north toward Tucson. He had trouble keeping his eyes on the road and kept glancing at me with worried eyes.

  “Where is Brad, John? Where are the guys?”

  I watched his face carefully. “They were expecting us.”

  The car swerved. He stared at me like I had slapped his face. I snapped, “Keep your eyes on the road!”

  “That’s not possible! Nobody knew…!” But even as he was saying it, he was thinking. “Who? Who knew? Apart from…?”

  I said, “He deployed the teams according to the plan. Then he took up his position on the road, near the entrance to the ranch. He was supposed to give the order to stand by as the plane came in. Dehan and I saw it approach from the southeast, but the order never came. Next thing, the teams asked for the order to go. There was no reply. The plane touched down and then all hell broke loose. They were waiting for them in the woods, and they knew where they were going to be. They knew we were there, too. They knew everything.”

  He had gone pale and there were tears in his eyes. He said, “No…” He turned to me like he was asking me to tell him something different. “So… they’re dead?”

  “It looks that way. They came after us too. We had to run. You want to pull over? You want me to drive?”

  He shook his head. “Brad?”

  “We didn’t see anybody shot. But we saw a lot of gunfire. We saw the assassin arrive and what looked like a big shipment of coke. The gunfire was going on all around them, and grenades, but they ignored it.”

  He was frowning, like he had a headache. “It doesn’t make any sense…” He frowned at me. “Where was Brad?”

  “He went with three other guys down to the main entrance to the ranch, exactly according to the plan. He was going to storm in from the north.”

  He went to speak, but hesitated, then said, “I guess they must have ambushed him there.”

  Dehan’s voice came from the back of the car. It sounded neutral, almost dead. “Brad married?”

  D.C. glanced in the mirror to see her. “No. He lives… lived with his girlfriend. Why?”

  “Kids?”

  “No.” He shook his head, frowning like he was trying to focus. “No, she’s with the Bureau too. She’s an analyst. They don’t have time for a… what has this to do with anything?”

  I growled, “Stop kidding yourself, D.C. You know damned well what she’s driving at.”

  “No…” He was shaking his head and sounded crazy. “No, no, no! No, you don’t. Not Brad.”

  “Who then?”

  He closed his eyes. I snapped again, “Keep your damned eyes on the road, D.C.! Pull over and let me drive!”

  “I’m OK. Just give me a minute. I need to think.”

  Dehan wasn’t about to give him that time. “Cesar knew exactly where each team was going to be. They also knew that we were not included in the operation, and where we were going to be observing from. Who had that kind of information prior to our deployment?”

  “Brad, he was in charge of the operation. Pat O’Leary, he’s the field office SAC, me. I’m not sure how much he told Angel and Randy, but I doubt he gave them everything.”

  He glanced in the mirror as she replied, “So that narrows the field down some, huh?”

  “You mean I am a prime suspect.”

  I said, “You have to be, D.C. You’re not a prime suspect. You have to be the prime suspect. It’s either you, Brad or the Detective in Charge of the field office.”

  Dehan’s voice came from the shadows at the back again. “Or Brad’s girlfriend.”

  “Jesus Christ…” He was biting his lip and he had tears running down his face. “How did this happen?”

  We were entering Tucson, and as we approached Valencia Road, he turned off at the intersection and started heading west. I asked him, “Where are you going?”

  He shook his head again. “I need to think.”

  We drove in silence for a couple of miles, then he turned off Valencia into a shopping mall. There he pulled up in front of Sam’s Famous Sports Bar. He killed the engine and sat staring through the windshield at the sign in front of us. It said, ‘Fun Food & Spirits’.

  “Just give me five minutes,” he said, “to think this through. Somehow it has to make sense.”

  “Give Dehan the keys.”

  He sighed. “Sure.” He handed them back and she took them.

  I smiled back at her. “You’re driving. I plan to have a drink.”

  “Great.”

  Inside, it was dark and cool. The TV was playing reruns of old games, but the bar was empty save for the big guy behind the counter. D.C. ordered a bourbon on the rocks and I had an Irish straight up. Dehan had pineapple juice. We found a table at the back in the shadows and we sat. I sipped and felt the warmth start to ease away the aches, bruises and scratches.

  D.C. sat holding his glass with both hands and staring down at the rocks of ice.

  “This is a lot to assimilate in a very short time,” he said. “To you it’s pretty straightforward, but to me there is a lot involved. I’ve known Brad for fifteen years. Now I have to accept that either he is a traitor to his country, or he’s dead. Which is the better option? I’ve known Pat, the SAC, I am not sure how long. Years. He is a good, decent man. It is impossible that he is bent. So I am looking also at the very real possibility of spending the rest of my life in jail, humiliated before my family, labeled as a traitor. When I know that I am not guilty.”

  We didn’t say anything. We waited. He sat and turned the glass in circles. Finally, he said, “Or it may be Brad’s girlfriend, Susanne. So there is only one way to deal with this.”

  “How?”

  “We don’t go to the SAC.” He looked at us in turn. “We go straight to Washington. We put it in their hands. This office—this whole office—is compromised. So we have Washington take over the investigation.”

  I looked at Dehan. She made a face that said she couldn’t see anything wron
g with what he was suggesting.

  I frowned at him. “What exactly are you proposing?”

  “I don’t know.” He took his first pull on his drink and set the tumbler down carefully on the ring it had left on the table. “I think I’m in shock.” He looked at Dehan and blinked a few times. “Is my wife at risk?”

  “I don’t know. Why would she be?”

  “I don’t know,” he echoed her. “Who else have you spoken to?”

  I said, “We called the field office and spoke to a girl…”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket. His hand was trembling. He dialed. He waited with the phone to his ear, then smiled suddenly. “Hey, sweetheart. Listen, baby, things are going to get pretty hectic around here for a few days. So listen, I was thinking, why don’t you go and stay with your mom for a few days, in Florida.” He listened for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, baby. That’s a good idea. I’ll call you when things settle. Maybe I’ll even come and join you… I love you too, baby.”

  He hung up and we sat in silence for a moment. Finally, I asked him, “So, what’s next, D.C., how do you want to do this?”

  He glanced at me. Dehan was watching him like a cat watching a goldfish. He said: “Everyone I know and everything I touch is tainted from now on, you know that. You have to consider that I am your prisoner. You’ve taken me in and you need to contact Washington and appraise them of the situation.”

  Dehan nodded. “OK. Let’s find a motel. We’ll call from there.”

  I asked, “Did you tell anybody you were coming to meet us?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  He was about to stand, but I asked, “Why not?”

  He sighed. “You asked me not to, remember? Besides…” He sagged. “I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but I already suspected what had happened.”

  I still didn’t get up. “What’s going on at the field office? What steps are they taking?”

  “The SAC is shitting bricks, basically. He doesn’t know what the hell’s hit him. He’s had almost two dozen agents disappear into thin air. All he can do at the moment is search the area and have emergency conferences with the legal team and the judge.”

  “OK.” I drained my glass. “Let’s go find that motel.”

  NINETEEN

  “If you know where it is, you can’t know where it’s going. And if you know where it’s going, you can’t know where it is.” I was leaning on the roof of the car, staring at the door of our motel room, talking half to myself. D.C. was unlocking the door and Dehan was standing by the hood, looking back at me.

  She said, “What?”

  I sighed. “The uncertainty principle.”

  “Seriously, Stone? At a time like this?” She turned to go.

  I said, “I need to buy some stuff. Keep him entertained. I won’t be long.”

  She took a couple of steps back toward me, holding out the key. “If you’re buying toothpaste…”

  I took the key and opened the car door. “I know what flavor toothpaste you like, Dehan. I also know what size panties and bra you use. And believe me, it’s time you changed all three.”

  I heard the muffled, “Asshole!” as I slammed the door and chuckled. She knocked on the window, nodding her head that she needed to tell me something. I pressed the button and the glass slid down. She smiled. “Asshole. Just in case you didn’t hear me.”

  I reversed, shrugging and gesturing at my ear that I couldn’t hear.

  We were at the Saguaro Garden, a motel five minutes north of Tucson, just outside the little town of Rillito, on the I-10. Instead of turning right and south, back toward Tucson, I followed the frontage road and crossed under the interstate, then turned left and north toward Phoenix.

  I drove as fast as I dared. I didn’t know how long I had, but at the same time I didn’t want to draw the attention of the cops. What I needed to do needed to be done fast and quiet.

  It was a ninety mile drive, and sixty minutes after I joined the freeway, I was pulling into the Phoenix International Airport parking lot at Terminal 4. From there I ran. I tried to convince my brain I was twenty-two again. My brain didn’t believe me, but by the time I’d decided to give up and walk fast instead, I was in the main hall of the airport, scanning the lines moving through passport control into international departures. I didn’t see anything there that interested me, so I began a methodical search of all the coffee shops, bars and restaurants. All the while, I was aware that I might have the wrong terminal, and even the wrong mode of travel. I didn’t know for sure where she was, or where she was headed. All I had was an educated guess bolstered by a hunch.

  As it turned out, the guess was a good one, and so was the hunch. I finally spotted her at the Cheuvront Wine Bar sitting in front of a vodka martini, looking pale and worried. She didn’t notice me until I pulled out the chair opposite and sat. Then she stared at me for a moment in astonishment and said, “Oh, my goodness…”

  I smiled. “Don’t worry, Penny. He’s safe with Detective Dehan.”

  “Did he tell you where I would be? I can’t believe…”

  I shook my head. “I figured staying with your mom in Florida for a few days was code for ‘get the hell out of here,’ the Sierra de Cadiz was a safe bet for where you were going.” I shrugged. “For that you’d need Terminal Four.”

  “Oh... Are you going to stop me from leaving?”

  “I don’t know yet. I don’t know what D.C. has done. Somewhere in the region of fourteen to seventeen agents were killed this morning, by Cesar and his men. They knew exactly where the agents were. They were sitting ducks. There are not many ways they could have got hold of that information, Penny.”

  Her eyes went to her drink. The ice was melting, but she hadn’t sipped it yet. She spoke suddenly.

  “He arrested me.” She flicked her eyes at my face and smiled. “He tells everyone I came over with my parents when I was four. It isn’t true. I was nineteen or twenty. I don’t remember. He was such an easy target, so full of honor and goodness and decency. He really believed in all that Christian stuff. His mom and dad were Quakers. Did you know that? And he really believed in it. He still does.”

  She sighed and sagged back in her chair. “El Patron, the boss who controlled the area where I lived…” She stopped again. Her eyes roved my face like she was wondering if I could understand what she was talking about. “I was born in Altar. It’s the southernmost tip of the triangle, between Nogales, Sonoyta and Altar. There is no law there.” She shrugged. “It’s the law of the Patron. I was fourteen, I was pretty. They could get good money for me. So they took me. They worked me in a club in Nogales for a year, then brought me over, first to Socorro, then some clubs in El Paso, finally to the Club Gasolina, just south of Tucson. It’s closed now. By then, I guess I was nineteen.”

  She smiled at me for a while, then shook her head. “It is such a long time ago now, it seems like another life. I was a nice girl before they took me, a good Catholic, decent, kind… Can you believe that when the feds raided the Gasolina, I hated them? ‘My people’ were the bastards who were beating me, prostituting me, raping me on a nightly basis. They were ‘los mios!’ My people. This is the loyalty that Daryl talks about so much. I would have killed those agents that night if I’d had the chance. I was nineteen and I believed that my place in the world was as a whore for the Sinaloa cartel.”

  She laughed suddenly. It was a nice, happy sound. She leaned forward and put her hand on my wrist. “The minute I saw Daryl, and he looked at me, I knew I had him. He was mine! I owned him!” She laughed again. “I began to work him straight away. He was going to get me released. For sure.”

  The joy and pleasure drained from her face and her gaze drifted back to her vodka martini. I waited a moment, then asked, “What happened?”

  “He wasn’t as easy as I thought. I could see he was in love with me, crazy, head over heels for me. But he had so much integrity. I had never seen anything like it. And the stupid thing was that, because of t
hat, I began to fall in love with him.” She raised her eyes to meet mine. “They say, don’t they, that we are shaped in the first five years of our lives. My father was like Daryl; not so smart, not educated. He was a very simple man. But he had that kind of religious, moral integrity. Kindness, humanity. You must never tell D.C., but I am a total atheist. I lost my faith when I was a kid. It’s something that Daryl doesn’t need to know. But he reminded me of my father.”

  “What did they do to him, Penny?”

  She asked, “My father?” but she knew that wasn’t what I meant.

  I shook my head. “D.C. Cesar caught him, didn’t he?”

  She shook her head. “Not Cesar, Camacho. It was… eight? Eight or nine years ago now. He was already too old for the job! I told him, ‘Get a desk job!’” A spasm of irritation flashed across her face, then passed. “So much time had passed. We had both forgotten my past. Can you understand that? It was like I had died and been reborn. I am an American now. We had forgotten. It was that simple.”

  “Then the Camachos arrived?”

  She nodded. “The Camacho brothers are not based in Arizona.”

  “I know, they from New York.”

  She wagged her finger at me in a gesture that was totally Spanish. “No. They are not from New York. They are based in New York now, but the Camacho family is from Hermosillo, and they did a lot of money laundering in Puerto Peñasco, Rocky Point. They used to spend the summers there. It’s not far from Altar. So we all knew about the Camachos.

  “The gang who took me when I was a kid were controlled by the Camachos, and the Patron paid his percentage every month to them, he bought his merchandise from them.” She gave a small snort and nodded. “So you can imagine how I felt when I heard from Daryl that Camacho’s boys were moving in along the border and taking control of the supply line from Nogales to the northeast.”

  “Did he realize there was a connection between you and the Camachos?”

  She gave her head a single shake. “No, and I was sure, so much time had passed, I was just a nineteen year-old whore when I was arrested. They would have forgotten about me. I was nothing to them.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “But the older brother, Julio, he is very sick. I never met him and he never met me. But he heard a story, gossip—I don’t know—that ten or twelve years before, there had been a raid and one of the whores had married an agent.”