The Wrong Hostage

42

OVER THE U.S.

MONDAY, 1:20 A.M. CST

“GOT HIM!” DWAYNE SAID triumphantly.

Steele took the phone. “Joseph?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s about time you turned on your damned phone.”

“I’ve been talking to Hector Rivas Osuna. An interruption could have been fatal.”

“Is Judge Silva with you?”

“Yes,” Faroe said.

“Tell her to turn on her damned phone.”

“Won’t do any good. Her service ends near the border.”

“Then get there fast,” Steele said. “Ted left a message on her machine.”

“What is it?”

“Your faith in St. Kilda is touching.”

“Look, we just saw one man murdered and I met the next body to be hung from the freeway overpass, so excuse me if I’m not-”

“Who died?” Steele cut in.

“A guy who dissed Hector. Bang, bang, bang, bang, you’re dead.”

“Bloody wonderful.”

“You’re half right.”

“Grace saw it?”

“Yes.”

“How is she holding up?” Steele asked.

“Better than we have any right to expect. What is Ted’s message?”

“He’ll call her at Lomas at midnight. Find out who, what, or where Lomas is and call me back.”

Steele punched out and stared at the red dot in Tijuana as if he could move it faster by sheer force of will.