The Wrong Hostage

76

TIJUANA

MONDAY, 11:22 A.M.

CARLOS CALDERON HELD HIS scrambled cell phone like he expected it to slice open his hand.

In a way, he did. Opportunity was like that.

It cut both ways.

The phone beeped.

He crossed himself and answered it. “Bueno.”

“This is Faroe. Is this Carlos Calderon?”

“Yes. I have been expecting your call.”

“Listen carefully, because I’ll only say this once. You and Jaime want Hector Rivas Osuna out of the game. I’ve arranged for that to happen.”

“How?” Carlos asked, almost afraid to hope. “It can’t come back to me.”

“It won’t. All you have to do is tell Jaime to take Hector to the Tijuana warehouse, wait for him to be out of radio range, and then pull everyone out. Just leave Hector and don’t lock up behind him. I’ll do the rest. Do we have an agreement?”

“That’s all? Just leave him?”

“That’s it.”

The satellite connection hummed.

North of the border, Faroe waited.

And prayed.

“It is done,” Carlos said.