Shit.

A glance at my watch. Still two hours before Max is due to call. And then how long will it take him to get here after that? How long will Ramon keep following my false trail before he decides to give it up and return to the village?

Time is not on my side.

I step to the window and look out. Three shacks over is the little church. Is there a priest? Could I persuade him to hide the girls until reinforcements arrive?

Persuasion is one of my special abilities.

I jump out of the window and scoot around the back of the shacks to the back of the church. There is a narrow wooden door. I try it and the door opens to my touch. I close it quietly behind me and look around.

This is the tiniest church I’ve ever seen. And the strangest. There is no altar, no crucifix, no statues, no candles. No scent of the beeswax my mother’s altar society used to polish pews.

No surprise, that, since there are no pews to polish.

It’s just an open room with a long table down the center. Weights and plastic wrap and duct tape are on one end. The rest of the table is bare now. But its use is obvious. White powder residue dusts the surface.

The only thing worshiped in this building is llello.

So that bell I heard the first day I scouted this village of the damned was a call to work, not a call to worship.

Nice camouflage. A plane patrolling overhead would see a cute little church, not a cocaine production line.

I look around. There’s another door off to the side where the altar should be. I push through it. Inside is a closet and a small cabinet. This looks like the vestibule where a priest would hang his garments and store the communion wafers and wine. I guess in another lifetime, this actually was a church. The lock on the cabinet is broken and when I look inside, it’s empty. Dusty cobwebs drape the corners.

What now?

I realize I haven’t heard anything from Culebra. I send out a probe, not in words exactly, but an exploratory query to see if I can pick up on his thoughts. Nothing comes through. The conduit is open but cloaked.

At least I don’t pick up on any pain. Perhaps he’s busy listening to Luis and his buddies.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My brain is a whirlwind of uncertainty. I leave the vestibule, closing the door behind me. Obviously, there hasn’t been a cocaine shipment delivered in the last day or this place would be jumping with activity. Could I stow the girls in here? Would Luis and his thugs think to look in the church? Or would they assume the girls ran off? How much time would it buy me?

Okay, I’ve got to ask Culebra some questions.

This time when I attempt to contact him, I make it deliberate and forceful.

He lets me in. His What is it? is not so much abrupt as concerned.

How long do you think Luis will stay in your shack?

Ten, fifteen minutes. They’re finishing breakfast.

Have you learned anything useful?

No, damn it. All the fat pig has on his mind is how long the girls will be under. He hasn’t dipped his wick yet and he’s getting impatient. Ramon’s failure to bring Max back upset his plans. He thought he’d have two trophies to offer his brother by now and an afternoon to reward himself with his new “playmates.” But no hint where Santiago is.

Okay. I’m in the church—which really isn’t. It’s where Luis packages his coke for export. But there’s no cocaine here now. Was there any mention of when the next shipment is due?

No. Sorry. No talk of business at all. Just fucking.

His tone is acid tinged and angry. His thoughts are mixed—he’s rethinking his not wanting me to come in and kill the whole bunch. The hell with finding Santiago.

Say the word, I respond.

He pauses a heartbeat. No. I need to do this my way. Stopping Santiago is more important. What are you going to do until Max calls?

I’m going to move the girls into the church.

It might work. I doubt they’ll think of looking so close.

My thoughts, too.

Better make it quick, though. Another pause, as if he’s listening again to the conversation going on in the other room. They’re finishing up. Talking about getting back.

I’ll let you know when it’s done.

The conduit closes and I waste no time beating it back to the shack.

The girls are still out. I lift the first, deadweight in my arms. I lower her to the ground through the window and repeat the operation until all four are outside. I heft two at a time over my shoulders and run to the back of the church, squeezing through the door. I lay them out on the floor of the vestibule. They just barely fit. I remove the ropes from their hands and feet and the gags from their mouths.

Then I close the door and perch myself on the table to wait for Luis to discover the girls are gone . . . for hell to break loose.

CHAPTER 37

CULEBRA HAD IT PEGGED JUST RIGHT. FIFTEEN MINUTES later, I hear the men outside Luis’ shack. I brace myself for the yells that should follow when they check that back room.

But nothing happens. I smell tobacco and pot and realize the men are gathered in front of the shack, enjoying a little after-breakfast smoke. Even Luis has joined his men, sharing a joke that has something to do with what his brother plans for Culebra when he gets his hands on him.

I sit up straighter. They’re saying Santiago will most likely kill Culebra—like Culebra did to the minister’s son.

Culebra is being blamed for killing the minister’s son? How could that be?

The laughter and crude talk continue for the time it takes a joint to burn down to a cinder. I start to think I must have misunderstood. Culebra was long gone when Ramon lost his son and took his revenge. It’s not possible anyone could have thought Culebra committed the murder.

Is it?

Jesus, is that part of Ramon’s trap?

The yell I’ve been expecting erupts, bringing me out of my thoughts with a start. I cross to the tiny window in front and peek out.

Luis is in the doorway, screaming at his men—upbraiding them for leaving the girls unattended—calling for the man who administered the drug that was supposed to knock them out.

A man slinks forward, mumbling that he doesn’t understand how they could have walked away.

Luis draws a revolver from his belt and shoots him—the wound a tiny rose blooming on the bridge of his nose that explodes in a spray of blood and brain matter out the back of his skull.

The men standing beside and behind him are spattered with gore. They recoil.

Luis keeps screaming, waving the revolver. “Busquen las cabronas. Ya. O le mataré a todos.”

As one, they disperse, running in different directions like rats startled by a cobra.

No one approaches the church.

Yet.

There are six men that I can see—they run from shack to shack, hauling men and families out as they search their homes. They gather the villagers by the well and Luis stands guard over them while the search goes on.

One comes close to the door of the church. I hug the wall behind the door as he looks inside. If he makes a move for the vestibule, I’ll kill him. He doesn’t. He slams the door behind him and continues to the next shack.

They hit Culebra’s shack, too. But since he’s alone inside with a guard, they leave him. He reaches out.

You got the girls out, I see.

A disturbing thought strikes me, knotting my stomach. Luis is going nuts. He killed the man responsible for chloroforming the girls. He’s gathering the villagers by the well. You don’t think he’ll—

The sound of a gunshot brings an abrupt halt to our dialogue. My heart thuds against my ribs as I peek out once again.

Luis has one of the villagers by the arm. The man slumps into him, bleeding from a wound in his lower thigh. He lets him fall to the ground, goes to the next. Shoots him in the leg, too, and moves on. The screams of the wounded men pierce my heart.