It reached me in a way no threat from Yeager could have. I stood straighter. He noticed and gave a little nod.

Eric came back. “We’re all going in the Jeep.”

“All of us?” Ian said.

“Yes. You drive, I’ll get in back with these two. Smart boy here is going to show that he’s not stupid enough to try to bullshit the Yeagers.”

66

M ITCH DISMISSED HIS LIMO AND DRIVER AND GOT INTO THE FRONT passenger seat of my Jeep, where he began barking orders. Although Ian had lived in Las Piernas for several decades, either he had no sense of direction or he had never learned where Municipal Cemetery was.

We drove into the hills above the city. At one point, I disagreed with Mitch on how to get there, trying to prolong the drive.

“Shut your pie hole,” Eric said, leveling his gun at me. “And keep it shut. Far as I can tell, you’ve already been all the use you’re going to be to us, anyway.”

I sat back as far as my taped wrists would allow.

We came within sight of the cemetery. We drove past its front gates, which were locked. A tall, solid plywood fence stood behind the gates, the kind you sometimes see around construction sites, in this case, apparently to block a view into the cemetery. Just over the top of the temporary fence, faint moonlight reflected off the top portions of a yellow backhoe and a dump truck parked near it. A large sign read MUNICIPAL CEMETERY TEMPORARILY CLOSED

and gave a number for families and others to call.

“All right,” Mitch said, “where’s this secret entrance of yours, kid?”

Ethan directed Ian down a small side road. The road ran along the eastern edge of the cemetery for a short distance before dead-ending at a field. “Park here,” he said. To our left was an auto body shop and next to it, a screen door repair shop. Both businesses were dark and locked up for the night.

We sat there for a few minutes with the engine running while Eric got out and looked around, checking for traps. Eventually, he motioned that all was okay, and came back to help Ian take us out of the car.

Almost from the first breath, it was there-not overwhelming, but distinct. A mustiness, mixed with the slightly sweet scent that sometimes mingles with that of decay.

Ian sniffed at the air and made a face.

“I know,” Eric said. “What is that?”

“Open graves,” Ethan said.

The brothers exchanged a look. “You’re shitting me,” Eric said.

“He’s telling the truth,” I said.

There were other scents and sounds as well. Las Piernas Municipal Cemetery is a little over a century old and was at one time surrounded by oil derricks. Most of the derricks are gone, but the pumping units remain, and we heard the rhythmic growling sound of the rotating gears of several oil well pumps in the field beyond the cemetery.

I watched with irritation as Ian locked up the Jeep and set the alarm on it. He had kidnapped us, used my own car to drive us around, and he was already acting as if it were his to protect? From what, a criminal?

Eric’s cell phone rang. He listened for a moment, then said, “Have the chopper ready. We’ll call again.”

“The chopper?” I asked.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Mitch said.

The look Ethan gave me then made my stomach drop. I supposed we were thinking the same thing. If the Yeagers left in a helicopter, they might be able to get to a plane and perhaps out of the country before anyone knew what had happened to us. And if the people on the helicopter were armed or used a spotlight, we would have difficulty hiding among the tombstones until we were free.

I watched Ethan. For the next few minutes at least, my life was going to be in his hands. Everything would be decided by his ability to stall them without being obvious about it and to convince them that he had hidden something here.

“Do you have flashlights?” he asked.

Eric looked at him suspiciously, perhaps suspecting a joke at his expense, given their previous problems with fingerprints on flashlights.

“There’s only a little moonlight,” Ethan said. “The cemetery is torn up. We’ll need flashlights.”

“You have any in your car?” Mitch asked me with exasperation.

I considered a lie, decided against it, and told him where to find the flashlights in the Jeep-one in the glove compartment, the other in the back storage compartment. Ian got back in the Jeep, found them, and reset the alarm.

“Okay,” Ethan said, “untie our hands.”

“Giving a lot of orders, aren’t you?” Mitch said. “Not going to happen.”

Ethan shrugged. “That’s going to cause problems, but suit yourself.”

The first problem became evident as soon as the flashlights were distributed. Eric and Ian had to hold both a flashlight and a gun or risk not having a light to use to reveal their target. I could see Mitch didn’t like it, but he was too proud to back down.

Ian stayed with Ethan. Eric stayed with me. Mitch walked between us.

We followed Ethan as he walked slowly along a brick fence that had occasional panels of wrought iron. The view into the cemetery was again blocked by plywood panels temporarily in place over the wrought iron. There was already some graffiti on them.

I was glad for the slow pace, not only because we needed to stall but because I was feeling the effects of their earlier blows and the fall I had taken in the garage. Ian, impatient, told Ethan to move faster.

“If you hadn’t kicked the shit out of me, I could,” Ethan said, one hand on his ribs.

He led us toward the back of the cemetery. I wondered whether this was mere stalling on his part. If so, I hoped he walked us all around the perimeter.

As we moved from the street into the knee-high grasses of the field, the scenery changed a bit. The field was owned by the city, but was undeveloped. We were nearer some of the pumping units now, and could see their horse-heads bobbing up and down eerily in moonlight, their beams seesawing as the counterweights rolled.

The barrier along the back of the cemetery was a rusting chain-link fence-about seven feet high. It was not in good repair. Before the cemetery was closed for the investigations, visitors were spared a view of this ratty fence by the trees and the tall, thick oleanders that now blocked our view of the cemetery. I wondered if Ethan planned to have us crawl through one of the gaps near the foot of it, but he kept walking.

Eventually, we came to an asphalt driveway that led from the road on the western side of the cemetery to a pair of rolling chain-link gates near some large metal sheds. A heavy chain and thick padlock held them shut. As we came to a halt by the gates, Eric pocketed his gun and took hold of my elbow, apparently afraid I’d run off and leave Ethan behind.

“Why the hell didn’t we come in this way?” Mitch asked angrily. “We could have parked on that other street and saved time.”

“And have everyone in the world see a car parked here? That street isn’t a busy one, but it gets traffic.”

“Maybe I’ll tape your smart mouth shut next,” Mitch said.

Ethan stood silent.

Mitch smiled. “Hell, scream if you want to. Nobody inside that boneyard is going to come to your rescue. And you were stupid enough to bring us all the way out here. So now what?”

“We go in. As I said before, you’ll need to untie our hands.”

“Why?”

“I won’t be able to squeeze through the gate if they’re tied behind my back.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Okay, let Ian squeeze through. Once he’s in, I’ll tell him where to find the gate key.”

Mitch took Ian’s gun and told him to go in.

Ian, looking dubious, stepped up to the gates and pulled them apart. He got a leg through, then said, “I can’t fit, Uncle Mitch. It’ll take my balls off, trying to get through.”

Mitch glanced at Ian’s older brother and obviously realized there was no hope there, either.