Serpent Gate

The governor rose and gestured at the couch as he came around his desk.

"Have a seat. Chief Baca."

Andy's antenna went up; Springer was usually much less formal with his senior staff.

"We haven't talked in a while," Harper said as he sank into a chair and crossed his legs.

"I know you've been busy."

"That's true. Governor."

"Finding the stolen art was good work. Real good work. But the museum people aren't happy that the Lady of Guadalupe bulto wasn't recovered."

"I know that."

"Any chances of getting it back?"

"We'll do our best," Andy answered.

Springer nodded.

"I visited with your officer at the hospital. That's one brave young lady. I think she deserves a citation, don't you?"

"It's in the works. Governor. Would you be available to present it?"

"Set it up with my press secretary. And I want to attend Sergeant Martinez's funeral service."

"I've given that information to your administrative assistant."

"Good. I'm still waiting for arrests. Chief Baca. We can't let these cop killers get away."

"I agree."

"I want closure. Chief."

"We'll push a little harder. Governor."

"I know you will. Get something out to the media on it. Let them know the manhunt is continuing. Now, tell me about these charges against Bucky Watson. How solid are they?"

"They're very substantial."

"Do your people have their facts straight?"

"Yes, they do."

"He was a heavy contributor to my reelection campaign."

Andy chose not to respond.

"Will Watson's arrest affect anyone else?"

"Watson has implicated your nephew and Sherman Cobb in a money laundering scheme."

No surprise registered on Springer's face. It was clear that Vance Howell had kept the governor well informed.

"I find that hard to believe, Chief Baca."

"It does create an uncomfortable situation," Andy noted.

"How are we going to handle it?" Springer asked.

"I plan to keep working the case, Governor."

"Let's think this through. I don't want any political fallout to occur because a member of my family may be accused of a crime."

"The situation will get the public's attention," Andy said.

"That's why we need a flexible strategy here. I think the investigation has to be completely separated from my administration.

What if I asked the attorney general to step in?"

"I'm not sure such an abrupt change in the investigation would be wise," Andy said.

"I understand that. But the attorney general is a Democrat who holds an elective office completely removed from my administration. If he agreed to appoint a special independent prosecutor for the case, that would erase any doubts of political interference on my part."

"I'd rather not see the investigation slowed down."

"I'm sure the attorney general can act quickly," Springer said.

Andy gave up arguing and got to his feet. Springer was telling him what was going to happen, not asking.

"I'll give the attorney general my full cooperation."

Springer flashed a winning smile.

"That's the kind of talk I like to hear, Andy."

"This must be hard on you. Governor."

"It cuts deep, Andy. But we'll get through it. I've been talking to the legislative leadership about that budget expansion request you want for new equipment.

If you can cut costs a little bit more, I'm sure we can get you that appropriation."

"I'll work up some new figures."

"Good." Springer stood, pumped Andy's hand, and showed him to the door.

"Hold up any further action on this Watson mess until we've got the attorney general in the loop."

On his way back to the office, Andy stewed over his meeting with Governor Springer. It made no sense, except as political face-saving bullshit. Springer wanted him to catch cop killers, yet he had just pulled the plug on the only investigation that could possibly lead to an arrest and conviction of the murderers. And when Springer pledged his support for new money for the department, it made Andy feel like a co-conspirator in a cover-up. He didn't like the taste of it at all.

Two officers had given their lives and a third had been wounded.

Turning over the case to the attorney general would be a slap in the department's face. The case belonged to the department and nowhere else.

He swung the car out of traffic, parked at a small diner, and went in for a cup of coffee. He had some heavy thinking to do. neil ordway had left no forwarding address with the Mountainair town clerk, and there was nothing in his police officer certification file that yielded information on his current whereabouts. Kerney phoned the agency that administered the police pension fund and got lucky; Ordway had made a request to withdraw his retirement contributions. He had asked that the check be mailed to a street address in the town of Bemalillo, just north of Albuquerque.

Kerney stopped by Andy's office and found it empty.

He decided not to wait for Andy to return from the governor's office before taking off. It shouldn't take more than an hour or two to round up Ordway.

He paid a quick visit to Joe Valdez, who had his head buried in a stack of papers. Kerney cleared his throat and Valdez looked up. He had a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face.

"I was going to call you in a few minutes. Chief."

"To tell me what?"

"Do you want the technical or the bonehead explanation?"

"Keep it simple, Joe. I have trouble balancing my checkbook."

"It's a round-robin scam. Bucky's companies are nothing but conduits for De Leon money. He pumps it through Tortuga, which lends cash to Matador, Magia, or some other front, and then it's funneled into projects like Rancho Caballo. Everything comes back to Tortuga nice and clean."

"Does it all come back as cash?"

"No way," Joe said.

"Shopping malls, raw land, apartments, subdivisions, commercial and industrial developments-take your pick. De Leon has too much cash; his quandary is finding ways to convert the money that keeps pouring in."

"How did you get to it so quickly?"

"It's a high-tech world. Chief. Even drug lords use computers nowadays. Bucky's computer was linked to the one at Tortuga International. When our computer specialist found the link, I asked him to search the data fields in the Tortuga computer system. It's been a damn gold mine."

"Have you seized the Tortuga computers and any hard-copy corporate records?"

Joe looked at his watch.

"Agents from the Las Cruces office should be at Tortuga right now. It took a while to do the paperwork and get a court order signed."

"Have you been here all night?"

"Yeah. Again."

"Have you got any steam left?"

"I'm good for a few more hours."

"Where do we stand with Sherman Cobb and Roger Springer?"

"Both Bucky and De Leon kept track of their payments to Rancho Caballo by computer. Plus, I've got Springer and Cobb signing off on loan applications, countersigning checks, authorizing payments, approving contracts, and accelerating repayments. Put the hard-copy evidence together with Watson's confession and we've got more than enough probable cause."

"Arrest Cobb and Springer," Kerney said.

"Take a couple of agents with you."

"Now, won't that be fun," Joe said with a grin. *** andy pulled into his parking space just as Joe Valdez and two other agents hurried out the door. Valdez spotted Andy's car and walked to it. Andy opened the window and waited.

"Chief, I left a note on your desk."

"What does it say?"

"Chief Kerney went down to Bernalillo. You can reach him by radio if needed."

"Where arc you off to?"

"To arrest Springer and Cobb."

"Tell me what you've got," Andy said.

Valdez ran down the facts while the two agents waited inside their units.

After hearing Joe out, and asking a few questions, Andy smiled. Over coffee at the diner, he'd decided to have Cobb and Springer picked up.

Kerney had beaten him to it.

"Chief?" Valdez said.

Andy laughed and shook his head.

"Do it."

He watched Valdez and the agents drive off, and the tight feeling in his gut started to evaporate.

In his office, he started making calls to the State Department, FBI, the Department of Justice, Customs, and the CIA. He talked to people he knew, several of whom owed him favors. He wanted to blow a bigger hole in De Leon operation, if possible. He hung up with promises from the feds to move quickly. De Leon was known throughout the criminal justice and intelligence systems, and every agency was eager to cooperate.

He had his secretary fax key documents to federal officials in Washington, Virginia, Albuquerque, and El Paso, and told his public affairs officer to set up a press conference.

To stay on the job in the face of his insubordination, Andy would have to play politics. Once word of his disloyalty reached the Roundhouse, Springer's people would come after him, and he wasn't about to make it easy for the governor to fire him. oncb a farming settlement along the banks of the Rio Grande, the town of Bemalillo was somewhat protected from the suburban sprawl of Albuquerque by an Indian pueblo that buffered the two cities. But the cushion of open land that cut a swath east from the river to the mountains couldn't hold back the development that filled the west mesa.

A gently rising plateau with eroded cones of extinct volcanoes, sandy arroyos, black lava rock, and bunch grass the mesa had been transformed into a series of bedroom communities that filled the skyline.

It vanished from sight when Kerney got off the interstate and dipped into the shallow river valley that sheltered the town. He drove the four-lane main street to city hall, where he stopped and asked for directions.

Ordway lived one block off the main drag in an old two-story adobe farmhouse that had been carved into small apartments. Under the porch were two entry doors, and on either side of the building staircases led to second-story living units. There were lace curtains in the front window of a first-floor apartment, along with a picture of the Virgin Mary that had been taped to a glass pane. The name Abeyta was stenciled on the mailbox next to the door.

Kerney knocked on the door and a heavyset, elderly Hispanic woman wearing a drab gray dress opened it partway.

"Seftora Abeyta," Kerney said, speaking in Spanish.

"I hope I am not disturbing you." In the background he heard the loud chatter of a television talk show.

"Not at all, but I have no vacancies," Mrs. Abeyta replied in English.

"All my apartments are rented."

"I'm looking for a friend of mine," he explained.

"NeilOrdway."

"Oh yes, he just moved in, but he is not here now."

"Do you know how I can reach him?"

"He said that he had a job working for a carpet installer."

"Do you know which one?"

Mrs. Abeyta shook her head.

"No, but I think he might be working in Rio Rancho, putting carpets in all those new houses they are building up there."

"He told you that?"

"Yes, when he rented the apartment."

"Gratias, selfora."

"You're welcome, senor."

Kerney stopped at a cafe on the main street, and used a pay phone and directory to whittle down an interminable number of carpet installers until he located Ordway's new employer. Mrs. Abeyta had heard Ordway correctly, the company was doing subcontract installations for a builder in the Rio Rancho area. Kerney got the address where Ordway was working.

He left Bemalillo and drove up the mesa. The view east toward the mountains showed a sweep of pale hills that climbed from the bosque.

The Rio Grande ran brown and languid around fingerlike sandbars Kerney glimpsed through the breaks in the thick cottonwood stands. But the drive into Rio Rancho took him into a different world altogether. High privacy walls bordered the wide thoroughfare, masking all but the second story of houses squeezed together on tiny lots. At major intersections, strip malls, convenience stores, and gas stations abounded. The stark, beautiful New Mexico landscape had been transformed into a place no different from the oozing Los Angeles megalopolis.

West of the main road, behind an established residential tract, was a checkerboard development of empty lots and high-density housing units under construction.

Along the newly paved streets, stick houses and apartment buildings were going up in assembly-line fashion. While cement crews poured footings and pads at freshly prepped building sites, down the line carpenters framed walls and hung roof joists. The pattern repeated itself until Kerney rolled to a stop in front of three model homes in the final stages of completion.

Little flagpoles with triangular pennants stood in front of the houses, and large signs planted in the yards blazoned the name of each model. A panel truck with rolls of carpet sticking out of the open rear doors was parked in a driveway.

Kerney called for backup before walking through the garage, past a laundry alcove, and into the kitchen. In the adjacent dining nook two men were unrolling a carpet pad. Both froze when they saw Kerney with his semiautomatic in one hand and his shield in the other.

"Ordway?" Kerney asked softly.

"Back bedroom, on the left," one of the men replied.

Kerney stepped into the room.

"Wait outside," he ordered in a whisper.

The men scurried past him into the garage.

He found Ordway in the bedroom on his hands and knees with his back to the door, trimming carpet.

Ordway heard him coming, rose to a kneeling position, and turned. He had a knife in his hand.

Kerney moved quickly before Ordway could react; he slammed the barrel of his gun against Ordway's cheek and kicked at Ordway's knife hand with his good leg. The blade went flying.

Neil came off the floor in a rush, diving for Kerney's midsection.

Kerney sidestepped and used Ordway's momentum to drive him, face first, into a wall.

"Hands to the small of your back," Kerney ordered as he leaned hard against the man to keep him secure, and kicked his feet apart.

Ordway grunted and complied.

After cuffing Ordway, Kerney patted him down and spun him around.

"Hello, Neil," he said affably.

Ordway's nose looked broken.

Ordway seemed dazed. Blood flowed from his nose, dripping on the tan carpet. He swallowed hard and spat at Kerney.

"Puck you, Kerney."

Kerney wiped the spit off his face.

"You're under arrest for aggravated battery. Beating up Robert was a stupid idea."

"I'll be out on bail in twenty-four hours," Ordway said.

"But unemployed once again, I would imagine," Kerney replied.

"Let me read you your rights."

A state police officer arrived as Kerney brought Ordway out of the house. He explained the charges to the officer, who agreed to drive Ordway to Torrance County, book him into jail, and deliver Kerney's criminal complaint to the district attorney.

Kerney watched the patrol car drive away. Busting Ordway felt good, but it didn't relieve the anger that gnawed at him about Gilbert Mamnez's murder. He wondered if he would get a chance to even things up with Enrique De Leon and Carlos Ruiz.

Antonio Vallaverde turned off the main highway south ofjuarez onto a blacktop road that cut through the saddle of two hills along the Rio Grande. He stopped at the security gate and announced himself. A high-ranking official in the Mexican Ministry of Justice, Vallaverde coordinated all cooperative borderland investigations with North American law enforcement agendes, including the New Mexico State Police.

Two miles in from the highway, a sprawling hacienda sat at the base of a hill with a lovely view of the bosque and the low-lying west Texas mountains across the river. The old rancho had been restored to its original splendor. The main hacienda, a private chapel, rock stables, a stone granary, and several other out buildings had been rebuilt from the ground up. Old stone fences divided the grazing and farm land that bordered the basque, and some of the melting adobe walls of the original peasant quarters still remained visible in the distance.

During the Mexican Revolution, the site had served as a government jail and execution grounds before being sacked and burned by Pancho Villa's troops.

A houseboy in white linen stood outside the arched hacienda doorway.

Antonio parked in the circular cobblestone driveway and followed the servant into the courtyard, with its charming brick lattice balustrade and central fountain. They passed through the vast living room and into the billiard parlor. De Leon had a guest: A young woman bent over the billiard table with a cue stick in her hands. She had strawberry blond hair that fell against creamy white shoulders, long legs, and a small waist. The woman made her shot as Enrique looked on.

Antonio had spent a number of pleasant evenings in the parlor with Enrique and various industrialists, senior military officers, and prominent politicians who were De Leon friends. It was a long room with a high ceiling and an arrangement of comfortable chairs in front of a fireplace at one end, where a well-stocked liquor cabinet stood close at hand. Above the fireplace hung an antique cavalry officer's sword in a scabbard.

In the center of the room, chairs for spectators and players lined the walls facing the billiard table. A door along the back wall provided passage to Enrique's richly appointed library, where key arrangements in the last national election had been brokered.

Antonio coughed and De Leon looked in his direction.

"Go now," De Leon said to the woman, taking the cue stick from her hand.

The woman left without saying a word, passing by Antonio with a look and a smile. She had a soft, sensual step, a long, elegant neck, and lustrous green eyes.

Antonio could smell her scent in the air.

"I hope I find you well, Enrique," Vallaverde said.

"Indeed, I am," Enrique replied. Antonio was one of the few paid informants he truly liked.

"You have something to tell me, Antonio?"

"Not good news, I'm afraid. The New Mexico State Police have seized a large quantity of drugs in Santa Fe and arrested a man named Watson, who has confessed to being one of your distributors."

"Where is Watson now?" Enrique asked.

"In jail."

"How much merchandise was confiscated?"

"The street value is reported to be over a million dollars."

De Leon knew immediately that Bucky had held back some product from the Chicago shipment. He would deal with him harshly.

"Such things happen occasionally," he said.

"It is the cost of doing business."

"There is more, Enrique. Records of Tortuga International were seized in Las Cruces by the New Mexico State Police this morning. A United States judge has been asked to freeze all your North American corporate assets."

"What else do you know?"

"Stolen art worth many millions has been recovered from your Santa Fe house. The authorities believe you are behind the theft. They are seeking your whereabouts in Mexico. Of course, I have suggested that they look for you in all the wrong places."

"You give the Americans such wise counsel," De Leon said with a smile.

"I can do no less in light of your past generosities," Antonio replied.

"May I offer some advice, Enrique?"

"By all means."

"A request has been made to the State Department to declare you persona non grata, which would bar you from any future visits to the United States. It will be favorably acted upon. Additionally, the Americans are prepared to ask our government to strip you of your diplomatic status and extradite you for prosecution.

I have been told on highest authority that we will be sensitive to their demands. It is a difficult time for trying to sweep such issues with the Americans under the rug."

"These political manipulations can be dealt with."

"In time," Antonio said.

"But if the Americans fail to get what they want, they may come after you on their own. The new drug laws passed by their Congress give their federal agents that prerogative."

"What do you suggest?"

"Perhaps a trip abroad is in order, until matters settle.

I would not wait long to decide, Enrique. The American ambassador plans to discuss your diplomatic status at the highest level of our government before day's end."

"Thank you, Antonio. You have been most kind to bring these matters to my attention. Do one small favor for me. Find out the identities of the persons overseeing the state police investigation. Perhaps they would not be unresponsive to an offer to become rich men, if an arrangement can be made."

"I'll get back to you," Antonio said.

Vallaverde departed and De Leon went to the library.

Antonio's report was troubling. The loss of the Tortuga assets would sting, but hardly ruin him. He doubted the complexities of the company could be easily unraveled by the police in a short period of time. If he moved quickly, millions of dollars could be saved.

He rang for Carlos, who answered promptly.

"I want arrangements made to have Bucky Watson killed immediately,"

Enrique said.

"He is in the Santa Fe County jail. I do not want him to live to see another day.

Report to me when your plans are complete."

"Si, patron."

De Leon disconnected and dialed a different number.

Several hours passed before he put the telephone in the cradle. The time had been well spent; Tortuga's remaining cash assets had been transferred out of the United States through a series of complex banking transactions.

The phone rang almost immediately. He punched the speaker button.

"What is it?"

"It is Antonio, Enrique. The man responsible for the police investigation in Santa Fe is Kevin Kerney, the deputy state police chief. Several related arrests have been made by his investigators; a nephew of the governor and a prominent attorney have been charged with money laundering."

"Continue."

"One of his detectives was killed in a shoot-out at a Santa Fe residence. I do not think Kerney can be bought."

"Do you have a dossier on Kerney and his investigations?"

"A slim one, yes."

"Please send it by courier to the hadenda."

"I will do so immediately," Antonio replied.

"Thank you, Antonio."

"Bur, patron, he could not have survived so many bullets."

De Leon patted the file folder on the top of his desk.

"You killed a state police sergeant named Martinez."

"But it was Kerney's car." Carlos caught himself.

There was no point making excuses. He lowered his head submissively.

"I am sorry, Don Enrique. What are your orders?"

"Delfino and Felix will meet you at the airport in an hour. You will assist them in locating Kerney. Both he and Watson must be killed.

What progress have you made on Watson?"

"He is in a seclusion cell at the jail. A court hearing has been scheduled for late this afternoon."

"Will he be heavily guarded during the court hearing?"

"Only one officer has been assigned to transport him."

"Excellent."

"What other orders do you have for me, patron?" De Leon held out the file.

"None. Felix and Delfino will instruct you in all matters. Do not keep them waiting."

Carlos took the file, risked a glance at the icy stare in De Leon eyes, lowered his gaze, and quickly left the room, wondering if there was any way the patron would let him live. officer Yvonne Rasmussen gave Kerney a pleased smile when he came into her hospital room.

"I'm sorry it took so long for me to come and see you," Kerney said as he shook the young woman's hand.

"I hear you're healing up nicely."

"I get to go home tomorrow," Rasmussen replied.

"The doctor said I start light duty in a week."

"That's good news. You kept an old friend of mine from getting killed.

I want to thank you for that."

Rasmussen's gray eyes clouded over.

"I didn't do enough. Chief. If I had responded sooner, Sergeant Martinez might still be alive."

"Don't beat up on yourself. You did all that you could."

"That's not the way I feel," Rasmussen said.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

Rasmussen hesitated and shook her head slowly.

"Not yet."

"I need to ask you a few questions. When you were patrolling Fletcher's house, before the gunfight, did you notice anything unusual?"

"Nothing."

"Did you run license plate checks on the vehicles parked in the immediate area?"

"Yes. All but one of the cars were registered to neighborhood residents. The one that wasn't belonged to an elderly Hispanic-surnamed male with a south-side address. I ran him through NCIC and there were no wants or warrants. It didn't seem suspicious."

"Where did you see the car?"

"On the street behind the lane to Fletcher's house."

"When?"

"Around dusk."

"Was anyone in it or nearby?"

"No."

"Did you see the vehicle again?"

"No. When I got the 911 call, I came in from a different direction."

"Did you log the information on the car?"

"Dispatch has the record. Do you think the car was used by the killers?"

"It's possible. I'll check it out. Take care of yourself."

"Chief Kerney."

Kerney stopped at the door.

"What is it?"

Rasmussen flashed him a small smile.

"Thanks for not treating me like a kid sister. Everybody else has. I really appreciate it."

"You don't strike me as an officer who needs to be coddled," Kerney replied.

"I'm not." with particulars in hand on the car Rasmussen had spotted near Fletcher's house, Kerney drove down Airport Road. Ruben Contreras, age sixty-eight, owned an older-model full-size Buick, and lived in a trailer park behind a strip mall and a car wash. Most of the trailers were shabby-looking. Gravel lanes bisected the rows of trailers, and in the center of the park stood a cement block building that housed a coin-operated laundry. A loose dog sniffed around an overflowing trash can at the front of the laundry.

Kerney found Contreras's trailer. Contreras answered the knock at the door and squinted at Kerney through thick glasses. A tube ran from his nose to a portable oxygen tank on wheels. The smell of beans cooking filled the air.

"Mr. Contreras?" Kerney asked with his badge case open.

"Yes?" Contreras wheezed as he spoke.

"Do you own a Buick?" Kerney described the car.

"I sold it. The doctors say I can't drive anymore. My granddaughter gives me rides. I don't like not having my car."

Kerney held up Carlos Ruiz's mug shot.

"Did this man buy it from you?"

Contreras nodded.

"He paid me cash. He said he would change the registration." A worried look spread across the old man's face.

"If he had an accident, it's not my fault. I cancelled my insurance."

"There's been no accident, Mr. Contreras," Kerney said.

"I just needed to identify the buyer."

"That's him."

"You're sure?"

Contreras nodded once more. Kerney left while the old man stood waiting for another question. jbsus wanted Robert to leave Nita's house. With his cracked rib and broken arm in a cast, Robert couldn't get both thumbs in his ears to fight off the voice inside his head.

He'd been awake all night in the guest bedroom with the door locked and the window open, smoking cigarettes.

Robert had tried to obey Nita's ban on smoking in the house, but he couldn't do it. He took a deep drag on the cigarette and an ash fell on the new shirt Nita had given him. She had bought him a whole new set of clothes, including a winter coat. The smell of something burning made Robert look down at his chest; he spit on his finger and rubbed it on the burn hole in the shirt to make sure it was out.

Robert's legs felt nervous and itchy. Walking back and forth all night in the bedroom didn't make the feeling go away. He had stopped pacing when Nita came to the door and asked if he was awake. He didn't answer and soon heard the sound of her truck leaving the driveway.

He stayed in the bedroom for a long time. When he finally went out, the living room with the long row of windows that looked out on the road and the rangeland beyond made him nervous. Somebody could be out there watching, spying on him.

He went into Nita's bedroom, where the curtains were drawn, and searched through a chest of drawers until he found her panties and underwear. He took each piece out of the drawer, smelled it, and dropped it on the floor. Nita's panties had no scent, but Robert liked the feel of them in his hands.

The telephone rang and he ignored it until it stopped. He went into the bathroom with a pair of panties, sat on the toilet, and masturbated. He wiped himself with the panties and dropped them in the toilet.

He felt better: Jesus had stopped talking to him. But his legs were still jittery and itchy. He needed to walk.

Robert dressed to go out. He took the laces out of the shoes-they were some kind of insulated boots-and slipped his bare feet into them.

He draped the coat over his shoulders because the sleeve was too small for the cast on his arm.

At the front door, he stopped, unsure of where he should go. Maybe if he talked to Kerney, he could go back to jail. He liked jails with bare walls, small cells, and no windows. Jails helped him relax.

Robert dug through all his pockets until he found his wallet with Kerney's phone number in it. He called, but Kerney wasn't there. A woman asked him to leave a message.

"Tell him I'm going away," Robert said.

"May I have your name, sir?" the woman asked.

"Satan," Robert said.

Outside, heavy clouds hid the sun and a cold wind blew in his face. He put the hood of the coat up, lowered his head against the wind, and started walking. the two men traveling with Carlos said nothing to him or each other.

Carlos knew he was way out of his league; both men were former Mexican intelligence agents who had been trained by the U.S. Army Special Forces, the CIA, and the FBI. Each had carried out a number of high-profile political assassinations under contract with the Mafiosios.

Relegated to the role of driver, Carlos cruised past the county jail on Airport Road and then up to the courthouse, near the downtown plaza.

Felix, the older of the two men, sat in the front seat, while Delfmo rode in the back.

Carlos circled the courthouse. At the rear of the building warning signs restricted parking to police vehicles only, and a single security door was the only access to the inside. Parked against the curb was a television transmission truck with a satellite dish mounted on the roof.

"Go around again," Felix said.

"Slowly."

Carlos drove past the church on the corner before turning down a narrow street of old brick houses used as offices. An elementary school stood at the end of the block, catty-corner to the courthouse. A row of small casitas and an apartment building faced the rear of the courthouse. A rental sign was posted on the porch to one of the casitas.

"Drive past the school and let me out at the traffic light," Felix ordered.

"Park in front of the post office, and wait for me there."

Ten minutes later Felix returned.

"A cottage across from the courthouse is vacant," he said to Delfino.

"I can enter through a back door without difficulty."

"Unseen?" Delfino inquired.

"Yes. A wall behind the alley blocks the view." Felix handed Carlos a pair of binoculars.

"You are my spotter.

Make certain, this time, you identify the correct man.

Park across from the school facing the courthouse. It provides the best view of vehicles approaching from any direction."

He gave Delfino a radio transmitter and stuck a receiver with an earplug in his coat pocket.

"I'll need no more than ten seconds after your signal to make the kill.

As soon as you see Watson fall, have Carlos drive slowly to the alley.

I'll be waiting."

"And if the police should return fire?" Delfino asked.

"Only Watson dies, unless something goes wrong," Felix replied as he grabbed his briefcase and opened the car door.

"But if necessary, we will kill them all."

He turned back to Carlos.

"Do you understand what you are to do?"

"I will follow your orders," Carlos replied.

They had to wait an hour before Felix could put his plan into action. nita let the telephone ring repeatedly before hanging up in frustration. She'd been calling home between appointments and Robert hadn't answered. She was worried about him, but couldn't break away from the office. After her arrest and all the press coverage that came with it, she'd expected business to fall off, but exactly the opposite had occurred. Not only were most of her regular clients sticking by her, a flood of new appointments had come in from area residents she had never seen in the clinic before. They came with their household pets, wanting annual shots, de worming or examinations.

She knew damn well they were there for the gossip value the visit would generate, but she took the cases anyway. And while none of them dared to raise questions about her status as an accused murderer, she felt their intense curiosity when they brought their perfectly healthy dogs, cats, and gerbils into the examining room. Being in the presence of an indicted cop killer obviously had high entertainment value.

Nita finished her last case for the day and called home again, with no luck- She drove west at high speed into a setting sun shrouded by clouds, worried sick about Robert. Maybe she'd made a mistake in bringing him home. But he'd seemed so coherent in the hospital, and so pleased with the idea of staying with her.

She ground the truck to a stop in front of her house and hurried inside. Robert was nowhere to be found. In her bedroom, all her underwear had been scattered on the floor. In the guest bedroom, even with the open window, the smell of cigarette smoke lingered. The bed hadn't been slept in. In the bathroom, she found a pair of her panties floating in the commode.

She had to find Robert, and she needed help to do it. Calling the county sheriff wasn't an option. She doubted any of the deputies would be willing to assist a confessed cop killer. Her only course of action was to call Kevin Kerney. He was unavailable when she tried to reach him, so she left her name, and a message reporting Robert's disappearance.

Light snow had begun to fall and the temperature had dropped by the time she got in her truck. There were hundreds of miles of back roads that crisscrossed the rolling plains between the two state highways that cut south to Mountainair. Robert could be on any one of them, or so far away that it would be impossible to find him.

If bringing Robert home resulted in his death, she would feel like a murderer twice over. buckt watson lay facedown on the pavement with his hands cuffed to the small of his back and his skull blown apart. Brain matter and blood splatter fanned out in an arc that spurted up the stairs and flecked the glass courthouse door.

Both the parking lot and the house across the street had been roped off, portable lights had been set up, and crime scene technicians were working the area. A state police agent and a city detective were talking to the officer who had brought Bucky to the courthouse.

Kerney stayed outside the police line and waited until they finished before calling the officer over.

The man came toward him shaking his head. Dried blood covered the front of his uniform shirt.

"I don't know what to tell you. Chief. It happened so damn fast, I didn't see it coming."

"You weren't supposed to see it," Kerney replied.

Although he had a good idea what the answer would be, he asked his next question.

"Did you hear the shot fired?"

"I didn't hear a damn thing. The back of Watson's head just exploded.

I hit the ground, rolled in front of my unit for cover, and drew my weapon. But there was nobody there."

"Did you see any traffic on the street?"

"I heard a car, but didn't see it. I took a quick look, but it was gone. From the sound it made, it wasn't speeding, or anything like that."

"Were you alone in the parking lot?"

"Just me and Watson."

"Are the investigators finished with you?"

"Yeah, except for the paperwork I need to do."

"Write your report at the office, then pack it in for the night and go home."

"Thanks." The man smiled and tugged at the front of his shirt. He wore gold piping and two stripes, denoting his rank as a senior patrol officer.

"You know what my wife is going to say when she sees this mess?"

"Probably something about a career change."

"You got it," the officer said as he walked off.

The radio in Kerney's unit squawked and he went to answer it. He had two messages; one from Robert saying he was Satan and he was going away, and a confirming report from Nita Lassiter that Cordova had disappeared.

Kerney gave the dispatcher a description of Robert, ordered a statewide APB, and suggested that the search should be concentrated in the Mountainair area.

"That's not going to be easy," the dispatcher said.

"We've got blizzard conditions down there, Chief.

Heavy snow and high winds."

"Understood," Kerney replied.

"If Cordova is found, have him placed in protective custody on a mental hold.

He's not a criminal."

"Ten-four."

As Kerney clicked off, Joe Valdez opened the passenger door and got in the unit. He had his jacket collar turned up and he rubbed his hands together to warm them.

"It's too damn cold. Chief."

Kerney turned the car heater up a notch.

"Are you finished with the DA?"

Valdez snorted.

"While Bucky was getting himself killed, the DA was busy doing a little dance on my head- He feels his office ethically can't take action against Springer and Cobb, since both have served as special prosecutors in civil cases."

"That's standard protocol. Who is he farming the case out to?"

"The attorney general's office. I think the decision was made before I even got there."

"Where are Cobb and Springer?"

"They've walked. I didn't even get a chance to lock them up. They're both threatening to sue for false arrest."

"Did the DA challenge the probable cause?"

"No, but he and his chief deputy went over everything with a fine-tooth comb. I had to produce all the evidence, including the videotape of Watson's confession."

"Did you keep copies of everything?"

"Multiple copies. I'm not going to let this case bite me in the ass."

"Did you get anything out of Cobb and Springer?"

"Not a damn thing," Valdez answered.

"Know what I think. Chief? It's gonna be years before those two go to trial, if ever. In fact, I don't think there's even a remote chance they'll be indicted. Not with the potential star witness for the prosecution so conveniently dead."

Valdez put his hand on the door handle.

"Gotta go.

The AG wants to meet with me pronto."

"Do you want someone to go with you?"

Joe took a minute to consider the offer.

"No thanks, but I'll call for backup if he starts busting my balls. So who killed Bucky Watson, Chief?"

"I don't know who pulled the trigger. But whoever he is, he's damn good at his job." robbkt trudged through two feet of fresh snow down the side of the highway toward the village of Punta de Agua. Only the vague shapes of the mile marker posts and road signs kept him headed in the right direction. He was off the plains and in the foothills, and wind-driven snow obscured everything. The road was buried by deep drifts and no cars had passed in either direction, not even a snowplow.

Cold to the bone, his feet felt frozen, and his side ached from the cracked rib. Bl Malo kept laughing at him inside his head. Everything felt heavy: his breath, his feet, the top of his head-even his eyes.

He walked on with his head lowered. When he finally stopped and looked up, he was in the middle of the village, across from a church. Robert remembered that the Evil One didn't like churches, but Jesus did. He walked to the church door and found it locked. A side door was also locked. Next to the stoop was a small pile of firewood. Robert picked up a stick, broke a window, and crawled inside.

Out of the wind and protected by thick adobe walls, Robert started to warm up a bit. He groped his way in the darkness to the altar at me front of the church and fumbled around until he found a candle. He lit it with a match and looked around. A woodstove stood against a wall in the middle of the sanctuary. He opened the firebox door and found that a fire had been laid. He put the flame of the candle against the kindling and sat down to watch it burn. The heat felt good against his face and hands.

He began to feel light-headed. Did he leave Nita's house because he did something wrong? Did he hurt her? He hoped not. But what happened?

Paul Gillespie would know, Robert thought as he curled up in front of the stove. Paul was always at Serpent Gate. He would go there in the morning and talk to him.

"has the governor fired you yet?" Kerney asked as he joined Andy in his office.

"There's been nothing but ominous silence," Andy said.

"Aside from the fact that Bucky Watson was assassinated, what else can you tell me about the shooting?"

"Not much," Kerney admitted.

"But I'll bet Carlos Ruiz didn't pull the trigger this time."

"This time?"

"I've got him nailed to the Martinez murder."

"How so?"

Kerney told him about the Buick and getting an ID on Carlos from Ruben Contreras.

"We have to get to Ruiz somehow," Andy said.

"I agree. What's happening with the sanctions against De Leon "His assets are being frozen, his drug distribution network is shut down, and he's about to lose his diplomatic immunity. It may not bring him to his knees, but it will make him buckle a bit."

Kerney nodded.

"The DA has kicked Springer and Cobb loose and passed the ball to the attorney general.

Joe Valdez is with the AG now. He may need you to backstop him."

"The fucking politics never end," Andy said sourly as he watched Kerney head for the door.

"Where arc you going?"

"South."

"It damn well better not be Mexico again."

Kerney laughed.

"Mountainair. Robert Cordova is missing."

"That crazy guy in the Gillespie murder case?"

"That's the guy."

Andy looked out the window. Freezing rain was pinging against the glass, and the neon lights from the bar down the highway, usually so bright, were just a shapeless blur.

"Be careful driving," he said. carlos had no doubt that he would be killed as soon as Kerney was dead.

Since meeting Felix and Delfino at the airport, he'd been under close observation and never left alone. Whenever Felix looked at him, Carlos felt like he was a walking dead man.

He still retained his pistol in the shoulder holster, but it gave him no comfort. Any attempt to reach for it would be fruitless; Delfino would cut his throat before he could dear the holster. To survive, Carlos needed some kind of opportunity and a good deal of luck- He drove the two men to the house where Kerney stayed, only to find an unoccupied state police patrol car parked in front of the residence.

There were no cars in the driveway and lights were on inside the dwelling.

"Is that the gringo's police car?" Felix asked.

"No," Carlos replied.

"He drives an unmarked vehicle."

"This is where you killed the wrong cop, is it not?"

Delfino asked with a chuckle.

Carlos grunted a response as he turned the car around at the end of the lane.

"Where is the gringo, Carlos?" Felix asked.

"If he is not here, he's working," Carlos said.

"Then let us go to the place where he works," Felix said.

Carlos drove to the state police headquarters building and parked across the highway. Using binoculars, he found Kerney's official vehicle in the parking lot and pointed it out to Felix.

"We will wait for the gringo to leave," Felix said, "and kill him on his way home."

Within a matter of minutes, a fast-moving storm bringing wind-whipped, freezing snow made it impossible to see the police parking lot. At full speed the windshield wipers barely cleaned the glass, and visibility dropped to less than twenty feet.

"Is there no other vantage point we can use?" Felix asked in disgust as he took the binoculars away from his eyes.

"None that provides a dear view of the exits from the parking lot,"

Carlos replied.

"We cannot even see the parking lot, let alone who comes or goes,"

Felix said as he stared into the whiteout.

"Get us closer. Cross the highway and drive past the building."

Carlos did as he was told, and in the vaporous light of the parking lot lamp they saw the empty space where Kerney's car had been.

"Go back to the house," Felix said in disgust.

"We will kill him there."

Only the police cruiser was in the driveway when Carlos drove by. Felix directed him to park on the street and wait.

After an hour, with no sign of Kerney and the snow piling up, Carlos got anxious.

"We will be stuck here if we don't leave soon," he said.

"We're wasting time," Delfino agreed.

"Where else can he be?" Felix asked Carlos.

"I do not know," Carlos answered.

"He has no girlfriend, he sees no one socially, and he does not go to dubs or saloons. All he does is work."

"Check his dossier," Felix told Delfmo.

"He investigated a cop killing in Mountainair recently," Delfmo said.

"Maybe he went there. Where is this place?"

"Southeast of Albuquerque," Carlos replied.

"You have a map?" Felix asked.

"In the glove box."

Felix got the map, unfolded it, and, using a pen flashlight, looked for the town's location.

"It's not too far," he finally said.

"Let us visit Mountainair," Delfmo suggested.

"Judging by the name, I'm sure it's very picturesque."

"The roads could be very bad," Carlos said.

"You are here to drive us, not advise us," Felix snapped.

"Delfmo is right; it is better to search for the gringo than to sit here and risk discovery. If we do not find him, we will come back."

Carlos nodded, cranked the engine, and made a U-turn. Except for a few snowplows and sand spreaders that were busy clearing one lane in each direction, the highway out of town was virtually deserted. the buzzard made Kerney's trip south unbelievably grueling. At times, he was forced to crawl along at ten miles an hour, and on several occasions his unit spun out on black ice without warning. Only the absence of traffic averted an accident.

In Estanda, he contacted the sheriff's department by radio and got directions to Nita Lassiter's house. He turned east into the teeth of the storm, and soon the car wipers were thudding against a rock-solid ice buildup on the windshield. He had to stop repeatedly and scrape the glass, while the storm raged around him, kicked along by gale-force winds.

The drive put him in a foul mood. Born and raised in the desert of the Tularosa Basin, Kerney didn't like snow much, and his aversion to it hadn't changed in spite of the years he'd lived in Santa Fe working for the police department.

He found Nita's house. Facing south, it had a wall of windows running the length of the structure. All the inside and outside lights were on, creating a lonely beacon that barely cut through the whiteout of the storm.

It was the only sign of habitation he'd glimpsed since leaving the outskirts of Estanda, Her four-wheel-drive truck was parked by the front door. He knocked and the door flew open. The look of relief on Nita's face dropped away as he stepped inside.

"I thought you were Robert," she said.

"You haven't found him?" Kerney replied as he unbuttoned his coat. He hung it on the rack in the small entryway.

"No. I have all the lights on in case he's nearby."

"He would need to be within a few hundred feet to see them. Have you searched outside?"

"Twice," Nita answered as she led him into a large room that contained a living area, dining alcove, and kitchen.

"Everywhere," she added.

Kerney nodded and looked around. The house was passive solar with exposed adobe walls, insulated glass panels, a corner fireplace, and brick floors. Doors at both ends of the room led to bedrooms.

"I have people looking for him," Kerney noted,

"although I doubt it will do much good in the storm.

Let's hope he's found shelter."

Nita sank into a low-backed tufted leather chair that faced a sofa.

"He put a pair of my underwear in the commode and rummaged through my bedroom dressers. I have no idea why he did it."

"Where have you looked for him?"

"I covered every back road between Estanda and Manzano, until the storm closed in and I couldn't see beyond the hood of my truck. We need to find him."

"In the morning," Kerney said wearily as he went to get his coat. The cold weather had stiffened his bum knee, and he had to force it to work.

"You can't possibly go back outside," Nita said as she followed him.

"Stay here. I have a guest bedroom."

Kerney shook his head.

"I can't do that."

"You looked exhausted."

"I'll be fine." Kerney slipped into his coat.

"Are you always so bullheaded?"

Kerney turned and looked directly into Nita's eyes.

"Under different circumstances I would gladly accept your offer, Ms.

Lassiter. But you are a confessed cop killer, and I'm the guy who busted you. Staying here tonight is not an option; it would be misconstrued."

"No one needs to know."

"My presence here is a matter of official record. Both the county sheriff's office and the state police dispatcher know exactly where I am."

"You're right; you can't stay."

"I'll get a room at the Shaffer Hotel in Mountainair."

"Will you at least call me when you arrive so that I know you made it safely?"

"I'll do that. Try to think of where Robert might be heading."

Nita nodded and forced a smile, but her eyes were worried.

"What's wrong?" Kerney asked.

"I don't want anything to happen to Robert."

"Robert is a survivor, just like you," Kerney replied evenly.

"He'll be all right."

"Have you always been such an optimist?"

"I have my black moments every now and then."

"When was the last one?"

"The day I had to shoot you," Kerney replied.

Kerney's unexpected response shook Nita.

"I'm sorry that happened. You must think I'm terribly weak."

"I think you're a woman who needs to get on with her life."

"In prison?"

"I hope not, Ms. Lassiter."

"It wasn't fair of me to say that."

"No harm done."

As soon as Kerney said good night and slipped out the door, Nita wanted him to come back. With all the constraints that existed between them, she knew he wouldn't. But she could sense Kerney's loneliness ran as deep as her own, and that left her feeling very sad. ^ Ugly things had happened in Robert's dreams, forcing him awake. Paul Gillespie's face floated through his mind. The face changed into El Malo; horns snaked out of his forehead like worms and his eyes turned fiery red and evil.

Robert opened his eyes, found himself in total darkness, and scrambled to his feet. He could feel the pressure of the walls and ceiling gripping him-pushing him down-and his heart pounded in his chest.

He ran, stumbled against something, groped his way toward a current of cold air that blew against his face, and found a broken window. He crawled out, fell on his knees, and ran until a pain in his side forced him to stop.

Gasping for air, he turned and looked back. The setting moon behind the church made the spire look like a dagger stabbing the sky. He shivered in the cold, but the tension in his body lifted, and he felt better now that he was outside. Then the voices returned.

He could only use his right thumb to plug his ears; somebody had put a plaster cast on his left arm. He tried to rip the cast off, but the plaster was too hard and thick. He gave up and started walking down the road.

Snowdrifts buried the road and covered all but the tops of the fence poles along the highway.

Somewhere, Robert had gotten a new coat, and it felt warm. But the air was frigid and his feet were cold.

He looked down at the boots that flapped against his ankles, wondering where they had come from. As he walked, snow seeped over the boot tops, soaked his feet, and made it hard to move. He stepped carefully to keep the boots from coming off in the snow.

There was no traffic on the road. Everything was silent and still. He stuck his thumb out as soon as he heard the sound of an engine and the scrape of a plow on the pavement behind him. An orange highway department snowplow slowed to a stop. Robert got in.

"Did you go off the road?" the driver asked.

"I didn't see your car."

"No, I'm just walking." Robert stared at a pack of cigarettes on the dashboard.

"Got a spare smoke?"

"Help yourself."

Robert grabbed a cigarette and lit it.

"Looks like you got banged up a little," the man said, eyeing the cast on Robert's arm and his missing teeth.

"Got in a fight," Robert replied, thinking maybe it was true.

"No big deal."

"Where are you heading?"

"Mountainair."

"I can take you as far as the maintenance yard in town."

Robert nodded.

"That's cool. Got any coffee there?"

"The pot is always on." The driver dropped the transission into gear, lowered the blade, and began plowing his way toward Mountainair.

Robert puffed on the cigarette and tried to concentrate on where he was supposed to go after he got to town. Nothing registered. The voices were gone, replaced by a noise like radio static.

Close to town, with the sun just up and the glare off the snow bouncing into the sky, a state police car passed them. Robert turned his head to follow the car, thinking that if he got out and waited, the cop might come back and take him to jail. He shrugged off the thought and snorted. Cops were assholes.

The driver gave him a strange look.

Robert bummed another cigarette and stared out the window. He liked the way the snow covered everything and made things look clean. His feet started to hurt as the driver turned into the maintenance yard. It felt like somebody was sticking pins into his toes.

He jumped out of the truck and went with the driver into the empty office.

"Got any rubber bands?" Robert asked.

The driver rummaged through a desk drawer and held out a handful.

Robert pulled them over his boots.

Maybe they would help keep the snow out.

"What happened to your laces?" the driver asked.

"I don't like them."

The driver filled his thermos, gave Robert a cup of coffee, and went outside to load sand into the truck's spreader. When he returned the hitchhiker was gone. nita found Kerney sitting in the Shafier Hotel dining room picking over a light breakfast. The room was full of railroad workers just in from a night of clearing a freight derailment at Abo Pass. Snow and mud had been tracked into the room, and small brown puddles had formed under the tables where the workers sat.

Nita dropped her coat over the back of an empty chair and joined Kerney at the table.

"Good morning," she said.

"Morning," Kerney answered, inspecting her outfit.

She wore insulated boots, jeans, and several layers of sweaters.

"Going somewhere?"

"With you," Nita replied.

"That's not possible."

"Do you want to waste time trying to find your way to Serpent Gate, or do you want to get there in a hurry?"

"There are a lot of other places Robert could be," Kerney said.

"I've already looked everywhere else."

"Then I'll start at Serpent Gate."

"It's not that easy to get to. Do you have a four wheel-drive vehicle?

It's going to take one to get in."

"No, you're not going."

"Then I'll go by myself," Nita said as she started to rise.

"Hold up."

"Robert is out there, and I'm going to find him if you won't."

"Why are you so sure he's there?"

"Can't you figure it out? What happened to me-and Robert-took place at Serpent Gate. He's always gone back; I never have."

Before Kerney could respond a patrol officer entered the room and walked quickly to the table. He gave Nita a questioning glance and a tight nod before addressing Kerney.

"No luck so far. Chief," he said.

"I covered all the major roads in a ten-mile radius."

"Robert may come here," he said as he laid some bills on the table to cover the meal and the tip.

"Pick him up if he shows. Don't scare him off. He doesn't like cops much. I'll be on my handheld radio if you need me."

Kerney stood up, took Nita's coat off the back of the empty chair, and held it out.

"Let's go to Serpent Gate." carlos tried to act cordial and relaxed with Felix and Delfino, but his attempts at small talk were rebuffed. He drove through the night while one man slept and the other stayed awake, watching him. Even when he had to take a piss along the side of the road, he had company. When he suggested a meal stop, the idea was rejected. Carlos had to come up with a plan to save himself, and soon.

The blizzard had made travel almost impossible. Felix had ordered him to take the interstate in the hopes that the road would be in better condition. But south of Albuquerque the highway became a nightmare, and Carlos missed the exit to Mountainair because of a fierce whiteout that obliterated the road signs. When he got back on track, it took hours to travel fifty miles to Mountainair.

Carlos drove into the village with a low sun in his eyes. It wasn't much of a town from what he could see: a cheap motel or two, boarded-up businesses, a school, and a main street that sputtered to a stop after two long blocks.

"I need some coffee," he said to Felix as he slowed to let a crazy-looking man with missing teeth scurry across the street, the coat draped over his shoulders flapping in the breeze.

"We'll get some to go," Felix said.

"I saw a sign for a hotel restaurant. It should be on the right, a block down."

Carlos made the turn and saw the man in the flapping coat run across the road toward an abandoned warehouse next to some train tracks. In front of the hotel, a man, woman, and a cop came out the front door.

Carlos accelerated.

"That's Kerney," he said as he passed the trio in front of the hotel.

He went around the block and returned in time to see Kerney and the woman pull away in a pickup truck.

"Are you positive?" Felix asked.

"Completely."

"Don't follow too closely."

The cop paid no attention as Carlos cruised by.

Carlos let several vehicles pass him, but kept the truck in view. The road had been sanded and plowed, but black ice slowed traffic. Several miles beyond the village, Carlos topped out at the crest of a hill and panicked.

The pickup was nowhere in sight. He started scanning for the truck off the roadway.

"You've lost them," Felix snapped.

The highway divided a slender valley cut by wandering arroyos that gradually opened to a large pasture.

To the south, a half circle of hills hid the mainline railroad tracks from view. Fresh tire tracks entered a ranch road.

Carlos squinted against the glare of reflected sunlight on the snow and caught sight of the truck traveling toward the hills.

"There," he said, pointing.

"Follow," Felix ordered.

At the gate to the ranch road, the car lurched to a stop in the middle of a snow-filled ditch. Carlos tried backing up, and the wheels spun without grabbing. He got out to take a look and Delfino joined him.

The rear wheels were deep in snow to the top of the hubcaps.

"We'll have to dig the car out," Carlos said.

"Leave it here," Delfino replied.

"Open the trunk."

Carlos unlocked the trunk and watched Felix and Delfino slip backpacks over their shoulders.

"Let's go," Felix said to Carlos.

"I'll wait here," Carlos replied.

"Move," Felix said, stepping out to take the lead.

"The police will notice the car."

"Today it is just another stranded vehicle in a snowbank," Felix replied.

"Let's go."

The sun gave no warmth and the glare off the snow was intense. Carlos followed Felix while Delfino stayed behind him. They walked single file at a fast pace in the ruts left by the truck. Behind him Carlos could hear the even breathing of Delfino close at hand.

Wind gusts seared against his face, his breath froze on his mustache, and his sunglasses fogged up. On the back side of the hills, the road dipped under a double set of train tracks. At the top of a rise beyond the tracks, Carlos spotted the pickup.

Felix saw it also. He bolstered his handgun, took off the backpack, and removed an Uzi submachine gun.

Delfino did the same.

"Take Carlos to the trestle and wait for me," Felix ordered Delfino. He left the road and started a loop in the general direction of the truck.

From the tres de Carlos and Delfino watched Felix approach the truck.

He checked the bed and the cab, returned to the tailgate, crouched down, and signaled them to approach. With Delfino at his side, Carlos trotted to the pickup. Beyond he could see two figures moving toward a low ridgeline.

"Get down," Felix said.

Carlos ducked behind the tailgate.

"How do you want to take them?" Delfino asked.

"Prom both flanks," Felix said. The figures up ahead were small dots against a white backdrop.

"Carlos, you go with Delfino."

Carlos took out his handgun, glancing at Delfino for a reaction.

"Take the point," Delfino said.

Carlos broke trail through the crust of snow, his legs sinking into drifts up to his knees, slowing his pace. He looked back once; ten steps behind, Delfino had the Uzi pointed directly at him. He scanned the left flank for Felix; he was nowhere in sight.

Carlos was a sitting duck. All he could do was keep moving. from insidb the old grain warehouse, Robert watched the cop in the squad car. The man just sat in the cruiser with his engine running, tailpipe exhaust billowing like frost in the cold morning air. Robert knew if he went to the hotel, the cop would beat him up, just like Ordway had.

He didn't know what to do. Seeing Kerney and Nita together had left him with a mean, jealous feeling, and his head felt full of hissing snakes. He had to get away and never come back, but where should he go? He went out the rear of the warehouse and scrambled down a small embankment to the train tracks. Behind him stood the old train station. Maybe east, he thought, to Texas.

The hissing snakes whispered Paul Gillespie's name in his ear. He would go west to Serpent Gate.

He hurried down the tracks to the underpass. The cop never saw him.

Cops were stupid-too dumb to realize that the train tracks were highways, just like roads, only better.

The cast on his arm banged against his broken rib as he ran, but the pain didn't bother him. He laughed until cold air rushed into his lungs and made him cough. tub snow at the top of the rise was too deep for the truck, so Nita and Kerney pushed ahead on foot. The storm had erased any footprints or tracks. Kerney scrutinized every drift they passed for telltale signs of Robert. He saw nothing. If Robert's body was nearby, it wouldn't be found until the first good thaw.

The raw Arctic wind kept the temperature well below freezing, and the branches of the pinon and juniper trees cracked like gunshots as they snapped under the weight of the snow. Each step they took broke trail in the frozen crust, and they were knee-deep in drifts. Nita didn't tire or falter, but Kerney had a hell of a time with his bad knee. The tendons and few remaining ligaments ached every time he pulled the leg free to take another step.

The ridge ran at a right angle to the hills. At the top, Nita held them up. Without warning, the ridge sheared off, revealing a granite monolith standing in the middle of a narrow gorge. A rockfall closed off one end, and the only approach seemed to be through a shallow arroyo that ran up to the ridge.

Kerney guessed the monolith to be fifty feet long and ten feet away from where he stood. He looked into the shadows and waited for his vision to adjust. Fifteen feet below the drop-off, a slender ledge ran along the length of the monolith. Above the ledge, at about the chest height of a small man, a duplicate of the serpent on Pop Shaffer's fence had been chiseled in the stone. It was surrounded by images of birds, fish, and other symbols, including a horned demon.

"How deep?" Kerney asked. The snow in the gorge stopped at the ledge of the monolith.

"Less than twenty feet. Do you think you would have found it on your own?"

"I probably would have fallen into it," Kerney said.

"What's on the other side?"

"More rock art and lots of rattlesnakes in the summer," Nita answered.

"It gets good sun, and the snakes like the heat. I don't think Robert's been here," she added.

"We'll poke around anyway."

The wind died down and Kerney heard crunching sounds from behind. Out of the sun, two men were coming straight at them. Another man flanked them, cutting off any retreat. He saw weapons in their hands, and without thinking he pushed Nita over the ledge and jumped with her as the men opened fire. He crashed into a snow-covered shrub, branches whipping his face, and landed in a heavy cushion of snow.

He scrambled to the ledge of the monolith, grabbed Nita by the hand, and pulled her to him.

"Move," he hissed, freeing his handgun.

"Get to the other side, out of sight."

Nita gave him a petrified look. He pushed her to get her started.

Automatic rounds sprayed the gully as he turned the corner. Nita was off the ledge, standing waist-deep in a drift.

"What is it?" Nita asked.

"What's happening?" It was all she could think to say.

"Don't talk."

The gorge was wider on the back side of the monolith, where the arroyo had eroded the ridge. Kerney heard the thud of two men dropping into the gorge, and looked for cover. Below the ledge circling the monolith was a crevice large enough for one person. He yanked Nita by the hand, forced her down, and shoved her into it.

"What are you doing?" she whispered.

"Curl up in a ball and be quiet," he said.

"I'll come back for you." He pushed her knees to her chest and piled snow over her, trying to make the mound look as natural as possible.

He held his breath and listened. Nothing. Three men were coming at him from front and back, and there was no place to hide.

The mound covering the crevice was in deep shadows.

Maybe they wouldn't spot Nita; maybe she could survive.

A small conical cedar tree stood at the far end of the monolith, where sunlight had yet to reach. Kerney eyed it. About the height of a man, the tree would be the first thing a shooter would see coming around the front end of the monolith.

Kerney took off his coat, went to the tree, wrapped the garment around it, and buttoned it up. At a quick glance, it might pass for a standing man. With his back against the monolith, he hunkered down and waited, listening for footfalls in the crusted snow, scanning left and right. He saw a long shadow flicker on the snow beyond the cedar tree.

The shadow appeared again as the silhouette of a man.

Automatic fire ripped through Kerney's coat. When the man stepped into view, Kerney shot him twice in the chest, checked his flank, and ran to the snow-filled arroyo that sliced into the side of the ridge. With any luck, he could belly-crawl to the top of the ridge without being seen, and swing behind his pursuers. delpino kept Carlos in front of him as they moved slowly along the ledge of the monolith, following the tracks left by Kerney and the woman. He stopped at the sound of Felix's Uzi and the two answering shots that followed. He waited for Felix to fire again. All was silent.

"Something's wrong," Delfino said. He dropped off the ledge, stepped past Carlos, and chanced a quick look around the corner. He spotted Felix's prone body near a coat wrapped around a tree. There was no sign of the gringo or the woman.

"Felix is down," Delfino said, turning the corner.

Carlos followed and stopped by a mound of snow that filled a small crevice under the ledge. Ahead, Felix sprawled on his back, not moving, the Uzi clutched in both hands.

"He's dead," Carlos said.

"We can still cut them off," Delfino replied.

"They must be up ahead. Go back the way we came, and circle around."

Delfino glanced down and saw only one set of footprints in the snow-Kerney's tracks. Where did the woman go? Before he could look to find her hiding place, Carlos shot him in the back of the head.

Smiling, Carlos picked up Delfino's Uzi, bolstered his pistol, and retreated. Now that the odds were even, he would follow Delfino's advice, backtrack around the monolith, find Kerney, and kill him. kbrney winced when he heard the pistol shot. He cursed himself for leaving Nita behind, reversed his crawl, and scanned from low to high ground as he moved down the arroyo. The sun was higher in the sky, but the monolith cast a fat shadow, and he could dearly see only the dead man by the tree, where his bullet shredded winter coat flapped in a light breeze.

As far as he knew, two more men were still in the gorge, setting up a cross fire, which would be the smart thing to do. The arroyo gave him cover only if he stayed prone and low. He wanted to get up and make a dash to Nita. He forced himself to wait. The men stalking him controlled the action. All he could hope to do was counterpunch and survive.

Cold and soaked to the skin, he burrowed into the snow and tried not to shiver. carlos workbd his way slowly and quietly through the snow until he reached the end of the monolith.

Darkness still lingered in the constricted ravine, but the sun was in his face every time he glanced up.

He took one more look at the ridgetop, and a snowball hit him in the face. He squinted into the sun, and started firing the Uzi at the moving shape above. It vanished before he could focus on it. He stepped forward to fire again and a bullet tore through his stomach and shattered his spine. He took another bullet in the chest as he fell.

Carlos hit the ground and Kerney ran in a low crouch, zigzagging past the dead man by the tree, waiting for bullets to tear into him. He made it to Nita's hiding place and found another man with the back of his skull blown open, the snow around his head icy pink.

He dropped his handgun, dug into the mound with both hands, and pulled Nita out of the crevice. She was pale, shaky on her feet, but unhurt.

"My God," she said, staring at the body. She started to cry.

"Not now," Kerney said sharply.

"Robert is out there somewhere. Find him."

She nodded and began to move. Kerney left her and went to check on Carlos.

Carlos lay on his back staring into the sun until a shadow passed over his face. He felt the Uzi being pulled from his hands. He blinked and saw Kerney leaning over him.

"You're a hard man to kill, gringo," he said.

"You're dying, Carlos."

"I was going to die today, anyway."

"Is that why you killed one of your partners?"

Kerney asked.

Carlos nodded and coughed up blood.

"Where is Nick Palazzi?"

"He fucked up, just like me. De Leon had me kill him."

"And Amanda Talley, did you do her, too?"

"I never killed such a beautiful woman before."

"Where's her body?"

"No more body. Gone."

"What about Gilbert Martinez?"

"I thought it was you, gringo. I really wanted you dead."

"You've been a busy boy, Carlos."

Carlos gurgled once and died.

"Did you kill them all yourself?" Robert asked.

Kerney wheeled to find Robert and Nita at his side. Frozen snot hung from Robert's nose. He wiped it away with a sleeve.

"No," Kerney answered.

"Did you kill one of them, Addie?" Robert's eyes were jumpy and big as saucers.

Nita stiffened as though she'd taken a body blow.

"No."

"Yes, you did," Robert said, inclining his head.

"I saw his body over there. You killed the motherfucker."

Kerney eyed the crazy grin on Robert's face.

"Do you need a ride to jail, Robert?"

Robert nodded.

"Let's go." Kerney led Nita and Robert away from Kerney drove to the highway and found a car blocking their way through the ranch road gate.

He keyed the handheld radio, made contact with the state police officer he'd left at the Shafier Hotel, reported the shootout, and requested a tow truck.

"Send a snowplow also," he added as an afterthought.

"We'll need the road cleared to the crime scene."

"And an ambulance," Nita said as she dropped Robert's boots on the floorboard.

Robert was in the back of the extended-cab. Kerney looked over his shoulder. Robert's feet were badly frostbitten.

Kerney relayed the message.

"Get me some snow," Nita said.

He got out of the truck and passed handfuls of snow to Nita, who rubbed it on Robert's bare feet. Robert howled, kicked wildly, and tried to fight his way out of the truck. Kerney popped the driver's seat forward on its tracks and pinned Robert down while Nita finished the job.

"How bad?" he asked.

Nita answered with a wary shrug.

The ambulance arrived with the state police unit.

Kerney carried Robert to the vehicle. He struggled fiercely as Kerney put him on the gurney. It took all of his strength to hold Robert while the paramedics strapped him into the restraints.

Robert screamed in protest.

The ambulance pulled away for the trip to Albuquerque just as a tow truck arrived. Kerney looked around for Nita. She was in her 4x4, behind the steering wheel.

He walked to her and she rolled down the window.

"Did you hear what Robert said to me?" she asked, without looking at Kerney. Her eyes were fixed on something-or nothing-outside the windshield.

"I may have missed it."

Nita kept looking away. Her hands gripped the steering wheel and her knuckles were white.

"He said he raped me."

"He didn't mean anything by it."

"I think he believes it."

"Gillespie left a lot of victims behind."

"Addie is going to come and live with me, at least until my trial is over," she said without emotion.

"That's good." Kerney watched the officer guide the tow truck into position behind the car.

Slowly Nita switched her attention to Kerney. Her eyes were empty.

"Do I have to stay here?"

"You can leave as soon as the way is dear," Kerney said.

"Who were those men?"

"Killers hired by a Mexican drug lord. They were after me, not you."

"Have you killed men before?"

Kerney didn't reply. The rear wheels of the car were off the ground.

The operator stopped the winch, got in the truck, and pulled the vehicle out of the way.

"It's not a good feeling, is it?" Nita added, directing the question to herself.

Kerney answered anyway.

"It never is, and never should be."

"Can I go now?" Nita asked.

Kerney nodded. A highway department snowplow came over the hill and stopped at the side of the road.

Nita smiled stiffly.

"I guess I'll see you in court someday, Mr. Kerney."

"Someday you will, Ms. Lassiter."

Nita drove away and the patrol officer brought Kerney a jacket to wear.

He put it on and went to the cruiser to get warm, while the officer talked to the snowplow operator. The driver dropped the blade and started the truck down the ranch road.

Kerney thought about the three dead men in the snow, and about Nita, Robert, Addie, Paul Gillespie, and Serpent Gate. He wondered if Robert would ever go back there again, and if Nita would be able to leave it behind for good. the morning after the gunfight at Serpent Gate, Kerney found his way to a new residential subdivision off Airport Road. The houses were pueblo-style one and two-story structures on small lots. He parked at the curb in front of the Martinez family home.

Gilbert had only recently bought the house and moved in. It had yet to be landscaped, and snow covered the raw patch of land surrounding the house. Railroad ties were stacked against the side of the garage.

Kerney wondered, now that Gilbert was dead, who would build the flower beds and plant the trees and shrubs when warm weather returned. The thought made his gut feel like a lead ball.

He got out and rang the doorbell.

Sandra Marrinez, Gilbert's widow, used the partially open front door as a barrier, and studied the stranger standing on die porch.

"What is it?"

She had dark, intelligent eyes, a grief-filled face, and spoke in a drained voice.

"Mrs. Martinez, I'm Kevin Kerney."

Sandra's hand tightened on the doorknob. She forced back a response, while the man who should have been killed instead of her husband looked at her.

"Is there anything I can do for you or your family?" Kerney asked.

"No," Sandra said.

"Thank you for stopping by." She closed the door in his face.

Kerney hesitated before ringing the bell again. After a minute, it grudgingly opened.

"Mrs. Martinez-" he said.

Sandra raised a shaky hand to cut him off, and her breath caught in her throat. She swallowed hard.

"I know you came here with good intentions."

"I liked and respected your husband very much."

She forced a thin, dry smile.

"Gilbert liked you, too."

"I feel responsible for your loss."

"You may be responsible, but you can't make amends for it, can you?"

"No, I can't."

"Then there's nothing more to say." She slowly closed the door again. andy stuck his head inside the conference room and found Kerney pecking away at the keyboard of an old computer that he'd scrounged from supply.

"Paperwork?" Andy asked.

Tm just finishing up."

"I can get you a new computer, Kerney. All you have to do is ask."

"This one will do for now." Kerney hit a function key. The printer whined as it fed a sheet of paper into the rollers.

De Leon has left Mexico," Andy said.

"Where is he?"

Andy shrugged.

"The Mexican authorities say they don't know. And if they do, they aren't telling. They did identify the two hit men De Leon sent after you."

"So quickly?"

"Both were former federal intelligence agents cashiered for being on the cartel's pad. They're wanted on multiple murder charges. It seems they assassinated a judge, a prosecutor, and a district police commissioner in Chihuahua."

"Nasty boys."

"The Mexican government is sending you a citation."

"I don't want it," Kerney said gruffly. The printer spit out a sheet of paper. Kerney plucked it out of the tray and gave it to Andy.

Andy read it. It was an official request to award the police medal of valor posthumously to Sergeant Gilbert Martinez.

"Would you like to make the presentation to Gilbert's widow?" he asked.

"That's not a good idea."

"Stop blaming yourself, Kerney. What happened to Gilbert wasn't your fault."

"That's not the way Sandra Martinez sees it."

Andy studied Kerney's face and decided to drop the subject.

"Are you planning to stick around for a while?

I've got six major cases I need you to bird-dog. And I don't want you creating a vacancy Vance Howell can fill."

Kerney cracked a small smile.

"You think the governor would dump Howell on you if I left?"

"In the blink of an eye."

"Are you catching any flak from Springer?"

"Not yet. The department has gotten too much good press lately. But the word is out on the governor's staff that I'm insubordinate and not a team player. My reputation is getting as bad as yours."

"I've worked hard to build that reputation, Andy.

Don't butt in on my turf. Are you going to stick it out?"

"Hell, yes, I am. I took this job because I wanted to do some good. I need you to watch my back while I push my budget through the legislature."

"Do you think Springer might torpedo the budget as a payback for busting his nephew?"

"That thought has crossed my mind."

"I'll think about staying around for a while."

"Good deal," Andy said.

"But I need a few days off for personal business."

"Take as much time as you need," Andy said from his door.

"I'll see you when you get back."

On the conference table was a box of five hundred freshly printed business cards that had arrived in the mail. Kerney hadn't asked for the new cards-probably a clerk had automatically ordered them when his promotion had been posted.

He took one card from the box and slipped it in his wallet. an entirely different climate greeted Kerney in Mexico. Even in the late afternoon, the day was warm, the sky a rich blue, and a dry breeze from the open truck window felt good against his face.

He drove the highway south of Juarez, and passed the turnoff to De Leon hacienda without stopping.

Since his only other visit, the access road had been paved and an electronic security gate barred entry.

Probably De Leon restoration of the hacienda was complete. Kerney looked forward to seeing it.

He traveled past a long sweep of hills that blocked the Rio Grande from view, and took a dirt road that led to a constricted basque along the river. He parked out of sight from the highway, got his gear, and started walking.

The brown, slow-moving river sucked up the fast fading light, giving back no reflection, and it stank with a foul combination of human and industrial waste. On the Mexican side, there were holes cut in the twenty foot-high chain-link border fence big enough for three men to pass through side by side.

The basque gave out where the river carved through some hills, and Kerney hiked up a rock-strewn incline.

He reached the top as the last rays of a setting sun dimmed to dusk.

Below, the bosque reappeared, not very wide, but thicker than before.

The hacienda stood nestled against the side of the hill with a view that took in the sloping river valley.

De Leon had brought the estate back to life, and the hacienda with its long, two-story sweep looked grand.

Plastered mud brown with small shuttered windows that marched along the wall on either side of massive center doors, it resembled a fortified citadel.

When Kerney had last seen it, the building had been nothing more than an adobe shell sitting above an old basement hollowed out of the hill.

As the dusk turned to night, Kerney slipped a nightvision viewer out of the pouch. He scanned the hacienda for signs of activity and saw nothing. All seemed equally quiet at the outbuildings, including the small chapel and a circular stone granary that soared like a watchtower next to the hacienda.

After an hour of watching, headlights came into view on the access road and a car parked in front of the hacienda. It was a Chihuahua federal police unit. Two uniformed officers got out, and one checked the hacienda while his partner rattled the locked chapel door and walked out of sight around the side of the building. No lights came on inside the hacienda.

After completing the building security check, the cops drove down a gravel road that led to the basque, spotlighting the old stone foundations and rock fences along the way. Finished with the patrol, they left on the access road.

Kerney waited an hour and a half until the officers came back and completed another tour. He put the night-vision viewer away and trotted to the side of the hacienda. Under a portal, arched lead-glass doors opened onto the patio. Kerney inspected the doors with a flashlight and found alarm sensors attached to the glass.

He backtracked to the chapel and checked for a rear entrance. There was none, but small stained-glass windows showing the stations of the cross ran the length of the building on either side. The windows were wired to the alarm system.

Kerney figured De Leon had something valuable inside the chapel-like maybe a priceless religious statue.

He had no way of knowing where the Mexican cops might be stationed.

They could be at the access road security gate, or checking on another jefe's mansion some distance away.

It would have to be a smash-and-grab affair. To do it right, he needed to be in, out, and gone in a few minutes.

He could make it if he pushed his bad knee to the maximum and got lucky inside the hacienda.

He picked up a rock, broke a chapel window, and hauled himself inside.

The alarm was silent, but intrusion sensors mounted near the ceiling blinked rapidly.

His flashlight beam illuminated the Lady of Guadalupe statue on the center of the altar. Kerney grabbed it, kicked open the chapel door, put the bulto on the outside step, and sprinted to the hacienda.

He blew a hole in one of the glass patio doors with his nine-millimeter, unlocked it, and did a fast-and-dirty search, sweeping his light quickly over the walls of each room. He found the sheathed U.S. Cavalry sword above the mantel in the billiard room. He took it, left his business card on the mantel, and ran like hell, retracing his steps.

He snatched the bulto from the chapel step at a dead run, and sprinted for the hill. He could hear the sound of a fast-approaching vehicle.

He didn't stop running until he was on the back side of the hill. He jogged to the cover of the basque before slowing to a walk. Sharp jolts of pain ran up his leg.

Kerney smiled in spite of the pain as he glanced at the statue and sheathed sword in his hands. It was, at best, a small victory over De Leon But he knew it would sting him. andy held a brief press conference as Kerney watched from the back of the room. He said a few words about the return of the bulto from an anonymous source, and presented the statue to a museum official who gushed in appreciation while the video cameras whirled and reporters scribbled in their notebooks.

Kerney slipped away before the reporters started asking questions, and went to pack the sword and scabbard for shipment.

The sword had a three-quarter-inch blade, a gilded brass hilt, a grip wrapped in twisted wire, and a gold lace strap attached to the handle.

The nickel-plated scabbard had a mounting of gilded brass. It was in mint condition.

Kerney would mail the sword to West Point, where the other military artifacts found on the missile range were on permanent display. He packed it carefully and included a note returning the items with the compliments of Major Sara Brannon, the army officer who had worked with Kerney on the smuggling case.

Kerney had been thinking a lot about Sara lately; they had a long-standing date to meet when she returned from her tour of duty in Korea in late spring.

It felt like a long time away.

Andy came in as he licked the shipping label and stuck it on the package.

"What's that?" he asked, tilting his chin at the package.

"Just a memento I'm sending off on behalf of a friend," Kerney said as he picked up the package.

"I have to visit someone. I'll see you later."

Kerney stopped in on Joe Valdez before leaving headquarters.

Joe was busy boxing up files. He stretched packing tape over the top of a carton and sealed it shut.

"That's it, Chief," Joe said.

"Every shred of evidence on Roger Springer, Sherman Cobb, and Bucky Watson is in these boxes. I have to deliver it to the AG this afternoon.

The case is out of our hands."

"How far did you get on the money laundering?" Kerney asked.

"Pretty far," Joe answered.

"Bucky liked to use De Leon money instead of his own whenever possible."

"How about for political campaign contributions?"

"Bucky made some big contributions to the governor's campaign, but I didn't track the source."

"Would you do that for me before you take the files totheAG?"

"What are you looking for, Chief?"

"I'd like to know if Bucky gave De Leon money to the governor's reelection committee."

"What difference would that make? Unless we could prove the committee knew the money was tainted, no crime has been committed."

"That's not what I'm after, Joe," Kerney said.

"Do it on the QT."

"Whatever you say."

"Thanks."

After Kerney left, Joe got his penknife out and started opening the taped cartons, wondering what kind of political game the deputy chief was playing. He decided he didn't want to know. robert had been transferred from the hospital in Albuquerque to the Las Vegas Medical Center. Kerney found him in one of the cookie-cutter-modern treatment cottages behind the original nineteenth-century building once known as the New Mexico Insane Asylum.

The cottage consisted of a combined dayroom and dining area with private cell-like sleeping quarters that branched off from a semicircular core. In spite of the white walls, sunlight from skylights and windows, and the numerous game boards and magazines scattered about, the cottage had a grubby, neglected appearance.

Robert sat in a plastic chair facing a television set, watching a religious program on a Christian station. A pair of crutches rested against his leg, and his feet were wrapped in bandages.

Kerney sat down next to Robert, who gave him a disissive look and turned his attention back to the set.

"How are you, Robert?"

"Jesus cut off all my toes," he said, keeping his eyes glued on the screen.

"Jesus did that?"

"He cut them off for raping my daughter," he said matter-of-factly.

"That's pretty harsh."

"Jesus knows what he's doing," Robert said instructively.

"You should know that."

"I hope he does."

"Do you love Jesus?"

"Everybody should," Kerney answered.

"That's right. Are you a doctor?" Robert asked, searching Kerney's face.

"No, my name is Kerney."

"That's a funny name."

"Don't you remember me?"

"I never saw you before," Robert said as he switched his gaze back to the television.

Kerney stayed until it was dear Robert had nothing more to say. delbon's forty-million-dollar yacht was anchored just outside the bay of the coastal city of Manzanillo.

Enrique watched the wake of the approaching boat cut through the Pacific Ocean before moving to the shade of the canopy on the foredeck.

De Leon used Manzanillo as a transfer point for cocaine shipments from Colombia and Ecuador. The product came in by ship to be off-loaded at the dock into waiting trucks. This arrangement was possible because De Leon had made the local police commander and his immediate assistants wealthy men.

The boat came alongside, and within minutes Brigadier General Sergio Garcia Perez, deputy chief of Mexican intelligence, was on deck.

"Senor De Leon General Perez said with a wide smile.

"I am delighted to see you again."

"It is good to see you. General," Enrique replied.

"Join me for a drink." He motioned for a mess boy, who came, took the general's order, and returned quickly with a wineglass.

"How can I assist you?" Perez asked from his deck chair.

"I understand you have an agent who is expert at arranging accidents that do not raise suspicion. A Cuban expatriate, I believe, fluent in English and trained by the Americans."

Perez masked his surprise. Few people outside the Mexican intelligence community knew of his Cuban asset.

"That is correct."

"Would it be possible for me to utilize his services?"

De Leon inquired.

"Anonymously, of course."

"Perhaps," Perez said cautiously.

"Who is the object of your concern?"

"An American police officer in New Mexico."

De Leon held out Kerney's dossier.

Perez paged through the dossier and scanned the photograph.

This was the man who had killed two of his former agents in a shoot-out north of the border. A deep background check would be necessary before Perez would make a commitment; no ordinary policeman could take out two highly skilled operatives so easily.

"If I agree to your proposal, when would you like this accident to occur?" Perez asked.

"Only when you are sure there is no risk to you and there is no chance of failure," Enrique replied, getting to his feet.

"But come, other than your fee, we have talked about business long enough. I have had a meal prepared I think you will enjoy."

As kernbt looked on, Andy read through Joe Valdez's report on Bucky Watson's political campaign contributions to the Committee to Reelect the Governor.

"So the committee got dirty money from De Leon through Watson," Andy said, dropping the last sheet of paper on his desk.

"Over seventy-five thousand dollars.

That's quite a contribution."

"I'm sure they didn't know the source of the money," Kerney said.

"But it might upset the voting public if word got out the family values candidate got reelected with the help of a large donation from the Mexican drug lord responsible for the murder of two police officers and a multimillion-dollar theft."

Andy put the report in order and locked it in his desk, "I think I'll hold on to this for a while."

"Good idea."

"We might just get the funds for expansion the department needs next year." Andy leaned back in his chair with a satisfied look on his face.

"Wouldn't that be great?" Kerney replied.

"Bur you can stay here as long as you like," Pletcher said.

"I can't keep bunking with you forever," Kerney said with a shake of his head. He stuffed the last of the shirts into a canvas carryall and zipped it closed.

"Besides, I'm only moving six blocks away. We'll be neighbors."

"You're a workaholic. I'll never see you."

"I may not be working at all." Kerney went to the closet, took sweaters off" a shelf, and dumped them into a plastic bag.

"Are you leaving the state police?"

"I haven't decided."

"What kind of place have you rented?" Fletcher asked.

"It's a furnished one-bedroom with a fireplace and patio."

"Does it have charm?"

"It will do for now," Kerney replied.

He got his shaving gear from the bathroom and looked around. All of his possessions were packed; it would take no more than two or three trips to his pickup truck to move out. He needed to spend a little money and buy some things. Pots, pans, plates-that sort of stuff.

Maybe even a television.

"I'm going to load up," he said.

"I'll help you carry your things out."

Fletcher followed him outside, lugging the large plastic bag. A truck pulled into the driveway and a woman got out. She stuck her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket and walked quickly to Kerney. Close up, Fletcher found her quite attractive.

"Ms. Lassiter," Kerney said. He took the plastic bag out of Pletcher's hand and put it in the bed of the pickup.

"What can I do for you?"

Nita looked at Fletcher and hesitated.

"It's nothing official."

"Are you sure you want to talk to me?" Kerney asked.

"Yes, just for a moment. Please."

"I'll get the carryall," Hetcher said, stepping off toward the guest quarters.

"What is it?" Kerney asked.

"The DA has offered my lawyer a plea bargain-voluntary manslaughter.

I'd serve a reduced prison sentence."

"What did Dalquist say?"

"He doesn't want me to take it. I wanted to know what you thought."

"I'm not a lawyer, Nita."

"That's why I'm asking."

"If it were me, I'd go to trial. There's no way I'd agree to be locked up in prison, under any circumstance."

"Think I can win?"

"You've got too much to lose not to try."

"Thank you, Kevin."

"Call me Kerney. Most of my friends do."

Pletcher returned in time to see the woman lean close to Kerney with her hand on his arm and say something he couldn't hear.

Kerney reached out and squeezed the woman's shoulder. She kissed him on the cheek and hugged him before breaking away and giving him one last, long look. She walked slowly to her vehicle and drove away.

"Why would you let an attractive woman like that walk away?" Fletcher asked.

"She didn't seem to want to leave at all."

"I know where to find her, and I have an open invitation to visit, if things work out," Kerney said, taking the carryall from Fletcher.

"Besides, timing is everything."

"How true."

Kerney smiled.

"I'll see you later, Fletcher."

"Dinner here, next Tuesday night," Fletcher suggested.

"It will be my pleasure."