Assumed Identity

13

Juana’s home was in the hills south of the city, along the western bank of the San Antonio River. They took forty-five minutes to get there, Pedro driving the van while Buchanan sat in back and guarded the captives, Anita following in the Jeep Cherokee. En route, Buchanan used the pliers again, forcing the first man to give him the telephone number that would put him in touch with the sniper who watched Juana’s home.

The telephone barely made a noise before a man’s gravelly voice answered, “Yellow Rose Two.”

“It’s Frank,” Buchanan said. Trained to mimic voices, he made himself sound like the first man. “Anything doing?”

“Quiet as hell. No sign of movement here for the past two weeks. I think we’re wasting our time.”

“But at least we’re being paid to waste it,” Buchanan said. “I’m going to stay with Duncan and watch the Mendez place. Meantime, I thought I’d better tell you I’m sending a guy out there in my Jeep. That’s how you’ll know he belongs. He’s going to pick the front lock and go in to check a few things we’re beginning to think we missed, especially some stuff in her files.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. If she’s watching the house, debating whether to go in, she’ll get spooked if she sees anybody.”

“I agree. The thing is, it’s not like I have a choice. This wasn’t my idea. These are orders.”

“Fucking typical,” the sniper said. “They pay us to do a job, but they won’t let us do it properly.”

“Just let the guy I’m sending do his job when he shows up,” Buchanan said.

“No sweat. Be seeing you.”

Sooner than you expect, Buchanan thought as he broke the connection.