The Debriefing

Twelve

With a half-dozen tactical officers, in full battle regalia, protecting them, one brother jogged and the other hobbled to the waiting Humvee, painted in camo, just like the other one, parked under the two flags.

Tony didn’t have a clue what was happening but by now it wasn’t a humongous surprise that they weren’t at Hendrix army base outside of El Paso. He did, however, get a solid jolt to see the sign on the building they’d been in.

Deep in the heart of Chihuahua, Cardozo territory.

He’d have to live with his confusion for the time being, though, because Suarez and the other tactical officers weren’t in any position to answer questions. They were urgently hustling the two brothers into the middle row of the armored vehicle, and swiveling their weapons from side to side as they assessed threats.

What the hell was—

Tony gasped. He’d glanced into the back seat and saw DEA supervisor Jonny Boyd, very much alive. He was smiling.

“Your expression, El Paso. Put that on a velvet painting of a clown and you’d have a QVC bestseller.”

Under other circumstances Tony would have said, “Fuck you.” Now, he only gaped.

Doors slammed, a massive engine roared and, with a jerk, the hard-suspensioned vehicle sped away, other Humvees in front and behind.

Boyd leaned forward and called over the engine and rough road noise, “Any hostiles?”

“No, sir. So far we’re clear.”

Tony bounced up and down in the seat. Felt nauseous again. The seat belts were adjustable. He tightened them. It didn’t help. The road was really atrocious. The seventy miles per hour didn’t help either. This time if he puked, it would be on the floor. He didn’t care.

He said, “Look, I need to call Lucy.”

“Your wife’s been apprised that you’re all right. We’ll have to limit comms to the operation.”

Tony was about to argue but Boyd’s phone hummed. He took a call, listened. He nodded and disconnected. “They’ve got some of them in bags, some’re hog-tied. But there’s still a running gun battle.”

“Santos?”

“No word.”

Matt blew air from his cheeks. His face was worry, a very unusual expression for the tree jumper.

Tony asked, “A firefight? Where? Who?”

“Serrantino. Santos and his men versus a takedown team we put there.”

Tony twisted to the back seat and growled. “Okay. Answers.”

Boyd asked, “You want it like final Jeopardy!? Or Mrs. Williams’s third-grade grammar test? Complicated or simple?”

Tony lifted an eyebrow. He was sure he’d joke with Boyd again at some point. Not now.

The DEA man held up a hand. “Okay, okay. Here’s the story.” He settled back and handed a water to Tony, who opened it and chugged half the pint.

Boyd said, “You know how bad we’ve wanted Santos. EPPD, DEA, FBI. Everybody.” He lifted his palms. “Your brother really wanted him.”

Tony nodded. Thinking of Matt’s murdered partner.

For no reason other than convenience...

Boyd continued, “But he was invisible. Nobody could find him. The best intel and surveillance we’ve got? Zip. We needed to draw him out in public. So Matt took me out to lunch and pitched an idea to me a couple weeks ago. Risky but I liked it.”

That’s what they were doing when Tony had seen them — the meeting Matt had lied to Talbot about: not about the missing drug bust money but about putting together a joint op.

“Matt’s idea was to leak information to the Cardozistas that he was running a spy inside the cartel, giving him totally righteous info. Crap really harmful to them. Like what happens to me when I mix serranos and jalapeños and beans... Okay, sorry, El Paso. I’ll stick to straight man. Santos, of course, put together an op of his own to find out who it was.”

“So Elena Velasquez was fictional.”

“Totally. We got a hot DEA agent out of Brownsville to play her. I know I shouldn’t say that. But she is. She’s also one hell of a shot. Then EPPD got the anonymous call about the factory. We decided it was probably Santos, hoping to lure Matt there and kidnap him.”

“Hold on. You volunteered to get yourself caught and tortured?” Tony whispered.

The shrug said, “Sure, why not?”

Tony recalled his brother on the playground, so very many years ago, after he’d leapt into space on a twenty-dollar bet. The older brother demanding of the younger to know if he was hurt. And then Matt’s amused look as he replied.

Hurt? I just jumped off a roof. Of course I’m hurt. But what’s that got to do with anything?