The Debriefing

Thirteen

Tony noted the sign they sped past.

That would be kilometers. They’d be back in less than an hour.

He thought of Lucy. But then concentrated on Matt once more.

“So we put our plan in operation. Actually we had three. Plan One—”

Boyd frowned. “No, no, no. You don’t have Plan One. You have Plan A. There’s no such thing as Plan One.”

I’m the funny man here, El Paso...

“Contingency One was: Santos is at the factory for the snatch, and we get him. Two, his men handle the snatch and take me to a safe house and Santos shows up there, and we get him. Then Plan... C: Santos has somebody else torture me and I give up the fake Elena Velasquez and her location... Santos goes to snatch and torture her. And we get him.”

Tony was confused. “But how the hell would he” — a nod toward Boyd — “know whether it was A, B or C? Know when to move in?” He closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head. “Okay, got it. You’ve been wired.”

Matt tapped behind his ear, where Tony could see a small scar. “Subcutaneous transmitter.”

Boyd said, “Drone upstairs, the whole time. We’ve been listening to every word you guys said.” A glance toward Tony. “Jesus, El Paso, you puke really loud. Imagine that amplified. So, yeah, we’ve had teams at the factory, in San Bernardo and in Serrantino. Whichever way it went, we’d be ready.”

Matt chimed in. “But for some reason, Santos decided against torturing me. He’d knock me out and make me think I was in an army hospital. Then he’d trick me into giving up Elena’s name.”

Tony: “The grenades. They weren’t incendiary.”

Boyd explained they were Remifentanil, an anesthetic gas used by the Russians.

“And that’s why they were such piss-poor shots at the factory. They were just pinning us down, so they could get to Matt... And Holmes and Talbot? The phony agents?”

“Enforcers from LA. They’re part of a crew the Cardozos do business with.”

Matt said, “Santos had really thought this through. It was a good plan: making us think we were suspects in Jonny’s death, so we’d give up the name of anybody who might’ve betrayed the team, my CI.”

Plan C...

Tony shook his head. It was all fake. Jesus. They were playing us. And we were playing them.

Matt glanced at Boyd, who was reading a text. “Anything more from Serrantino? Santos?”

“Unfolding. Pretty chaotic.”

Tony had a thought. “Okay, we wake up in a hospital that looks for all the world like a military base. How’d you know it was a setup? Wait, I got it!”

Matt raised an eyebrow.

“The sign outside the window. It gave directions to the quote ‘Restroom’ and to the ‘Dining Hall.’ But in the army those’re called the ‘latrine’ and the ‘mess hall.’ When I came to visit you at Fort Meyer, I remember that.”

Matt was frowning. “Santos put up signs? I didn’t even see them.”

Tony asked, “Then how did you know it was a scam?”

“Because if they’d been real DEA and FBI they would’ve known about the operation and that Elena didn’t exist.”

Oh, right.

Obvious.

Tony snapped, “Why didn’t you tell me about the op — in the hospital room?”

Boyd said, “They’d have it bugged.”

Obvious, the sequel.

Tony sat back in the stiff seat of the vehicle, reflecting on how close he’d come to confronting his brother about the apparent betrayal.

M, did you sell the team out? Are you responsible for Jonny Boyd’s death?

That would have blown up their fragile relationship, the pieces never to be reassembled.

Boyd received a call. He listened, saying only, “Sure... Write it up. I’ll be in the office in an hour. K?”

The brothers turned to him.

“Looks like Santos shot his way into a store near the takedown site — a florist shop. Got out the back door.”

“Shit.”

“No, it was cool. We had people on the roof. Snipers acquired target, and a Federale demanded surrender.”

Tony lifted an eyebrow. And?

“And then the Cardozos’ most talented hitman, La Fucking Piedra, got his ass run over by an SUV.”

“What?” From Matt.

“One of his own men, Garcia. Seems like at the takedown, Santos used a kid in his crew as a shield. The boy died. He was Garcia’s nephew.”

“Well, shit.”

Tony asked, “Did he survive? Santos?”

“Dead as an armadillo in Amarillo,” Boyd said cheerfully. “Extradition was going to be a pain in the ass anyway.”

Tony asked, “What about the two from LA? The ones playing Holmes and Talbot?”

“Oh, didn’t you hear the gunshots in the hospital? They made the unwise decision to engage. They’ll be heading back to the States tomorrow — in the cargo hold.”

Tony stretched out, closed his eyes. Jesus, what a time. He patted his pockets. No phone. Of course, they’d have taken it. Couldn’t risk Matt or Tony making a call back to base or home. He’d borrow one. Make a call to Lucy, tell her...

And the next thing he knew there was a thump as the Humvee bounded over a speed bump at the border and the vehicles accelerated into the United States.

The vehicle dropped the men off at El Paso PD on North Raynor. The men shook hands, and Boyd started down the sidewalk for his car. Tony limped after him. “Hold on, Jonny. Got a question.”

Out of earshot of Matt, Tony asked, “That meth bust a while ago outside of town? The one where there was a two-hundred-K shortfall?”

“Oh, that? Yeah, I remember. Only there was no shortfall. Turned out the tweakers were just bad negotiators. All the cash was accounted for.”

“Ah.”

“Why’d you ask?”

“Just wondered if we needed to open a file on our end.”

“Nope, it’s as closed as my love life.” Boyd winked and continued on his way.

Tony returned to Matt.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing really. Had a question about another case.”

The brothers nodded to each other, their standard greeting and farewell; they hadn’t shaken hands in years. And hug? Never. They stood squinting against the low sun. It could be brutal here. There were more car accidents from sun glare than alcohol in El Paso.

Time to go their separate ways.

Matt said, “One thing, T. At the hospital, just before the extraction, there was something you started to say. You looked serious. What was that about?”

M, did you sell the team out?

Tony was frowning. “Funny. That gas, the knockout gas? Screwed up my memory. I don’t have a clue.”

Matt looked him over carefully. “Okay. Sure.”

Tony said, “See you.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Matt started for the lot where his Camaro would be parked. Tony headed toward the back door of the station, where he’d see if he could check out a car until his was brought around from the pound. It would have been towed back here after the shootout at the factory.

Tony got ten feet before something struck him in the back, a gentle tap. He heard a pebble clatter to the sidewalk. Another bounced off his shoulder. He turned. Matt had scooped up a handful of small stones from a landscaping bed. He tossed another one, which Tony dodged.

“The fuck?”

“I’ll buy you a beer.”

“I gotta get home. Lucy.”

Another pebble came Tony’s way. Hit his thigh. “Asshole.”

“One beer.”

“I gotta get—”

Matt tossed one more.

Tony bent down and got his own supply of ammunition. He launched some Matt’s way.

One bounced off his brother’s forehead. “Ow, fuck.”

“You started it.”

“One beer.”

Tony dropped the stones, which clattered sharply as they dispersed. “Where were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.” Matt looked around and shrugged. “We’ll find a place.”