I hustle through the tunnel, staying as quiet as I can, and soon hear unsteady footsteps ahead.
I shout, “Hayward!”
The footsteps pause for a beat, then start again, this time frantically. It sounds like Hayward stumbles, falls to the ground, picks himself up and keeps running.
I pick up my pace.
The tunnel curves once more, and then straightens out. I can see the end farther ahead, maybe seventy yards away. Like the entrance on the United States side, it dead-ends to a ladder. The trapdoor must be open, because bright light pours into the tunnel.
Oliver Hayward is maybe fifty yards away. With the light beyond him, he makes for an easy target. I could put him down with one simple squeeze of the trigger. But I don’t. I let him hurry forward and scramble up the ladder.
By the time I climb up the ladder, Hayward hasn’t gotten far. He stands motionless with his hands raised, a half-dozen federales aiming their guns at him. The moment my head pops up through the trapdoor, a few of the men shift their guns toward me, but an older man with a mustache tells them to ignore me, and they immediately aim again at Hayward.
This section of the tunnel opens up into a garage. Cinderblock walls, cheap roofing. An old car sits off to the side. The pungent smell of motor oil hangs in the air.
Hayward says, “Don’t you know who I fucking am?”
None of the federales answer. The older man with the mustache approaches me. He holds out his hand, and speaks in English.
“I am Lieutenant Nicolás Pichardo. President Cortez ordered me and my men to be here tonight.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant. Did President Cortez tell you anything else?”
“President Cortez simply ordered us to come here. He said he recently learned that there is a tunnel entrance in this garage. He had us arrest the people who own this garage, and told us to take anybody who comes through this tunnel into custody.”
Hayward takes one look at me, and shouts, “Yes! Take me into custody!”
Lieutenant Pichardo ignores him.
“So far tonight nobody has come through the tunnel.”
I nod, thank the man, and turn to Oliver Hayward.
He flinches away from me, shouts at the federales.
“What the fuck are you waiting for? Arrest me!”
Again, none of the men move.
I step up close to Hayward.
“President Cortez and I agreed you should be prosecuted on our side of the border. If you’re prosecuted here, there’s a good chance the cartel would orchestrate your escape. Or your murder.”
Hayward looks past me, crazed, his eyes wide.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Oliver. These men have been ordered not to kill you. Besides, I don’t think you have it in you to do anything stupid. You know how I know? You’re not a special person. I mean, you’re the kind of person who imprisons and tortures women and children, but not the kind strong enough to attempt suicide by cop.”
He glares at me.
“Fine. Take me back.”
I smile at him, and shake my head.
“Not yet.”
I reach into my back pocket, pull out the collar I had worn the past two days. I toss it on the ground at Hayward’s feet.
“Put that on.”