Herrera’s eyes scanned the horizon again, looking for that large, telltale swirl of dust approaching Rosario No. 2 that told him a phalanx of Range Rovers was bearing down.
Even a beater pickup truck, poking along at thirty miles an hour, barely kicking up any dirt at all, could trigger a minor panic attack in him. Or the glinting windshield of an aging Datsun. Anything, really. Herrera had taken to keeping binoculars around his neck, just so he could rule out non-threats more quickly.
He just never knew when El Vio might be coming. Be unpredictable.
This sense of dread had followed Herrera ever since he had returned to Mexico. El Vio had known about the operation in Georgia, of course. Herrera had required too many men and too much money for El Vio not to know about it.
And, therefore, Herrera had no choice but to inform El Vio about his failure. New Colima had a private-key encrypted e-mail server where messages permanently erased themselves after forty-eight hours. It was as secure as could be, so Herrera had written out a detailed description of his efforts in Georgia to El Vio’s account.
His reply, which came back fourteen minutes later, was simply: “Okay.”
And it left Herrera wondering: Was that “okay,” as in, “I applaud your initiative and atrevido, even though the results weren’t what we wanted”? Or would El Vio soon be making one of his inspections, ready to promote someone else into Herrera’s position?
There were times when Herrera swore that if he saw one of those long plumes traveling his way, he’d flee.
But where would he go? Where could he hide?
No. He would simply hold his chin high, meet El Vio’s gaze, and tell him, I am still your man. I will get this done.
Still, the anticipation was brutal. And that’s why he was at the edge of Rosario No. 2, his eyes scanning the distance, when one of the lieutenants called to him.
“General,” he said.
Herrera turned as the lieutenant continued, “There’s something that requires your attention in the bunker immediately. It’s regarding West Virginia.”
Herrera didn’t need to hear more. He dropped his gaze and walked across the hardscrabble soil and into the reinforced concrete structure. The lieutenant led him to one of several computer terminals, where an audio file was cued up.
The United States government wasn’t the only entity with its ears trained on the phone traffic coming out of FCI Morgantown.
Herrera listened to the conversation regarding the banker three times. He knew who the recipient of the call was, of course. But who was this man initiating the call? How did he factor in? And how had he gotten close to the banker?
So many unanswered questions. Herrera dragged the audio file to a place where he could listen to it again if needed.
Then he pulled out his phone and called one of the contractors in America to demand answers.