As two teams descend on the two side buildings, Nova and I follow the third team into the main building.
They breach the door and file inside, shouting out as they clear rooms, and then work their way up to the higher floors. So far word hasn’t come that they’ve found Hayward or Carla yet, so Nova and I start up the steps after the team when the helicopter pilot’s voice speaks in my earpiece.
“We’ve got movement heading toward the shed. Two adults, one carrying a child. One of the adults is armed with a rifle.”
I pause on the steps, turn around to look at Nova.
“That has to be Hayward and Carla.”
He says, “The child?”
“My money’s on a kid named Jose.”
I touch the button on my mike.
“As long as they have the kid, stand down. Nova and I are in pursuit.”
We hurry back down the steps, then out the back through a screen door onto the porch. Beer bottles are scattered around a chair.
The helicopter hovers above the field, shining a spotlight on the shed.
The pilot says, “They just entered through the side door.”
I roger that, and Nova and I sprint across the field. We slow as we near, pistols drawn. A soft light glows from the thin space under the door.
I step to the side, aim at the door, and nod at Nova. He kicks it open, and I rush in, finger on the trigger, scanning the inside.
Besides a riding lawnmower and other landscaping equipment, the place is empty.
Nova steps up beside me.
“Looks like that Rodriguez woman was telling you the truth about everything.”
I nod and start toward the rear of the shed. We find the metal trapdoor in the floor easily enough.
Without a word, Nova moves to the side of the trapdoor and grabs the metal handle. He looks at me, and whispers.
“Ready?”
I whisper, “Not yet. In case anything happens to me, I want to be honest with you about something.”
“What?”
“It’s hard for me to say this. Maybe because we’ve known each other so long, and I consider you a close friend …”
I let it hang there for a second, and then smile.
“I’m not feeling the beard.”
Nova nods, like that’s exactly what he expected me to say.
“I’ll take it under advisement, thanks. Ready?”
I nod, and aim my gun at the trapdoor.
Nova pulls open the door. I lean forward, ready to fire at any movement below.
Nothing.
Like the shed, the tunnel has a power source. There’s light down there. Not bright light, but enough for somebody to see as they move underground from one country to the next. The metal ladder has ten rungs to the bottom.
I glance at Nova, and he lets the trapdoor fall all the way back, then hustles over to retrieve a small bag of fertilizer and drops it down the hatch. It lands with a heavy thud, but nothing happens.
I say, “Cover me.”
I start down the ladder, using one hand to hold on to the rungs and the other hand to hold onto my gun, and then after four rungs, I drop to the ground in a crouch, immediately aiming down the tunnel. Still nothing.
I motion at Nova up top, and he starts to climb down. As he does, I marvel at the tunnel’s craftsmanship. From top to bottom, the tunnel—at least this portion—is almost six feet tall. Strong wooden beams stand every couple of feet, surrounded by chicken wire to keep the earth from falling in. Small light bulbs are strung every five feet. From this angle, the tunnel moves straight for maybe fifty yards before it starts to curve.
Once Nova’s made it down the ladder, we start moving forward. We move as quietly as we can, listening for footsteps farther ahead. Imna Rodriguez claimed the tunnel was about a half mile long. It’s only after the first quarter mile, as the tunnel curves again, that we spot somebody standing farther ahead.
Jose.
He stands there, motionless, his face tilted down. He doesn’t look up when he hears us approaching.
It’s a trap—obviously it’s a trap—but I’m unclear what the end game is here. Jose is their only hostage, from what the pilot told us. Without him, we have no reason not to shoot to kill.
The tunnel past him curves again. Hayward or Carla or maybe both of them are probably hiding right around the corner. Between the two, I imagine Carla is the one who will have the rifle. Hayward is a man who can’t tell the difference between a hollow point and a full metal jacket.
When we’re only ten feet away, Jose’s body jerks. He cries out, and falls to the ground. He starts shaking, screaming, but neither Nova nor myself advance. Instead, as much as it pains us, we wait.
We don’t wait long.
Carla steps around the corner, the rifle in her hands. She starts to raise it, to fire over Jose, but before she can, I quickly put a bead on her head and pull the trigger.
She falls in a heap.
Still, Jose continues to scream and writhe on the ground. Nova covers me as I hurry toward him. I pull the key I took from Louis from my pocket, hoping it’ll unlock this collar like it unlocked mine. It does, and I tear the collar off Jose’s neck and fling it aside. Even in the dim light, the bruised skin ringing the boy’s neck is vivid. It looks like a hideous tattoo.
The boy’s no longer screaming, and he’s no longer writhing, but he is crying. I touch his arm, trying to calm him, but he flinches away on instinct. It’s doubtful he’s ever had any human contact that wasn’t abusive.
“It’s all right, Jose. You’re safe now.”
The collar, flung a couple feet away, vibrates with electricity. Then, all at once, the buzzing stops. Which means Hayward—and the fob he’s been pressing all this time—is getting farther and farther away.
“Take him back.”
Nova nods, and crouches down beside the boy as he looks up at me.
“Be careful.”
“He’s been drinking, Nova. Plus he doesn’t have a gun. I think I’ll be okay.”
Nova grunts.
“Famous last words.”
I frown at him.
“Still not feeling the beard.”
He shoots me the bird.
I continue forward, stepping over Carla’s dead body, and head deeper into the tunnel.