CHAPTER 35

RICKY LONGSHORE WANDERED DOWN THE HALLWAY to the security suite to check in on his mystery guest. A bank of high definition screens blanketed the far wall as well as the near wall to his right. Three Oasis security agents watched the screen with intense interest. Two of the agents were drinking coffees from Starbucks while the other was draining a Red Bull without taking his eyes off the screen.

“You guys still have eyes on our mystery guest?” Longshore asked.

“You mean, Dick Nixon?” one of the agents asked, chuckling. He pointed to the screen so Longshore could watch. The man was wearing a Dolphins’ jersey, jeans, a Dolphins’ cap and sunglasses. He also had a full dark beard.

“Is that what he checked in under?”

“Yep. Paid for his room in cash.”

“For what he lacks in originality of a pseudonym, he certainly makes up for in mystery. What has he been doing today?”

“Oh, nothing exciting. He’s played a couple of games at the blackjack tables. But no booze or girls, if that’s what you mean.”

“He hasn’t been to my sports book again, so I was just wondering if he’s some high roller. But apparently not, eh?”

“Looks like a small time gambler to me.”

“OK, keep me posted if he does anything else suspicious.”

Longshore reached for the doorknob to leave the room before one of his agents shouted excitedly.

“Look, his beard just fell off,” he said pointing at the screen.

Near the entrance of a bathroom, the guest was fumbling for his beard. He kept his head down, but nobody around him seemed to notice.

“Zoom in closer,” said one of the other agents now leaning closer toward to the screen. “I know who that is!”

* * *

SOLTERBECK’S OFFICE BUZZED with activity ninety minutes later. Agents scurried about, generating reports and gathering information about the location of the swap. Operatives talked on the phone, coordinating efforts with agents on the ground in Juarez. Solterbeck secured permission to release Gonzalez and have him transported by plane to Briggs Army Airfield in El Paso.

Solterbeck’s cell phone buzzed. It was the FBI’s deputy director, Vance Williams.

“What’s going on down there, Solterbeck? I thought you were supposed to get this situation under control. Get the kid back. Save the Super Bowl. We’re all happy. But not only have you accomplished squat, you’re now releasing a man convicted of killing eight federal agents!”

Solterbeck anticipated this call and repeated the lines he had rehearsed.

“Sir, we’re trying to make lemonade out of lemons here. It looks bad but I think I have an idea about how we can come up with a resolution that makes everyone happy.”

“I doubt there’s any scenario where releasing a cartel hit man is going to make everyone happy.”

“You’d be surprised, sir.”

“Well, I better be surprised tomorrow or else you’re going to be looking at another assignment. You got that?”

“Loud and clear, sir. I’ll update you when I have some news.”

The director hung up.

Solterbeck buried his head in his hands. If he was honest with himself, it did look bad. Every move he had made so far had been an epic failure. He knew he never should have let Cal and Kelly go. He knew Hernandez was on to them when images of Diaz appeared in photos taken from traffic cams. Diaz had spent the last six years on the FBI’s most wanted list. For as bad as Gonzalez was, Diaz was worse. Fourteen dead federal agents over the past six years. Border patrolmen. FBI agents. He was even suspected of killing a CIA agent on vacation in Cancun just for sport. Diaz stabbed the man to death and chopped his head off, leaving it on the bed for his wife to find when she came back from the pool. He was a monster.

But there was no time to second-guess his decisions. Now he had to make one good one, the kind that would save people’s lives; the kind that would save his job; the kind that would cross the line.