"How can I help?" Marcus heard Benny Alvarez ask through the left channel of his headset. "Keep watch," Scott Greene answered.
Marcus had a good spot, two blocks past the post office on Calle Venezuela, on the same side of the street and facing away from it. Several cars were parked between the Subur-ban and the post office. He couldn't see the building in either of his sideview mirrors, which meant that someone standing in front of the post office couldn't see much of the Suburban. But the Suburban had a periscoping camera that swiveled 360 degrees and could see over the line of shitbox Mexi-mobiles lining the street.
"You got eyes on yet?" Marcus said to Cyril through the open hatch.
"I got eyes on the front of the building," Cyril said. "I don't have eyes on the targets because they're inside the building, and Dynamic International hasn't seen fit to equip us with X-ray lenses."
"Okay, smartass, I get it," Marcus said. "But you do have the front door, so you'll see them come out. Right?"
"I got the front door, yes."
"Did you see them go inside?" Dwayne asked.
"Oh, Rip Van Winkle speaks," Cyril said.
"Fuck you, geek. It was just a power nap."
"Knock it off, you two," Marcus said. "Get your god-damned game faces on. This ain't a training mission. We're about to kidnap a DEA agent and a Mexican cop."
"A sweet little Mexican mamacita cop," Dwayne said.
"Yeah, baby," Cyril said. Then his hand stuck out through the hatch and he and Dwayne bumped knuckles.
Marcus wondered how he'd managed to get stuck with babysitting duty. He decided it would be best to ignore them. He keyed his mic. "Sierra Two is two blocks east on Calle Venezuela, with a clear line of sight to the front of the target location."
"Roger that," Gavin said. "I'm four blocks short of the target, number two lane, and have eyes on. If they come out with something in their hands, take them down."
"Roger, out," Marcus said. In his left ear, he heard noth-ing but repeated metallic clinks and clanks coming from in-side the post office.
* * * *
Scott was on the thirty-eighth mailbox when the key fi-nally turned. Fourth row down, second box from the left. "This is it."
Benny hurried across the outer lobby from the glass front door where she had been watching the street. Scott pulled open the box's small metal door. Inside, leaning over at an angle, was a buff-colored envelope. Scott pulled it out. The envelope was six-by-nine inches and padded. In neat handwritten letters, it was addressed to Miguel Castillo at that P.O. box, Nuevo Laredo, Tamaulipas, Mexico. There was no return address.
"I don't know that name," Benny said as she caressed the printed name with her finger. "But that's Michael's handwriting."
"Probably one of his undercover names." Scott squeezed the envelope and felt something small and hard in-side. He tore off one end and dumped the contents into his hand. It was a USB flash drive with a nylon lanyard attached to it.
"That's it," Benny said, excited.
Scott nodded.
"But why did he mail it to himself?" Benny asked.
"Cassidy was a throwback too."
She gave him a confused look.
"Like what he said about me, old school. He wanted to keep a copy where no one could find it." Scott held up the torn envelope. "This is old school, tradecraft one-oh-one."
"Why not just email it to himself?" Benny said. "Then he could have gotten to it anywhere."
"This is more secure."
"Secure from what?"
"Government snooping."
"Your government?"
"Yeah," Scott said. "My government."
"But Michael worked for the government."
Scott shrugged. "I'll know more when I see what's on it."
"I want to see it too," Benny said. "It's the reason my Michael was killed."
"The only computer I have access to tonight is at my house." He felt like a shit saying it. She had just let him, a total stranger, into her house to search for something that he hadn't even known existed until she told him about it, and then once he'd found it, he was basically telling her she couldn't come to his house to find out what it was all about, when his house was no more than a twenty-minute drive away, but on the other side of the river.
She looked up into his eyes, and he saw a hurt there. But she only nodded. "I understand."
"I'll call you tomorrow...and tell you what's on it."
She nodded again, and this time she didn't say any-thing.
Scott looped the lanyard around his neck and stuffed the flash drive under his shirt. "Do you know where he got it?"
"No," she said. "But we better go. I have to get my daughter."
"Sure," Scott said. Then he walked toward the door. On the way he dropped the envelope into a trashcan. He opened the door for Benny, then stepped out onto the sidewalk be-hind her.
Traffic was light and Scott was quick to notice the sud-den noise to his left. A deep engine roar. He turned and saw a pair of lights bearing down on them in the right lane, clos-est to the sidewalk. The profile of the vehicle, even in the shadow behind the powerful headlamps, was familiar to him. It was a Chevy Suburban. The same model vehicle that had chased him and his team out of Mexico this morning.
"Run!" Scott said. He grabbed Benny's jacket and pulled her into the street. There was a car in the far lane, roughly even with the Suburban, and as Scott and Benny cut across the street in front of it the driver jammed on the brakes, but he was too close to stop in time. Scott dove and pulled Benny with him. They rolled across the sidewalk as the car skidded past, missing them by mere inches. But the car did finally stop in just the right spot to block the Suburban, which had also skidded to a stop, from cutting across the street.
As Scott and Benny jumped to their feet, Scott heard the deep roar of another engine, followed by the sound of skidding tires and blaring horns. Down the street, a second Suburban was racing backward, straddling the two lanes, forcing the other vehicles to dodge around it.
Scott glanced around. They had to keep running.
A narrow alley, too narrow for cars, opened onto the sidewalk a few yards away. The entrance was as dark as a tomb. Scott grabbed Benny's hand and pulled her toward the alley. "This way." Behind them he heard the doors of the Suburbans opening and closing and the shouts of American voices.
He ran faster and hoped the alley led somewhere.
The difference between the streetlight-illuminated ave-nue behind them and the pitch darkness of the alley was pro-found. Scott couldn't see. He stepped on things. He kicked things. Benny stumbled and fell. Scott pulled her back up. They kept running. A dim light ahead signaled that there was a way out, but in the darkness, with no point of reference, Scott couldn't tell how far away it was.