The Miami-to-Phoenix flight arrived on time at 12:09. Graciella had slept most of the way on that leg of the trip, and although it was late, she felt wide awake and alert as she walked through the terminal toward baggage claim, where she was scheduled to meet her driver.
Because she had been seated in first class, she was one of the first passengers off the plane and had clear sailing down the relatively crowd-free corridor. Then, passing a deserted gate area, she looked up at an overhead television monitor and was shocked to see her father’s scarred features pictured there. She turned right into the gate area so abruptly that a man walking behind her ran into her full tilt. Focused on the TV screen, Graciella barely noticed. The sound was muted, but the ticker across the bottom of the screen told the story: Duarte Cartel crime boss and son arrested in Phoenix. DEA agent credits anonymous tip.
When the ticker moved on to some other story, a stunned Graciella resumed her walk through the airport with her mind in a whirl. Her dream of being the last person standing had just come true, but how had that happened? What anonymous tip had taken down both her father and her brother in a single blow? Who had turned on them? And then, like a punch to the gut, she realized she herself was the one responsible—she and Frigg. Armed with information gleaned from hacking into Graciella’s own computer, the AI had found a way to betray both El Pescado and Manuel. Was there any question about who would be Frigg’s next target? There wasn’t a minute to lose. The AI had to be destroyed before it could do any more damage.
As Graciella left the secure area of the terminal, she spotted her driver immediately. Wearing a black suit and carrying an iPad with MIRAMAR printed on it, he looked for all the world like your run-of-the-mill limo driver, except for the tips of MS-13 neck tattoos that peeked out from under the top of his collar.
“Do you have luggage?” he asked.
“Just this,” she said, handing over her carry-on.
“The car is this way.”
She followed him outside. The dry desert air was surprisingly cold, but the sudden chill Graciella felt had nothing to do with the outdoor temperature. By now her father would most likely suspect that what had happened was her fault—that Graciella’s carelessness had somehow put them all at risk. El Pescado was a powerful man. If he was bent on revenge, even from jail he’d be able to get word out to someone that Graciella was to be eliminated.
Graciella was unarmed, and she was about to get in a vehicle with someone who was most likely armed to the teeth. Betrayal was a two-way street. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to think her father would have enlisted the help of her own driver and turned him against her.
The car turned out to be an older-model black Cadillac Escalade. Graciella was happy when the driver opened the rear passenger door to help her inside. Under the circumstances, she much preferred sitting behind him rather than next to him. Once she was seated inside, he handed over a cell phone as well as a sealed envelope that presumably held the fentanyl patches. Then he waited with his hand outstretched while she counted out the agreed-upon sum of money.
“Do you have a name?” she asked as he pocketed the handful of bills.
“Yes, I do,” he said, “but you do not need to know it. Where do you want to go?”
“Cottonwood. How far is that?”
“A couple of hours. Where in Cottonwood?”
Had Graciella brought along either her computer or her own cell phone, she would have had all the information at her fingertips, but then so would Frigg.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “I’ll figure it out by the time we get there.” What she did have with her was a Post-it note containing Stuart Ramey’s phone numbers. As soon as the car started moving, she fired up the burner phone and dialed Ramey’s cell, all the while keeping an eye on the driver. Ramey’s groggy answer told her he had been asleep when she called.
“Mr. Ramey, it’s Graciella Miramar. I’m sorry to have awakened you, but my plane just now landed in Phoenix. I’ve come to make you an offer on that AI. Would it be possible for us to get together first thing in the morning?”
“Where?”
“At your office, I suppose.”
“We open at eight.”
“I’m in somewhat of a hurry and need to catch a return flight,” she told him. “I’m in a car that’s just now leaving the airport. I’m told it’s about a two-hour drive from here to Cottonwood. Would it be possible to meet up earlier than that? I know two thirty in the morning is an odd time for a business meeting, but as I said, I’m pressed for time. And of course, before any money changes hands, I’ll need a demonstration that the AI is in good working order.”
“It’s going to take me longer than that to get things pulled together,” Stuart said. “How about five a.m.? Do you need the address?”
“Yes, please.”
“Give me a minute, and I’ll text it to your phone. That way you’ll have it.”
“Excellent,” Graciella said. “Thank you.”