Javier Alanzo’s death hit international news as a tragic act of heroism.
As for why Robert found Sanso alone, the prevailing theory among the DEA was that either Sanso had sent his unwitting minions back to Mexico while he slipped away unnoticed, or the cowards had abandoned him. Robert favored the latter idea. DEA agents found a total of seven miles of tunnel in that one network, and the branch Sanso had taken emerged less than a quarter mile from a busy Mexican highway.
Regardless, without Javier’s insider view or Sanso’s cooperation, the details of how the bust went awry would take some weeks to sort out. Not that Robert cared about them, now that he finally stood in Sanso’s secure hospital room. A beeping monitor kept track of the criminal’s crooked heart. Morphine dripped into his bloodstream via IV and held his eyelids at half mast. Two FBI agents manned the hallway outside his door.
When Sanso focused on Robert, the drugs did not prevent him from smiling.
“You recognize me,” Robert said.
Sanso turned his chin slowly left to right, then back to center. “I do not waste my time memorizing faces as uninteresting as yours.”
“Then wipe that stupid grin off your face.”
Sanso’s smile broadened. Robert checked his annoyance. It would only give this worthless piece of roadkill the upper hand.
“Let me introduce myself. I am—”
“A lovesick puppy who has no purpose in life but to follow me around.” Sanso chuckled, then gasped for breath. “I can lead you around like a submissive dog without even knowing you. You go where I go.” He clenched his jaw— against pain, Robert thought. “I know who you are. I have known a hundred other men like you.” Sanso blinked once. “They’re all dead now.”
Robert dragged a chair to Sanso’s bedside, then sat on it, leaning an elbow on the bedrails.
“You want to know who my suppliers are,” Sanso said. “You want to know who my distributors are and where they operate.” He licked his lips. Robert leaned over and touched the plastic tubing that led from the bag of morphine into Sanso’s hand. “Your type has been asking me these questions for years, and you’re no closer to the truth than anyone else has ever been.”
Robert held the tubing up for Sanso to see and pinched it in half. Sanso’s eyelids rose slightly. Robert had brought his anger under control. “I’m not here to listen to you talk, Sanso. It took me fifteen years to find you, and if it takes me that much longer to find all the answers to those unimportant questions, I can wait. For now, I want you to know who I am.”
Sanso blinked again but didn’t speak.
“My name is Robert Lukin, and fifteen years ago you destroyed my home and murdered my family.”
Sanso closed his eyes and sighed as if he was bored by this. “It happens in my line of—”
“My parents, grandparents, four brothers, and two sisters.”
No response.
“You shot my neighbors and burned their homes. A hundred and thirty-four people, squashed under your bloody heel.”
Robert saw Sanso’s brows arch over his closed lids, as if the hidden eyeballs darted around in his brain, looking for the memory.
“A whole village of people who didn’t even know your name.”
“Which was as it should be,” Sanso murmured.
“For a million dollars.” Robert’s throat closed, constricted by anger. "You are the devil himself.”
Sanso chuckled again. “Yes, yes. The devil himself, igniting infernos in the desert.” He opened his eyes and stared directly at Robert’s face. “I rather like that image.”
Robert gripped the morphine tube in his hand and whipped his arm back over his shoulder as if he were starting a lawn mower. The IV tore out of Sanso’s skin, and the man shuddered. His body stiffened as blood oozed from the back of his hand.
“My only regret in this operation is that Javier didn’t actually kill you.”
“You could finish it,” Sanso whispered through gritted teeth.
“Tempting. But I’m not like you, devil. Justice still matters to me for some reason, and I want you to know me because I will be the one who sees it come to pass for you.”
“It’s a rather difficult proposition to squeeze the blood of a hundred and thirty-four people out of a single man.”
“But it’d be worth trying.”
Sanso shook his head. “You’ll be disappointed. I’ll become dust and ten other men will rise from it to take my place. You think I’m nothing more than an arrogant swine, but there are rulers and there are subjects, and nothing you can do in this lifetime will change the fact that I am a ruler, for whatever amount of time has been ordained for me. Send me to the gallows or the guillotine. You can’t change what is.”
Robert leaned across Sanso’s bed, bracing himself on each side rail. He spit in Sanso’s face. “I’m no subject of yours.”
Sanso let the spittle drip down his cheek. “And yet you have devoted your life to me, haven’t you?” The corner of his mouth twitched, and Robert faltered in the face of the truth. “There are all different kinds of servants, Robert Lukin. You are my servant.”
“I’m a survivor. The only survivor of the Mikkado Massacre. If I serve anything, I serve the memory of the dead, not you. I am the last one who remembers them.”
“But you’re not.” Sanso raised his bloody hand to Robert’s cheek and stroked it. Robert pulled away, disgusted. “You are not the only survivor, my passionate little puppet. I know of another.”
Robert’s composure snapped at this lie. A hundred thirty-one men, women, and children had been corralled and shot or burned alive by Sanso’s gang. During the first and most gruesome investigation of his career, Robert identified every body that was still identifiable. Most of those that were not he identified by their jewelry—the Rom loved their precious metals and stones—or by DNA profiling when possible, though the limitations were considerable.
Only the identities of three had to be assumed: Jason Mikkado, Janeal Mikkado, and Katie Morgon were believed to be completely consumed in the destroyed meetinghouse. Without official dental records there was no way to be sure, and the few remains investigators did find were too degraded and too scarce for a conclusive DNA test. Robert had not actually seen any of his friends enter the building. He had only overheard Sanso’s word that all three of them were there.
“Who?”
“Ah.” Sanso’s smile condescended. “Privileged information for the puppeteer. You think you have power over me, Robert Lukin, but whether I live or die, I am the one who will pull your strings for the rest of your life.” Sanso closed his eyes. “Watch me.”