The Cornwalls Are Gone (Amy Cornwall #1) - James Patterson Page 0,54
most of all…
Don’t leave the house.
Another siren cuts through him, and he sees another cruiser fishtailing around another corner, heading straight toward Linden Street.
Like a good, law-abiding citizen, he pulls over.
Don’t leave the house.
All right.
Something has happened, something bad.
He chews on his lower lip.
He can still make it work.
He’ll call the jefe and tell him…something. He had to leave because…
Because the chicken was ill.
That’s right.
Their guest was ill, and he had to get medicine at the local drugstore.
While he was there, something bad happened.
It was a stroke of fortune, to be out of the house, so he could tell the jefe what happened, be a witness.
His boss will be angry, but will be understanding, Antonio is sure. For the jefe’s concern was that the old man be kept safe and secure until the norteamericano showed up.
And considering the police response—Jesus, is that another siren he is hearing?—there certainly wasn’t anything polite or quiet going on down there during the past several minutes.
He resumes driving, turns onto St. Mary’s Street, starts rehearsing what he’s about to tell the jefe.
A pause.
But what about Pepe?
Pepe knew exactly where he was going.
Not off to get medicine, but to get some hot McDonald’s food.
He ponders some more.
Considering what he’s seen, Pepe is wounded, dead, or alive in police custody.
If he’s in police custody, Pepe will know the rules. Keep quiet, no phone call—which can be tapped—and wait for someone from the cartel to come retrieve him.
If he’s wounded, then he’ll be in a local hospital. Antonio can track him down and then…take care of him.
And if Antonio is very, very lucky, then Pepe is dead and is now explaining himself to the God he believed in.
Antonio doesn’t believe in God but believes in his jefe, and now it’s time to make a confession of sorts.
He picks up his phone and then freezes.
No signal.
CHAPTER 57
PELAYO ABBOUD is relaxing on a couch in his expansive suite, reading the Economist, when Casper slips out of a door and gestures to him. He puts the Economist down and strolls over to his trusted deputy, and Casper whispers to him, “There’s something going on at Three Rivers. Quickly, please.”
He steps in and Casper gently escorts him to a wide computer screen that has the feed coming in from the ex-CIA drone that now belongs to Pelayo and his organization. Once again, he is taken aback by the details he can see from the aerial platform.
“Are we sure this cannot be seen?”
One of the technical men who replaced the unfortunate Alejandro quietly says, “Fairly certain, jefe. It has what is known as a chameleon liquid outer shell. The drone adjusts its own color to match the sky and flying clouds. For someone on the ground, they might hear the buzzing sound, and that will be all.”
“Your name, son?”
“Ferdinand.”
He gently squeezes the young man’s shoulder. “Well said, Ferdinand.” He leans over and asks Casper, “What, then, is going on?”
Casper takes a pen and places it on the screen, lower right, where there seem to be low trees and brush. He taps the screen and says, “A few minutes ago, we saw a person crawl into this brush. It seems like the house is under surveillance.”
“I see.”
Pelayo looks to the house. “And the truck is still gone.”
“Yes,” Casper says.
“Then—”
Pelayo stops talking as a figure emerges from the brush and walks quickly to the nearby road, and then strolls up to the front of the house.
“Well,” Pelayo says.
With reluctance the young man says, “Jefe?”
“Yes? Don’t be shy.”
“If you want, I can lower the drone’s altitude…which may make it easier for it to be seen. But there is a microphone. We might be able to hear voices.”
“Do it,” he says.
The young man manipulates the keyboard and the view tightens in on the house, looking down from above, and Pelayo imagines the possibilities of having several drones like this, perhaps armed with weapons. An avenging angel, overseeing his enemies.
He likes that idea.
Sound crackles from the speakers set next to the computer screen. He can hear a car horn, the sound of wind. The figure, wearing a baseball cap and regular clothes, comes to the front door and knocks.
Casper says, “Could that be the Army captain?”
“It might,” Pelayo says.
There’s another knock on the door. And then, a third.