Contreras's mouth gave a little twitch. "You were right, boy, she is some kinda bitch."
Soraya wasn't offended; she knew it was meant as a compliment. That's how these people spoke, she wasn't going to change it and she wasn't about to try.
Contreras shrugged then and began to stand up. "I told you."
"Tell you what," Soraya said, "I'll meet your terms if you take a look at a photo for me."
Contreras studied her for a moment, then eased back into the chair. He held out his hand, just as alvaro Obregon had. The boy learned quickly.
Soraya scrolled through the photos on her cell until she found the surveillance shot of Arkadin. She laid the phone in the pollero's palm. "Have you seen him? You might have taken him south maybe nine or ten days ago." That's what she surmised from alvaro Obregon's tale of the black Chevy abandoned in the desert: Arkadin had found a way into Mexico that bypassed official scrutiny.
Contreras did not look down at the photo, but kept his colorless eyes on her. "I don't bargain," he repeated. "Are you asking me for a favor?"
Soraya hesitated a moment, then nodded. "I suppose I am."
"Don't do favors." He glanced down at the photo. "My fee is now two thousand."
Soraya sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. "Now you're taking advantage of me."
"Decide," Contreras said. "A minute more and we'll call it an even three thousand."
Soraya exhaled. "Okay, okay."
"Let's see the color."
He meant he wanted to see the money, all of it, to make sure she'd be able to pay. When she had unrolled the hundred-dollar bills to his satisfaction, he nodded.
"Took him across ten days ago."
"Did he say where he was going?"
Contreras snorted. "Didn't say a fucking thing, not even when he handed me the money. That was fine by me."
Soraya played her last card. "Where do you think he was going?"
Contreras lifted his head a moment, as if sniffing something on the wind. "Man like him, not into the desert, that's for sure. I could see he hated the heat. And he sure as hell wasn't going to work at one of the maquiladoras in Sonora. This was a boss, his own man." His gaze lowered and he squinted at her. "Like you."
"So where does that leave us?"
"The coast, lady boss. Sure as we're sitting here he was going to the coast."
Bourne was asleep when the call from Chrissie came in. The sound of his cell woke him instantly, and he pressed a thumb against his eye as he answered the call.
"Adam."
Instantly alerted by the tension in that one word, he said, "What's happened?"
"There's... there's someone here who wants to speak with you. Oh, Adam!"
"Chrissie, Chrissie..."
An unfamiliar male voice took over: "Stone, Bourne, whatever you're calling yourself. You'd better get over here. The woman and her daughter are in very deep shit."
Bourne gripped the phone more tightly. "Who are you?"
"My name is Coven. I need to see you, right now."
"Where are you?"
"I'm going to give you directions. Listen carefully, I won't repeat them." Coven rattled off a complicated list of highways, roads, turns, and mileage. "I expect you here in ninety minutes."
Bourne glanced at Moreno, who was gesturing at him. "I don't know whether I can make it by - "
"You'll make it," Coven assured him. "If you don't, the little girl gets hurt. For every fifteen minutes you're late, she gets hurt worse. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly," Bourne said.
"Good. The clock starts ticking now."
Chapter Fourteen
FREDERICK WILLARD SPENT eight straight hours connected to the Internet, trying and failing to find out who owned the Monition Club, what the organization did, where it got its money, and who its members were. During that time he took three breaks, two to use the bathroom and one to wolf down some very bad Chinese food he'd ordered online and had delivered. All around him workmen were renovating the new Treadstone offices, installing electronic equipment and specially designed soundproofed doors, and painting walls that the day before had been stripped of wallpaper.
Willard had the patience of a tortoise, but at last even he gave up. He spent the next forty minutes down on the street, walking around the block, clearing his head of paint fumes and plaster dust while he thought the situation through.
At the end of that time he returned to his office, printed out his resume, and then went home to shower, shave, and dress in a suit and tie.