“I won it in a poker game a while back.” Sands grinned. “Or maybe I lost.”
“So, a tour guide. That’s what brought you here originally?” Jack asked, putting the glass to his mouth.
Sands darkened for a moment, then gathered himself. “Something like that.”
“If you were a tour guide, maybe you have a map I can look at? I need to find the trailhead for La Hermana.”
“Sorry, pal. That mountain is closed. Rock slides and bad chemicals from the mining up there. Dangerous as hell.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“No, you won’t. There’s no way up. Trust me, your friend won’t know the difference if you scatter him on some other hill around here.”
“He won’t, but I will.” Jack finished off his whiskey.
Sands’s eyes flashed grudging approval. But then he said, “Farts are like promises. Everybody makes ’em but nobody can keep ’em.”
Jack stiffened. “Not in my family.”
“Look, Jack. I got an old four by four Jeep Willys out back that runs like a top. There’s a mountain about ten klicks from here that’ll knock your socks off and your friend will love it. I’ll run you up there tomorrow.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”
“Seriously, kid. There’s evil shit up on Hermana that you don’t want any part of. I’m telling you, stay the hell away.”
Jack stretched and yawned. He was stiff from sitting way too long on the bus ride up and now on a barstool. He needed to get up and move around a little. “What do I owe you for the beer and whiskey?”
“That round was on the house. Otherwise, beer’s a buck and whiskey shots are two, American.”
“Thanks.”
“Give me thirty minutes and I’ll get that room ready for you. There’s a not-too-shitty place to eat around the corner if you’re hungry. The guinea pig is outstanding if you’re into grilled rodents. Me, I prefer the bisteca con huevos.”
The drunk at the table suddenly roared a Spanish obscenity, rising up out of a nightmare, swinging his arms in an imaginary fight. His balled fist knocked the pisco bottle to the floor, shattering it, startling the hooker and her pimp husband.
“Ah, fuck me,” Sands growled, marching out from behind the bar, towel in hand. He swore a blue streak in Spanish as he approached the man, who was protesting his drunken innocence.
Jack took that as his cue to step outside for a breath of fresh air and to clear his head.
72
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Gerry Hendley hadn’t served as a U.S. senator for nearly two decades, but he was still a legend on the Hill. His close friendship with President Ryan also gave him the kind of influence and respect that everyone in the swamp craved but seldom achieved.
Hendley’s own impeccable credentials as an honest political broker and his legitimately acquired wealth in the cutthroat world of finance proved his judgment and worth as an ally, especially in a presidential race, which was why Senator Dixon readily agreed to meet with him in her office on short notice.
“Gerry, it’s so good to see you,” Dixon said, coming out from behind her desk as her assistant shut the door behind him. She extended her hand and Gerry took it in both of his. He squeezed gently. His smile faded.
“Something wrong?” Dixon asked.
“Sandra Kyle. Tell me about her.”
“An old friend. Ex–Capitol Police. She owns a gun range I frequent.”
“Why is she having my people followed?”
“How should I know?”
“Because you’re the one who arranged it.” He released her. She stepped back, heading for the comfort of her desk.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“A man named Tyler works for her, and he was tailing Jack. Tyler told a friend of mine that he was under orders from Kyle, and that Kyle had suggested she was working with someone ‘very powerful’ in D.C.”
“That could be a lot of people,” Dixon said, sitting behind her desk. “That could even be you.”
“But it wasn’t me, was it? What’s going on?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Sandra is someone I use every now and then to do a little opposition research. Showing a potential opponent pictures of him screwing his Jamaican au pair has an amazing effect on his campaign plans. C’mon, Gerry. You know how the game is played.”
“What does that have to do with Jack Junior? He’s not running for anything.”
“Like I said, I’m not sure. Something must have led her in that direction.”
Gerry glanced around the office. All of the typical photos, plaques, and honorifics hung on her walls, much like they had in his office