anonymous CIA operative that he was now on his way to meet.
“Mas is through,” Claudia said, staring down at her phone from the passenger seat. “Bruno’s next. He’s three cars from the checkpoint.”
Coleman wasn’t particularly worried about the team getting across. While it was true that they were lone, dangerous-looking men in pickups and SUVs, they were completely clean. Perfect IDs, backdated resort reservations, and nothing in their vehicles but suntan lotion and swim trunks.
His situation was somewhat different. On the positive side, couples in late-model minivans tended not to raise a lot of red flags with border security. Less ideal, though, was the fact that they were carrying enough weapons to launch a pretty respectable coup attempt. Hidden beneath piles of luggage, for sure, but not enough to fool anyone who decided to do more than glance.
“Bruno’s through,” Claudia said, finally putting down her phone and looking up. “Mitch is on the road and he’ll rendezvous with us at the airfield.”
“Assuming we make it across the border,” Coleman said.
“Are you worried?”
“Nah. God wouldn’t let me get gunned down in an Izod shirt. He doesn’t hate me that much.”
Ahead, next to the open gates that led into Mexico, a green light kept flashing on and off. It was random and every once in a while it turned red, indicating that the car going through would be searched by customs. Normally the Agency would have rigged the game, but Kennedy was dead set against notifying the Mexican authorities. So they were just rolling the dice.
Claudia seemed to be feeling the pressure too, because she suddenly snapped a hand out and changed the radio station—as though listening to a news story about anthrax would give away their involvement with it. The green light flashed and the car two ahead rolled through. The Prius ahead of them was next, gliding through without incident. And then . . .
Green.
Coleman let out a quiet breath and pulled through, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. There was a secondary military checkpoint ahead specifically set up to look for weapons being transported into the country. According to Claudia’s smuggling contacts, they were typically interested in pickups and SUVs piloted by one or two men between the ages of twenty-five and forty. However, if they spotted someone driving a larger vehicle that looked a little too innocuous, they sometimes pulled that over, too.
It was those same smugglers who had recommended the setup they were using. Red minivan loaded with options. “Baby on Board” sticker, but no baby. White couple, not too young, not too old. The smuggling Goldilocks zone.
And they turned out to be right. The soldiers by the side of the road didn’t even look up as they passed.
Claudia turned the radio back to an analysis of the presidential nominations through the lens of the anthrax leak. Christine Barnett was fighting like a junkyard dog, of course, but the fact that she’d been out of the loop was making her look weak. There was also a fair amount of speculation flying around that she might have had something to do with the leak, but no evidence. The spin machines on both sides were running full speed and it was getting harder and harder to tease truth from bullshit.
Coleman tuned out the voices as he accelerated up the road. It was just a distraction at this point. His role in all this was simple: shoot in the direction Mitch told him to.
Claudia’s phone rang and she picked up, channeling it through the vehicle’s sound system.
“I understand everyone’s through,” Irene Kennedy said over the speakers. Her voice was distorted by the encryption they were using, but still intelligible.
“Yeah, we’re clear,” Coleman said. “We’ll make it to the airfield around eleven thirty tonight. Where do you stand?”
“Our worst-case scenario timing-wise is that the terrorists left Esparza’s compound at one a.m. and are driving roughly thirty hours to the closest border checkpoint. If that’s the case, they could be as far as Coatzacoalcos. Twenty-two hours from the border.”
He consulted the GPS in his dash. “Then I’m starting to question our strategy, Irene. It looks like we’re going to pass them on the road.”
“We don’t think so,” Kennedy said calmly. “They appear to have contracted a smuggling organization and it’s likely they’re planning on changing vehicles. That’s going to take time to deal with.”
“Do we have a line on their coyotes yet?” Coleman asked.
“We’re running down the names Carlos Esparza provided, but haven’t come up with anything solid. We’re also