“Sad.”

  “Yeah. It just amazes me, though.”

  “What does?” Kate asked.

  “What mothers will do for their children.”

  Kate couldn’t have said it better, but her mind raced beyond the point of mere agreement.

  I did it for Kate.

  She glanced again at the women in line. Diego made another left turn, and as they continued down the street, heading straight toward the gondola rising toward the moon over the hilltop, Kate shook off the confusing thoughts of her mother’s death. She was instead thinking of Sandra Levy.

  I did it for Megan.

  Kate had at first dismissed Sandra’s words as a snarky comment about her mother’s suicide note. Something else was afoot, and her father’s explanation of the scraping tool behind Naïveté II was bringing it all into focus.

  The bottom line is that it’s a tool for outsiders to harvest data from platforms like TikTok, Facebook, Instagram, and all the other places where users give up way more than they should.

  It was well known that the “users” who gave up the most on social media were between the ages of thirteen and twenty—and female. Studies proved it. Facebook, TikTok, and the other platforms admitted as much. Self-esteem, self-confidence, and self-worth were down; anxiety, depression, and suicide were up. The victims were mostly girls—daughters with mothers who would do anything to protect them.

  Kate reached for her phone and was about to call her father when it vibrated with a text message. It was from Enrique on the inside.

  They just sat down. Asian guy with the girl.

  Kate put her phone away.

  “Diego, turn up the volume on the audio feed,” she said.

  “If I turn it any louder, there’s too much static from the background noises around them.”

  Kate put her ear to the car speaker. As they made their third trip around the block, she listened to the conversation at the table inside Club Siloé.

  Chapter 62

  Liu entered Club Siloé with a beautiful woman on his arm. If Olga was going to accompany him, she had to look the part. A backless dress would have been sexier, but Javier’s knife had done its own brand of salsa dancing there. She looked hot enough in his second choice. Red was her color. A little makeup went a long way to hide the worry lines of captivity.

  “Say nothing,” he reminded her, as the hostess led them to the Cruz booth.

  Liu had reserved this particular booth with purpose. Its proximity to the fire exit, an avenue of escape, had made it narcos’ table of choice in Cali’s drug-trafficking heyday.

  “Speak only if I ask you a question,” he said. “Understand?”

  “Yes.”

  Ten steps from the booth, he made eye contact with Peel. He didn’t recognize the man beside him, but his instructions had expressly allowed for “one bodyguard,” and he had no doubt that Peel had chosen a capable one. The hostess placed two more menus on the table. Liu slipped her a hundred-dollar bill and said they wanted to be left alone. She smiled and stepped away.

  “Don’t sit,” said Peel, before they could slide into the booth. “Your old friend here hasn’t seen you in a while. He wants to give you a hug.”

  The bodyguard rose and embraced Liu. It was a patdown, in actuality, and Liu went along with it.

  “Great to see you again,” said the bodyguard, satisfied. He returned to his seat. Olga took a seat directly opposite Peel. Liu followed, sitting across from the bodyguard.

  “Doesn’t Olga look terrific, Jeremy? All grown up, just for you. I mean dressed up. Freudian slip.”

  “Can we get on with this,” said Peel. “We agreed on ten minutes. I’ve been waiting at least that long. You’re lucky I didn’t leave.”

  “And you’re lucky you’re still alive,” said Liu, and then he addressed the bodyguard. “Just so my old friend here is in the loop, this is our second go at this transaction. The first time, we paid in full, but Mr. Peel didn’t deliver in full. He left something out. Patrick Battle calls it Code Six. I don’t know if that’s a real name or not. But whatever was missing the first time better be on the flash drive the second time.”

  “Don’t threaten Mr. Peel,” said the bodyguard.

  “What’re you gonna do, shoot me? Then what, genius? You keep the girl, and nobody ever sees or hears from Patrick Battle again? Tell him, Olga. Even if your life depended on it, could you find your way back to Patrick?”

  She hesitated, as if making double sure she was allowed to answer. “No. I couldn’t.”

  “There you have it,” said Liu. “That’s why I’m not afraid to come here unarmed. And why you, pea brain, shouldn’t even think of reaching for that pistol you have strapped to your ankle.”

  Peel and his bodyguard didn’t deny he was armed. “Let’s all just take a breath and relax,” said Peel.

  “How ’bout the two of you shut up and listen,” said Liu. “Here’s the deal. You give me the flash drive. Olga stays here. I take the flash drive to Patrick. If he can show me it’s real, I let him go, and all is cool. If it’s bullshit, I come for you, Jeremy. And next time, I plan to bring my benzene, gasoline, and plenty of Styrofoam cups.”

  “Bring what?” asked Peel.

  “Homemade napalm,” said his bodyguard.

  “I fucking burn you alive,” said Liu. “Not a pleasant way to go. Hurts just to have all that gel smeared on your skin. Right, Olga?”

  A moment of hesitation, and then she responded. “Yes. It hurts a lot.”

  “Especially around the eyes,” said Liu. “After a few minutes, most people end up begging me to light them up just to get it over with.”

  Peel laid the flash drive on the table but kept it close, covering it with his hand. “I’m not betting my life on Patrick’s ability to convince you this is real.”

  “Because it’s not real?” asked Liu.

  “No.”

  “You screwed me once. Why should I believe you this time?”

  “I didn’t screw you. It was a mistake.”

  “A mistake? Hardly. You took our money and changed your mind.”

  “You got what you bargained for.”

  “What we bargained for was the same set of tools you delivered to the CIA. What happened, Jeremy? Did you suddenly get patriotic? Oh, sure, it’s okay for Uncle Sam to scrape the digital world and build personal-sentiment profiles on each and every American who uses social media. But put that same power in the hands of a foreign government? No way. That’s where Jeremy Peel draws the moral line.”

  “That’s enough,” said Peel.

  “It was pointless to screw us, Jeremy. You said it yourself. If you didn’t sell it to us, we’d steal it from you.”

  Peel wrapped the flash drive in his fist. “Fuck you. The deal’s off.”

  “Don’t make us steal it, Jeremy.”

  “You’re gonna have to.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  In a sudden blur of motion, Liu reached under the table, grabbed the pistol he’d fastened to the underside with Velcro an hour earlier, and squeezed off two quick shots. The first hit the bodyguard, and the second was for Peel. The silencer muffled the gunshots, and before Olga could scream, Liu covered her mouth with his hand.

  “Scream and you die.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man running toward him like a charging bull, and Liu quickly surmised that Peel had violated the “one bodyguard” limit. He pulled Olga out of the booth, used her as a human shield, and fired a shot that dropped the charging bull in its tracks. The silencer kept the matter quiet, but the splatter of blood on the dance floor triggered screams of panic. The salsa music continued as men and women ran for their lives, stampeding toward the exit. Liu grabbed Olga by the arm and ran to the fire exit, setting off the alarm as they pushed through the door.

  “I’m hit!”

  Enrique’s words came loud and clear over Kate’s phone, hitting her like a punch to the gut. “How bad?” she asked.

  “Got me in the shoulder. No major organs. He took Olga down the fire escape. Red dress. Alley behind the building. Go!”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes, go! Don’t lose them! If they make it to Siloé, even the police won’t follow!”

  Diego hit the gas, and as the car whipped around the corner, a topless Jeep shot out of the alley in front of them. Olga’s red dress was unmissable.

  “That’s them!” shouted Kate.

  The Jeep sped up, and Diego was in pursuit.

  “They’re heading for Siloé,” he said.

  “Just like Enrique said they would.”

  “You have to decide right now, Kate. Let them go, or stay with them.”

  The Jeep continued toward the hillside barrio, speeding along a narrow street that ran beneath the gondola to Siloé.

  “Follow them!” said Kate.

  Chapter 63

  Patrick was starting to lose feeling in his fingers.

  Picking a padlock behind his back was much harder than picking his bicycle lock. At least a dozen times he’d felt on the verge of success, only to find repeated disappointment. He recalled Javier, back at the freighter, telling him not to “get all Houdini” on him and try to escape. He was beginning to wonder if the Great Houdini himself could have picked a lock with a bent welding rod and his hands bound behind his back.

  Patrick opened and closed his hands several times, working out the cramps in his fingers, and then made a fresh attempt. Tension rod in the widest part of the hole, like the base of the key. Raking rod in the narrower slot, like the jagged edge of the key. Rake the pins from deepest to shallowest—and turn.

  Click.

  “Yes!”

  The open lock dropped to the floor, and Patrick shook free of the chains. That first taste of freedom made him almost giddy with excitement. He climbed to his feet, ran to the side door through which Liu had taken Olga, and pushed at full speed. It opened a crack but no more, and Patrick was knocked to the floor by his own momentum, feeling as though he’d run smack into a wall. The door was padlocked on the outside. He jerked his shoulder back into place and searched for Plan B, his gaze sweeping the warehouse.

  No windows. No other door, except the main garage door. It, too, was probably locked from the outside. But he had to try. He hurried past the line of chopped vehicles to the front of the warehouse. An electric garage door opener would have been nice, but there was just a rope hanging from the track above him. He pulled hard. The door jerked upward an inch, but it caught on the latch. Locked.

  “Shit.”

  He released the rope and reassessed. He knew from the last call with Kate that Liu was coming back to the warehouse after getting the flash drive. Patrick had to either be gone by then or be able to defend himself. But with what? He counted nine cars, at least one of which had to have gas left in the tank. But a fire was risky. He could end up burning himself alive, trapped in a warehouse. And a Molotov cocktail was no answer to the pistol Liu was packing, only slightly less stupid than the old joke about the knucklehead who brings a knife to a gunfight. Patrick needed equal firepower. It seemed like wishful thinking, but not really. Chop shops were never in the nicest part of town. To be on the wrong side of Cali meant survival of the smartest, and anyone with a brain knew better than to cruise through the Warehouse District of Cali without protection. There had to be a gun in one of those cars.

  Patrick started down the line of vehicles, throwing open the passenger-side door and popping the glove box. Nothing in the first. Or the second. Or the third. The fourth box was locked, which got his heart pumping. He ran to the work bench and grabbed a screwdriver, which made quick work of the shitty little lock. The box popped open.

  Pay dirt.

  Patrick smiled as he wrapped his fingers around the butt of the pistol. It was just like the one his father had taught him to use at the range. He released the magazine. Fifteen rounds of 9-millimeter ammunition. He had all the firepower he needed.

  There was a noise outside the warehouse, the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the alley. The engine stopped, and the door opened.

  Liu?

  A second door opened. Someone was with him, which confused Patrick. The deal was that Olga would stay if Peel delivered the flash drive.

  Something went wrong.

  Patrick crouched behind the car, switched off the safety on his pistol, and waited for the door to open.

  Kate’s wild ride into Barrio Siloé was uphill, a race past one redbrick building after another along narrow streets. Most of the streetlamps were unlit, either burned out or broken, but there was enough moonlight for Kate to read the endless string of graffiti messages on the walls, fences, and shuttered doorways along the way. One word caught her eye. It was eight feet tall and painted in the Colombian colors of yellow, red, and blue: Orgullo. Colombians truly were a proud people, even in the darkest corners of Siloé.

  “They turned into that alley,” said Kate, pointing from the backseat.

  Diego steered to the curb and stopped the car just short of the alley entrance. The entire street was nothing but warehouses, not a pedestrian in sight. Directly overhead, a good fifty feet in the air, were the moving cables that carried the commuter gondolas up and down the hillside. Two blocks ahead, Kate could see the elevated platform for the nearest station. Not a soul on it.

  “I don’t feel safe here,” said Kate.

  “We’re not,” said Diego.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “If I was alone, I’d find my way into that warehouse and do what needs to be done. But I can’t leave you here.”

  “Then I’ll go with you.”

  He shook his head. “Not gonna happen. The best we can do is call the police and circle the block until they get here.”

  “But you said the police won’t come into Siloé.”

  “I have a few friends in the department.”

  “Friends who would come here?” she asked.

  “How much would your daddy pay for the cops to show up right now?”

  Kate stole a quick glance of the neighborhood. “Honestly, whatever they asked for.”

  “Perfect,” said Diego, dialing. “Your old man’s about to make a very generous donation to Colombian law enforcement.”

  “No,” said Kate.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “Patrick is like a brother to me. If your little brother was in that warehouse, would you drive around the block and wait for the police, who may or may not come?”

  Diego lowered his phone. “No. I wouldn’t.”

  “Then don’t ask me to.”

  Their eyes met in the darkness. “All right,” he said. “We’re going in. Check your weapon.”

  Kate opened her purse and removed the pistol Diego had given her. “Loaded, safety on,” she said.

  “Keep the gun pointed at the ground, and stay at least ten steps behind me at all times. Stop when I stop. Move from a position of cover only when I wave you forward. When we get to the alley, remove the safety.”

  Removing the safety had never been a big deal in target practice. Outside a dark warehouse in the heart of Siloé, however, her heart pounded at the mere thought of an active lethal weapon in her hand.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Kate swallowed hard. “Ready.”

  The car doors opened, and they stepped into the night.

  Patrick pointed his pistol straight at the side door to the alley. He was on his knees, with his arms fully extended and the butt of the handgun resting on the hood of the car to steady his shot. He knew he had just a few seconds to act. The pole to which he’d been chained would be in Liu’s plain view, and Patrick’s escape would be immediately obvious. His plan was to take the first open shot as soon as Liu walked through the door.

  A clanking noise came from the other side of the door, which sounded like the padlock coming off. Patrick took aim. He had enough experience with guns to know that he was a better shot using the dominant-eye method. The pistol had standard iron sights, front and rear, which he’d been taught to think of as a teed-up football in the front and the goal post in the rear. The goal was to get the football squarely through the goal posts. He closed his left eye and, using only his right eye, aligned the sights, making sure the front sight was directly in the center of the rear sight notch. His target was an imaginary bull’s-eye, chest high in the dead center of the door. He focused on the rear sight, leaving his target slightly blurry, which he knew was right. His finger covered the trigger, and Patrick took a deep breath. The door opened. Patrick applied a small amount of pressure to the trigger but held his fire.

  Olga was squarely in his sights.

  Liu was behind her. Patrick had no shot. His heart was pounding. Precious seconds were being lost. A more skilled marksman might have taken a shot, but as much as Patrick had loved the movie American Sniper, he was no Chris Kyle.

  Two steps into the warehouse, Liu stopped and suddenly pulled Olga back against his body like a human shield, pressing his pistol against the base of her skull. He’d obviously spotted the loose chains around the poll. He knew Patrick had freed himself.

  “Dumb move, Patrick!” he shouted.

  Patrick wanted to squeeze the trigger but had no opening. Liu backed his way out, through the doorway, pulling Olga with him into the alley.

  Patrick didn’t hesitate. He jumped to his feet, ran to the door, and stopped, planting his back to the doorframe. Running blindly and with abandon into the alley was a good way to get shot, but if he lost sight of Liu he’d forever lose Olga. He pivoted, using the doorframe to protect his body, and peered down the dark alley.

  A shot pierced the darkness, and Patrick hit the ground.

  Chapter 64

  Kate was at the entrance to the alley, ten feet behind Diego, when the shot rang out.