She took a step forward. “You can trust me ‘cause I’m the only way out you got.”

  “Not the way I see it.”

  “Gerrold, listen—”

  “No. You listen.” I pointed at the cage. “Did you know about this? Did you know this is where they held her?”

  She hesitated, and then nodded. “Yes.”

  “And you did nothing.”

  “There was nothing I could do!”

  “Lie! You could’ve gotten her out.”

  “How? How could I do that without us both getting shot? You think I’m just some sort of heartless DEA bitch who doesn’t give a crap about who gets hurt as long as I get my man? Huh? Well, it ain’t like that. I care, Gerrold. I care about everyone that crosses in or out of my investigation. It’s why I do what I do. It’s the only thing that makes me get up in the morning and put on this front and do this frickin’ job. So don’t accuse me of not caring. And don’t tell me what I can and cannot do. I’ve been at this a whole helluva lot longer than you have. Clear?”

  I seethed. “Well if you’re so damn experienced, then how come you just blew your cover when you know for fact that Carlos has surveillance cameras and microphones everywhere?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not down here, Jackass. He doesn’t want a record.”

  Okay. That made sense.

  “Fine,” I muttered, and moved toward the rack of tables. I picked up an end, a little surprised when she grabbed the other.

  “What’s the plan, Gerrold?”

  She helped me carry the table away from the torture chamber to an open area of the basement. We set it down and I unfolded the legs.

  “Look,” I said, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do. You want me to trust you, you’re going to have to trust me. I can help you get to the rest of your… drug dragon—thing, but I have to do it my way.”

  “This isn’t a game, Gerrold.”

  “No. It most certainly is not.”

  ***

  Carlos returned with the bank building’s plans later that evening. He wasn’t too happy to find me working in the basement.

  Rather, he wasn’t happy that I was in the basement. That I was working pleased him entirely.

  “Señor Smith, you are, ah…” he hazarded a glance toward the torture chamber, “getting started I see.”

  “Yes,” I murmured, stripping the wire. “Figured I’d better get at it.”

  “Sí, sí. ¡Muy bien!” He started unfolding the architectural drawings.

  “You can just set ‘em down over there.” I didn’t bother looking up, and instead picked up the hot soldering iron.

  He set the papers down where I pointed.

  “Need to talk to you about the seating arrangements,” I added.

  “Seating arrangements?”

  “Mmm. The one over there.” I pointed the soldering iron at the cage.

  He turned to look, and I sprang. One arm looped around his throat, the other holding the iron pointed at his eye. He stiffened in my grasp, and then relaxed.

  Cool as Nana’s iced tea, I thought.

  “What about the arrangements do you wish to discuss?” he asked.

  “You told me you had nothing to do with what happened to Mel. Now I find out it was done to her in your own house.”

  “Do you think the blood on the floor is hers, señor? Or does it rather belong to the man who beat her while she was strapped helplessly to that chair? I do not deny that she was here. We had to find some way to draw you out. But as I said, she was a guest. What you saw on the video was meant to be theater alone. I have already extended my regrets that it went farther than it should have. Just how sorry to you want me to be?”

  I caught the veiled threat in his tone.

  “Perhaps we could ask Señorita Cooper herself? I could have Brueger bring her down here, if you wish.”

  Now that threat wasn’t veiled at all.

  “No,” I muttered, and moved the soldering iron away from his face. I let him go. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Bien.” He faced me. “I am glad we had this little conversation, Señor Smith. I would hate for there to be a misunderstanding between us.” He straightened his jacket.

  “We definitely wouldn’t want that,” I replied.

  “Excellent. Then I suggest you get back to work.”

  With that, he turned and went upstairs. As soon as he shut the door behind himself, I heard the distinctive snick! of the lock being turned.

  That suited me just fine. Better than fine, in fact. It meant I would be left alone.

  Quickly, I pulled the inner rack of the toolbox out and set it to one side. From within the box, I withdrew the device I’d been working on ever since I sent Candi scurrying back upstairs.

  I’d cobbled the phone together the microphone and speaker from the video camera, along with a pair of alligator clips. Carlos’s phone service wasn’t all that fancy, and I’d already found the relay box.

  Most kids these days wouldn’t know how a rotary phone worked, but I’d used them growing up, and my Uncle used to repair them from time to time. He taught me how the phone lines worked.

  I exposed the wires for tip and ring, attached my microphone and speaker, and then rapidly shorted them together ten times. I heard a click and a pop on the speaker, and then a voice. “Operator. How may I assist?”

  “Yes, hello,” I said. “I’m disabled and can’t use my hands. Could you dial a number for me?”

  “Certainly. What is the number?”

  I gave him Rogan’s cell.

  A moment later, the phone started ringing. After a few, someone picked up.

  “Hello?”

  “Rogan there?”

  “Who’s this?”

  “You first,” I replied.

  The other man snorted. “Bertram. Your turn.”

  Bertram. Thank God. “It’s Gerrold.”

  “Uh huh. Where the hell you been?”

  “Got hung up. Can I talk to Rogan?”

  There was a moment of silence on the other end. Then he said words that made the room spin. “Rogan’s dead.”

  Chapter 38

  “Dead?!” I nearly shrieked. “What do you mean dead?”

  “Dead. As in, shot to death. Murdered in cold-blood. Dead.”

  Panic gripped me. Everything Mel and I had been working toward—the whole point in us coming down here—getting the evidence, exposing the bad guys (the real bad guys, anyway. Not us.)—all of it vanished like a drowning man beneath the waves. I blasphemed. “What happened?”

  “I should ask you the same question, seeing as you were the one who put him up to all this. Far as I can tell, this is pretty nearly all your fault. Why the hell couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?”

  I blew out a long breath. “Unbelievable. This is horrible. I don’t even know what to say. I’m sorry ‘bout what happened to Rogan. Never was what I wanted. I only wanted him to do the right thing.”

  “Strange words coming outta the likes of you. You even know what the right thing is?”

  “Not always. But I did in this case. Pedophilia’s pretty cut and dry in my book. So’s kiddie porn and child prostitution.”

  “Doing the right thing’s what got him killed.” He sighed. “I suppose he oughtta have done it a long time ago. I sure would have. Gone to my grave with a clear conscience. Can’t say the same for old Bryce.”

  “Suppose not.”

  There was a moment’s silence on the other end, then he said, “So listen, ah, those people that killed him. They gonna be hurt by this data he was protecting?”

  “Of course they would’ve. Otherwise they wouldn’t have killed him for it.” Not that it would do any good. Rogan’s secrets went to the grave with him. Even if it was in the clouds.

  “Mmm. You may be right. You still hell bent on releasing it?”

  “If I had it. Hell yeah.”

  He cleared his throat. “He left me something. Just in case. Wanted me to give it to you.”

  The drowning man clawed his way to the surface and grabbed a piece of floating debris. Cautiously, I asked, “It’s not a bullet to the head, is it?”

  “No,” he actually laughed. “Probably should be, but it ain’t. I don’t wanna say more over the phone. You reach me, I’ll give it to you. Then I’m out.”

  I caught my breath, the ocean of despair receding. “You got it. It might be a day or so before I can get there, but once I can, I’ll call this number.”

  “See that you do. I don’t want to sit on this thing any longer than I have to.”

  With that, he hung up.

  I disconnected the wires and leaned back against the wall beside the phone box.

  So maybe good old Rogan came through after all. I had no real idea what it was that Bertram wanted to give me, but I felt certain it had something to do with that old hard drive data.

  Maybe even the password to the clouds that’d get it down for us. Mel would know for sure.

  And for that, I had to get us out of here. I hurried back to the table, unfurled the plans for the bank, and gave them a quick once over. Beside them, Carlos had also printed out a detailed, ten page report of the bank’s security and of the bank manager’s movements over the past month. He must’ve had the man under surveillance for some time, anticipating what I’d need to pull this off. I perused it quickly, made a few notations in the margins, and then set it to one side.

  I had no intention of going after that bank. Let Candi worry about it. All I needed was for Carlos to think I was interested in the bank.

  I picked up the brick of Semtex. I had my own plans to work out.

  ***

  After a few more hours’ worth of work, I switched off the light, came upstairs, and knocked on the door. Brueger opened it from the other side. Evidently he’d been keeping an eye on it—and me—the whole time.

  “All done?” he asked.

  I snorted. “Not remotely.”

  He put a hand on me and pushed back, closing the door.

  “Hey!” I objected. “Wait a second!”

  “You must finish. Mr. Santiago’s orders.”

  “Well, let’s just say I’m done for the day.”

  “You’re done when Mr. Santiago says you’re done!” He shoved again.

  Angrily, I grabbed his fingers and bent them back. He cried out in pain and anger, and his left hand went for my throat. I saw it coming, dodged to the side, and saw stars as he struck my forehead with his elbow. His right hand jerked free of my grip, and his knee found my gut. I felt my insides explode in pain, the crack in my ribs made me see white.

  I caught his leg, somehow, and when he pulled back I lunged forward, riding his foot onto the upstairs landing.

  Brueger fell to the side, hammer-fisting my head and cracking my skull against the tile floor. I grunted and rolled, somehow coming up on top of him, my knees pressed against his chest. Spatters of blood from my nose dripped onto his face. It was all I could do to breathe. I pressed my thumbs into his eyes and dug in. He screamed, clawing at my wrists. I pushed my palms against his skull, lifted, and pounded it against the floor. Again and again and again.

  Abruptly, he swung his legs up, looped one over my head, and flung me off to the side.

  I rolled backward, coming to my knees. He crouched before me, blood drooling from his eyes and nose, a snarl on his face. I wheezed, pain shooting through me with every breath. A cold smile appeared on Brueger’s face, and he rose to his feet.

  “Now,” he said, and then spat to the side. “Now we dance, eh?”

  I swore, pushed myself upward, and brought my hands up. He leaped into the air, spinning around to bring an axe kick flying toward my head.

  Just before it hit, a thunderous explosion broke his spin. He dropped to the floor, his body heaving as a pool of blood welled out beneath him.

  I stared at him, mouth agape, and then looked up. Candi stood not ten feet away, still holding a nine millimeter Glock in her outstretched hands.

  A blasphemy escaped my lips. She lowered the gun, glanced behind her, and then hurried over to Brueger and checked his pulse.

  “A thank you would be more in place,” she muttered. “He was going to kill you.”

  The sound of several footsteps hurrying in our direction made us exchange glances. “How you gonna spin this?” I asked her.

  “Like I said,” she replied, “he was trying to kill you.”

  A wave of pain lanced into me, and I sank against the side of the wall, clutching my ribs. Seconds later, Mel and Hector appeared beside us.

  “What happened?!” Mel shrieked.

  “I-I had to do it,” Candi stuttered. Her hands shook, clutching the weapon like it was a foreign object. Utterly different than how she’d just held it seconds ago. “H-he was g-going to k-k-kill him!”

  Mel crouched by my side, giving me a stern, worried look.

  “Hector,” I groaned, “where’s Carlos?”

  Hector glanced at the stairs, and then reached into his pocket and pulled out a half-empty bag of white powder. “I did just like you said. Mixed it in good. Him and Banger? They don’t look so hot.”

  I nodded and tried to stand. Mel pushed herself beneath my shoulder and helped me up.

  Candi continued to stutter and whimper. I rolled my eyes. “You can drop the act, Candi. No one’s coming.”

  Like shutting off a valve, she straightened and put the gun away. “What’s in that?” she nodded toward Hector.

  “Rat poison,” he replied.

  “Strychnine,” I said. “Mix it in with the drugs. Makes ‘em real sick.”

  “This was your escape plan?” she asked. Mel gave her a doubtful look.

  “Brueger was unexpected, but yeah. This was it, more or less.”

  “What about my investigation?”

  “What does she mean?” Mel asked.

  “Candi’s DEA,” I replied, and felt Mel stiffen. “Deep undercover. She wanted me to find out what Carlos was up to in exchange for getting us out of here.” I nodded once. “Guess you held up your end of the bargain. Now it’s my turn. Down in the basement you’ll find detailed plans for a bank, as well as a dossier on the bank manager. Carlos wanted me to blow it up. With the manager inside. Seems he’s some sort of competitor to Mr. Santiago. I suggest you focus your investigation there.”

  “And what about you?”

  “We’re going to walk out the front door now. And we’re not looking back.”

  She withdrew the gun. “I can’t let you do that. My supervisors catch wind that I let you go? Might as well kiss my career good-bye.”

  Mel and Hector objected, but I held my hand, palm out. “Thought you might double-cross me. The plans are downstairs.” I opened the door to the basement and flicked on the light.

  “Then we’re all going downstairs to get them.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “I won’t make it back upstairs in time. You’ve got a chance, though.”

  Her eyes widened. “In time for what?”

  “In time to escape the blast. At this moment, those thermite charges are eating through the main support in the center of this house. About two minutes after that, the Semtex will explode, fracturing the rest of the house. Then the fire starts. I figure you’ve got about four minutes, tops, to get those incriminating documents out of the basement and rescue Banger and Carlos from wherever they’re passed out or puking upstairs. And don’t forget the servants.”

  She swore and dashed for the basement. As soon as she hit the stairs I reached and shut the door behind her. My fingers hesitated on the lock, then I withdrew.

  “Ger?” Mel queried.

  “She’ll make a better hero than victim. Besides, we don’t need to be cop-killers on top of everything else. Come on,” I turned, and with the two of them, hobbled toward the exit.

  Chapter 39

  The explosion was fantastic. Spectacular, even if I do say so myself. We stood at a distance down the beach and listened first to the muffled explosions rolling across the water, then saw the mansion shudder. Soon, fire blew out the windows in the first floor, licking the sides of the walls. But the coup de grace came with a massive fireball that blew out the remains of the windows and sliding doors and sent fireballs churning into the night. Soon, the building sagged in the center, and began to fold in on itself.

  Of Candi, Carlos, and Banger there was no sign.

  “Come on,” I urged. “Let’s find a car and get out of here.”

  “Where we gonna find one?” Hector asked.

  “I’m sure there’ll be one coming along soon we can nab. Play our cards right, we’ll be out of here before they know it’s missing.”

  The sirens told us that first responders were on the way. I walked between Hector and Mel as she still insisted on propping up my shoulder. My ribs were killing me, and once or twice I felt pretty light-headed.

  Mel gave me a worried look and hissed between her teeth each time. “I’ll be all right,” I assured her, but she didn’t look convinced.

  On the far side of the next mansion down the strip, we crossed back to the road, where police had already barricaded off the street. Fire trucks, an ambulance, and several rescue cars had already gone through. It looked as though some news vans were on their way also.

  All with the requisite rubberneckers. Several of them had parked their cars on the side of the road and were clustered in a gathering crowd, gawking at the destruction. We slipped around the crowd and kept our heads low, hoping to get through undetected. Given how badly I looked, Mel insisted that I hang back with her while Hector went on ahead to find a vehicle. After a few minutes, he’d located a silver Chevy Impala with the windows down and the keys still dangling from the ignition. He gave us a quick thumbs-up and then disappeared into the driver’s seat.

  “Nice and easy,” I murmured, hoping he wouldn’t gun the engine and peel out like Hollywood’s version of a getaway car.