He had gone about two-thirds of the way around when he found the first occupied room. There were two men asleep on beds. The beds were smaller than a twin bed and each consisted of a steel frame with a single layer of interlocking wire links covered by a thin stuffed mattress and a single loose army blanket.
Their quarters were so spare that if he had not seen both men during the week going in and out, he might have mistaken them for prisoners. He thought about the fact that they had bunked together. Every room had its window and door opening onto the courtyard, and he’d looked into every one he’d passed. The house was large, and none of the other rooms had any occupants. Why would both guards sleep here? It made sense only if the man they were guarding was very near. Stahl closed his eyes, waiting a few minutes so they would adjust to the dark, and then he studied the room. He saw a door with a padlock on it. That had to be it.
He couldn’t do anything before he made sure the rest of the rooms were empty. He resumed his prowl around the building. He found the second occupied room only two doors away. The man in this room was asleep too, but he looked as though he’d gotten the first choice of beds. His bed was wider and thicker, with box springs, two white pillows, and white sheets. The man had taken off a suit and hung the pants and coat on a single hanger on the door to the bathroom. Stahl could see that the breast pocket of the coat had a leather wallet with a police badge flapped open, the way plainclothes cops sometimes wore theirs to be identified during raids. Now Stahl was sure he knew why the men of this building didn’t seem to fear anyone. They had connections.
Stahl paused. He knew he was going to have to get the policeman out of the way before he could return to the room with the two guards. He slowly and carefully opened the door and stepped into the policeman’s room. He went to the man’s suit on its hanger to see if the cop’s gun was in his coat or in a holster. As he touched the coat there was a sudden motion in his peripheral vision.
The cop whirled in bed, his hand coming up from under his pillow with a pistol.
He was reacting like a cop, but Stahl had been a cop too. He had anticipated that this move was one possibility, so he was ready. Under his raincoat, his hand was poised to use the rifle, and he swung it up into the man’s face and hammered it butt downward on the cop’s head.
Stahl wrenched the pistol out of the man’s hand and held it on him for a moment. The man didn’t move. He examined the man’s skull, then shook him. Stahl was shocked. The blow with the butt of the rifle seemed to have killed him. Stahl had never intended to kill. He had planned to handcuff him with his own cuffs and gag him.
Stahl knew he had to hurry. It was critical now that he get Benjamin Glover out of this house—and out of this town. In a few seconds he was in the other bedroom.
The two men were still asleep. When he came here, he had expected to do what he had done several times before. He had entered a house at night, pointed an ugly-looking automatic weapon into a kidnapper’s face, and asked him to consider accepting a smaller ransom than he’d demanded. Stahl had confirmed each time that a few thousand dollars sounded much better to a man who was about to die than it had earlier.
Stahl raised his Steyr rifle with his left hand and prepared to turn on the light. As he reached up, he heard a shuffle, a movement behind him. He turned and a big dark shape hurtled through the doorway behind him and clutched him in a bear hug, trying to pin his arms to his sides. The cop now had the crazy strength of an enraged, hurt man. He swung Stahl around into the wall, but it didn’t loosen the cop’s grip on him.
Stahl had not forgotten that the man had just awakened. He was still barefoot. Stahl stomped on the cop’s instep, and used the second of intense pain to break free. He grasped his razor-sharp commando knife and spun around, slashing the man’s throat. The cop fell to the floor bleeding.
Stahl whirled. The two guards behind him were freeing themselves from their blankets. Stahl lunged toward the nearest man, stuck the knife up under the center of his rib cage and found his heart. He snatched the man’s blanket, threw it over the second guard and shot him through the head with the rifle.
Stahl stepped to the padlock, used the big knife to pry the hasp out of the wooden door, and opened it.
Inside was a closet with two steamer trunks stored on the floor so that the emaciated, dirty man crouching on the trunks could not stand up and straighten his back.
Five minutes later Dick Stahl walked along the narrow, dimly lit street that led to the square of Corazón de Maria, his open raincoat sloughing off the gentle drizzle. His right hand was stuck in his raincoat pocket and through the slash he had made in the inner fabric so he could hold the 5.56-mm Steyr AUG 3 M1 under the coat. The forty-two-round magazine made the weapon bulky and heavy, but he had removed part of the bullpup stock and shortened the sixteen-inch barrel to make it lighter and easier to hide.
His left hand held Benjamin Glover’s arm. Glover was unsteady, almost staggering, because the muscles in his legs had cramped and tightened during the ten days he was imprisoned in a closet that was too low to allow him to straighten them.
“Easy,” Stahl said. “We’re going to be out of here very soon. The car is waiting for us just past the church. All you have to do is make it that far.”
Glover turned his head, trying to look over his shoulder, but Stahl tightened his grip and pulled him forward. “You know better than that, Benjamin. What would you think if you saw a man who was looking over his shoulder all the time? You’d think he believed he was being chased, right? That he was trying to get away.”
“I can’t help it,” said Glover. “I’ve been in that box for so long. They said if I ran away, they’d ruin my feet.”
“Don’t worry,” said Stahl. “The ones that were guarding you are past noticing. Hey, isn’t that something? Just in that time we walked about fifty yards. We’re halfway. More, maybe.”
Glover was irritated and peevish. “How can you be sure they haven’t noticed? They could be awake and coming after us right now.”
“No,” said Stahl. “Not the three who were guarding you in that house.”
“Why not?”
“They ran into some bad luck,” said Stahl. “It’s a hazard of the kidnapping business.”
Stahl tightened his hand on Glover’s arm and walked him toward the steps of the old church. At this time of night the town seemed abandoned. All day the square was occupied by food vendors’ carts and booths where wised-up girls with bored expressions sold clothing, pirated videos, cheap jewelry, sunglasses, T-shirts, and leather goods. At night the square was an open, empty space where the light rain glistened on the cobbles and the white church loomed against the dark sky.
A car wheeled around the church with its headlights off, and onto the cobbled plaza. The car was not Garza’s, but it seemed to be heading directly for Stahl and Glover as they walked toward the church.
Stahl said, “Study this car. Look at the men in the front. If you see a face you’ve ever seen before, tell me.”
He released Glover, reached into the left pocket of his raincoat, and produced a small powerful LED flashlight. He held it in his hand and kept walking, his right hand now gripping the Steyr with the safety off.
The car was close enough now. Stahl raised his left hand and switched on the blinding white light. The two men in the front seats flinched and squinted, and the car stopped with a jerk. The man in the passenger seat ducked, but the seat belt kept him from getting down.
Glover said, “The driver! He was the one who was taking me to Tijuana when the kidnappers ambushed me!”
The driver turned on the headlights and hit the high beam switch, bathing them in light.
Stahl brought the Steyr up and out between the two sides of the open raincoat, and fired. The windshield bloomed with opaque circles of pulverized safety glass.
The men were both dead, held upright by their seat belts, but the car kept coming, gliding along over the cobbles.