Remember The Alamo (15 page)

Dave glanced up at the detective. "You let me make it," he
pointed out. "You could've stopped me if you wanted to "

Obrador straightened, scratched his head, and grimaced.
"Ah, hell. I believe in what Alvarez stands for, but he's such a
slick, oily son of a bitch I can't bring myself to like him."

Phil said, "You probably shouldn't have been so honest
there, Detective. Aren't you recording everything that's said in
this room without telling us?"

Obrador glared at both of them. "Shut up. Sit there. I'll be
back"

He went out, closing the door of the interrogation room
with a slam.

Dave looked over at Phil and asked, "Do you really think
they've got the room bugged?"

Phil chuckled and shook his head. "Probably not. The ACLU has filed so many lawsuits against police departments
all over the country that they're leery of pulling shit like that
anymore, even when they ought to be doing it." He paused,
then went on. "That was quite a speech."

"Ah, Alvarez just got me riled up. I don't like the way he and
other politicians act like they're speaking for everybody who has
Hispanic blood in them. That's saying that we all think alike
and believe alike and act alike. And that attitude is the sort of
racism we really ought to be worrying about, amigo"

Silence descended over the room for several minutes. Dave
finally broke it by saying, "Do you think Obrador or any of the
other cops are going to believe us about the Alamo?"

"I don't know," Phil said. "I hope so. But they jump to conclusions, and then it's hard to change their minds."

Obrador proved that a few minutes later when he came back
into the room and placed a sheet of paper on the table. "That's a
copy of a report faxed to us by the Matamoros police department. According to them, Silvio Cruz was a killer and a top lieutenant in the drug smuggling cartel that operates there"

"That's not true!" Dave burst out. "I've known Silvio all my
life. He's a mechanic, like me"

Obrador smiled. "Maybe you're part of the cartel, too,
Rodriguez."

Dave sat back in his chair, stunned by the accusation. When
he could speak again, he said, "That's a damned lie."

"You don't deny that your cousin worked for the cartel."

Dave shrugged. "Silvio admits as much in that file on the
jump drive. I'll admit it surprises me. But he was just a lowlevel guy. He was forced into it."

"If he fooled you about being just a mechanic, maybe he
fooled you about how high in the organization he really was."

Dave gave a stubborn shake of his head. "I'll never believe that."

Obrador tapped a blunt finger against the document and said, "Then you probably won't believe the rest of the intelligence the
Matamoros PD got from one of their undercover officers. Silvio
Cruz double-crossed his bosses, stole a lot of money, and was on
the run from them. That's why they sent those guys after him."

Phil leaned forward and asked, "Where's the proof of that
theory?"

"We recovered Cruz's car from a parking garage near the
Mercado," Obrador said. "There was more than fifty grand
hidden in a secret compartment in the trunk"

Dave was shocked again, but only for a moment before an
alternate explanation occurred to him. "Horse Face and the
other two hitmen put the money there themselves, either
before or after they killed Silvio, just so you'd think that. It's
all part of the cover-up to make sure nobody takes that Alamo
scheme seriously."

"Well, I guess it's working," Obrador said with a humorless
laugh, "because that business about the Alamo is crazy, like I
said before. A double cross and the cartel taking vengeance for
it makes a lot more sense, don't you think?"

Dave had to admit that what Obrador said was true. But at
the same time, he didn't believe it. He knew Silvio too well
to accept the story.

"Here's something else you don't know," Obrador said.

Dave had no idea what it was going to be, but he had a
hunch that he didn't really want to hear it.

"When we went through that burned-up Cadillac, we found
what was left of another body in the trunk"

"Ah, dios mio," Dave groaned. "Rita?"

Obrador nodded. "At first the medical examiner thought the
bones were so badly burned that he wouldn't be able to make a
positive identification, but there was just enough dental work
left to be sure they belonged to Rita Cruz. For what it's worth,
he found a knife mark on one of the vertebrae of her neck, too"

"Her throat was cut," Phil said.

"Yeah. So the odds are overwhelming that she was already
dead before the car blew up. She didn't have to die like that,
anyway."

"She shouldn't have died at all," Dave said. "She didn't have
anything to do with any of it."

"Wrong place, wrong time," Obrador said, and so much
anger welled up inside Dave at the detective's callous attitude
that he wanted to stand up and take a swing at Obrador.

That wouldn't accomplish a damned thing except to get him
locked up for sure, he told himself. With an effort, he was able
to stay calm.

"What happens now?" Phil asked. "You can't seriously
think that Dave had anything to do with what happened to
Silvio and Rita Cruz. I've got a permit for my gun, and obviously I used it in defense of my own life and Dave's life.
Anyway, you've already violated our rights up one way and
down the other-I don't see a lawyer here, do you?-so you
can't charge us with anything."

"You were never under arrest," Obrador snapped. "We
didn't have to Mirandize you"

"You questioned us. That's enough to require a lawyer if we
wanted one"

"You didn't ask-"

"You didn't advise."

Obrador waved a hand. "All right, get the hell out. I was
more interested in getting to the truth than I was in making a
case. The file on Silvio Cruz's murder will remain open.
Those three who burned up on the freeway probably killed
him, but without proof .. "The detective shrugged as his
voice trailed off.

That was good enough for Dave. He wasn't under arrest,
and Silvio's and Rita's killers had received a fiery justice.

There were others who bore part of the blame, though, the
men in Mexico who were pulling the strings. The men who planned to put plenty of other innocent people in deadly
danger before they were through.

"What about the jump drive?" Phil asked as he and Dave
got to their feet.

"It's evidence." Obrador glared at Dave. "And we could still
charge you with concealing evidence and obstruction of justice, Rodriguez. That'll be up to the district attorney. So don't
leave town"

"Wasn't planning on it," Dave said with a disgusted grunt.

They left the building, well aware of the suspicious gazes
that followed them from nearly every cop they passed. As they
stepped out into the night, Phil said, "We'll have to get a taxi
to take us back to my office, since my car burned up"

"I need to call Constance and let her know what's going on,"
Dave said as he started to fish his cell phone from his pocket.
"I'm sure she's worried sick about me"

"Go ahead, D-Rod. I'll see about finding a cab."

Dave made a face as he started to speed-dial his home
phone. "Oh, Lord, don't call me that. I always hated that prissy
little asshole. Talk about empty statistics-"

The rear door of a car parked at the curb opened, and a man
in a suit got out and strode purposefully toward them. Dave and
Phil both stopped short and tensed, even though it seemed farfetched that anybody would make another attempt on their lives
right here in front of police headquarters.

The guy was a stocky, dark-haired hombre in his thirties.
He reached inside his coat as he said, "Mr. Cody? Mr. Rodriguez?" He flipped open the leather folder he had withdrawn from an inner pocket to reveal a badge and an identity
card. "Agent Powell of the FBI. You need to come with me"

Edward Mahone opened the manila folder on the desk in
front of him and with swift, practiced efficiency read the documents and studied the photographs it contained. Some of the
photos of charred skeletons with all the flesh burned off them
were a little hard to take, but during his long years in law enforcement, Mahone had grown accustomed to ugly sights.

At least somewhat. If he ever got to where nothing bothered
him, then it would be time to quit, he told himself.

He put everything back in the folder and closed it, then
touched a button on the intercom and said, "Bring them in,
please."

A moment later Special Agent Graham Powell ushered
Cody and Rodriguez into the room that was located in the
FBI's San Antonio field office. Both men were disheveled,
with rips and tears and stains on their clothing, scrapes and
scratches on their bodies, and reddish patches of skin that had
been blistered by the heat of the explosions. And both of them
managed to look nervous and defiant at the same time as they
regarded the large, well-dressed, distinguished-looking black
man behind the desk.

"Gentlemen, have a seat. My name is Edward Mahone" He
paused. "I'm the director of the FBI"

They tried not to show it, but they were impressed by meeting him. Mahone saw it in their eyes. Mahone was much less
impressed with himself, which was one of the secrets of his
success. Most of the time, he saw himself as a cop with a job
to do, and he did it to the best of his ability.

Only when politics reared its ugly head-as it had all too
often lately-was he reminded that there was more to his job
than just law enforcement. As much as he might wish that it
were otherwise.

Cody and Rodriguez were still on their feet. "Please," Mahone
said as he gestured toward the two chairs in front of the desk. "Sit
down and make yourselves comfortable. If you'd like something
to drink, Agent Powell can get it for you"

"We're fine," Phil Cody said. "Do we need a lawyer?"

"Not as far as I'm concerned. I'm here to answer questions
as much as I am to ask them. And by the way, before I forget,
thank you for coming."

Cody glanced around at Powell, who still stood just inside
the office door. "Your agent didn't give us much choice."

Mahone raised his eyebrows. "Graham?"

"I told them they needed to come talk to you, sir," Powell
replied. "I didn't tell them they had to"

Mahone smiled. "Well, that's splitting hairs, I suppose. Let
me make it clear, gentlemen, you can leave any time you want.
You're not in the custody of the FBI. You're not being held."

Rodriguez said, "I want to know what this is about"

"I'm sure you do" Mahone laid a big hand flat on the
manila folder. "In here are copies of the police reports and
crime scene photographs concerning the murder of Silvio
Cruz, as well as all the documents generated so far by the investigation into the attack on you two men earlier today."

"You got your hands on that mighty fast," Cody said. "I'm
surprised the San Antonio PD was that cooperative."

"They probably wouldn't have been if they had known they
were cooperating with us ""

"Back-channel, eh?"

Mahone lifted his hand from the folder and waggled it up
and down. "We have our sources in all sorts of places. For
example .. ." He opened the folder and took out three photographs, slid them across the desk so that Cody and Rodriguez
could lean forward and get a good look at them. They were
mug shots.

"That's Horse Face," Dave Rodriguez said with growing excitement in his voice as he pointed at one of the pictures. "He's
the one who killed Silvio."

"His name was Enrique Espinosa," Mahone said, "better
known as Caballo. He was a notorious enforcer for the Matamoros branch of the drug cartel run by Hector Garcia-Lopez.
The other two were Caballo's partners, Juan Antonio `Paco'
Zamora and Alberto Suarez. Their reputations were almost as
unsavory as Caballo's. Lord knows how many murders they
were responsible for over the years"

"Good riddance," Cody muttered.

"Indeed. They've all been positively identified as the men
who were killed when that Cadillac exploded."

"The police know who they were?" Rodriguez asked.

"They certainly do. Unfortunately, the fact that those three
men worked for the drug cartel leaves Detective Obrador and
the other members of the police department more convinced
than ever that their theory is correct. Silvio Cruz stole money
from the cartel and was hunted down and killed for that transgression, along with his wife."

"Damn it, do you believe that's what happened, too?" Rodriguez wanted to know.

Mahone spread his hands and said, "Convince me otherwise, gentlemen. I'm listening."

Rodriguez grimaced. "We had a computer file, a document
that Silvio wrote before he came up here-"

"Taken off the USB drive he gave you before he died."
Mahone nodded. "I know. I've read a printout of the file."

Rodriguez sat forward and said, "Then you know what this
is all about. Those Reconquistar terrorists are planning to take
over the Alamo and not give it back."

"And why would they do that?"

Cody said, "They're terrorists. They don't need a reason
that would make sense to anybody who's sane"

"They want to make America look weak," Rodriguez said.
"It's not enough that they somehow talked Alvarez and the
president into backing a symbolic handover of the Alamo.
They're going to make it real and show the world just how pathetic we are by hanging on to it."

"You don't really think they can do that, do you?" Mahone
asked in a tolerant voice.

"Damn right I think they can get away with it," Cody said.
"You think we're going to go in there with tanks and troops
and attack the Alamo? In the middle of downtown San
Antonio?"

"I'll admit that's an unlikely scenario," Mahone said. "But
surely diplomatic pressure alone-"