Power and Empire

SWAT breached, giving Zambrano and anyone else inside precisely zero seconds to come to the door since there was a steaming body in his backyard. EOD cleared the residence once SWAT found it was empty. FBI forensic techs were inside now, combing the place for everything from cigarette butts to pubic hair. They would find something, they always did, but that took time, and Callahan didn’t have much of that. Zambrano could run a hell of a lot faster unencumbered. The girls would be the first things to go, if he hadn’t killed them already. The ranch was big, and they’d have to wait until daylight to search for graves.

She’d called in the assistance of twenty-five other law enforcement officers from six different jurisdictions, including the DEA, the U.S. Marshals, and the entire CAC Task Force. Six of the responders were Dallas County SWAT. Everyone not on perimeter or helping Forensics was in the process of slipping off their armored-plate carriers or stowing long guns and ballistic shields. They all averted their eyes when they walked through the front yard, afraid they might bring down the wrath of the redheaded banshee.

This entire day had been a colossal waste of time.

Eddie Feng was still in a medically induced coma and likely suffering from permanent brain damage. Gusano, the other idiot from the steakhouse attack, was also in the hospital, chained to his bed with a leg iron. He was conscious but badly concussed. His brain hadn’t been one of the brightest stars in the firmament even before Callahan had bashed him in the face with the pepper grinder. Neither man was going to be much help.

An anonymous tip came in five minutes after she’d dropped Caruso off at his hotel, pointing them to Emilio Zambrano’s ranch south of Granbury. The call had led them to this failure. To make matters worse, Magdalena Rojas was nowhere to be found. She’d been here, though. Callahan could feel it.

• • •

Clark lay belly-down on the scrubby grass and loose caliche stone. He’d checked the place for fire ants and other stickers, stingers, and stinkers while he set up his hide. It looked clear, but things changed by the second when you were lying in the dark. This was Texas, and it was impossible not to think about rattlesnakes. There were certainly enough rocks and roots for them, but the night was too cool for snakes to be crawling around. At least that’s what he told himself.

A wire hung from his left ear, connecting the earbud to the phone in his pocket. He expected Caruso to call him with an update any minute. Five hundred feet below, down the rocky hillside covered with yucca and scrub cedar, a new Airstream trailer sat nestled under a copse of live oaks. There was a chicken coop and a doghouse, but no sign of chickens or dogs. Clark had been watching the trailer for more than an hour. Dorian Palmetto had lawyered up the moment Fort Worth PD booted the door to his room, but he’d given Clark this address for Raul Pacheco. It made sense that Matarife might try to hide out with his father.

Clark knew he should have mentioned this location when he’d called in the information on Zambrano — but the legal hurdles of getting a warrant for one location on a tip were steep enough. He decided he’d give Callahan and Caruso the one that would save the girl while he paid a little visit to Matarife. He had a vague plan of what he would do when the Slaughterer showed up — if he showed up. It would take a little coordination and there were still some kinks to work out, but that was par. No plan survived first contact completely intact.

There was no moon, leaving the sky to the stars alone. Even under these present circumstances, Clark couldn’t help but glance up. It wouldn’t be such a bad life to teach the stars to his grandson — to take the time to look up. His own father had taught him the major constellations. He’d learned the navigational stars in the Navy — Polaris, Sirius, Rigel—

His phone began to buzz, the noise pushing him flatter against the ground, though there was probably no one for miles to see or hear him.

“Speak,” he whispered, kicking up a puff of dirt and dry grass with his breath.

Surprisingly, it was not Caruso but Jack Junior.

“New wrinkle,” Ryan began, and then ran down the latest developments in Buenos Aires. Clark in turn let him know about Lily Chen and her connection to the Sun Yee On triad and Zambrano’s cartel. “Makes sense why Vincent was in Texas now,” Ryan said. “John, I’m thinking Japan might well be about to become a very dangerous place. Maybe we should contact my father and tell him not to go.”