There was no sidewalk, just the street with its obstacle course of potholes and chunks of pavement. By chance they were dressed fairly well for nighttime clandestine work, Brian in green cargo pants and a black T-shirt, and Milla in jeans and a sleeveless burgundy blouse, and they both were wearing rubber-soled work boots as well as dark green baseball caps with “FA,” for Finders Association, in light blue on the front. Brian was darkly tanned, but Milla’s bare arms were noticeable, so she draped the blanket around her shoulders. Now that night had fallen the temperature had cooled dramatically, and the blanket felt good.
They didn’t run, or slink from doorway to doorway; either would attract the attention of anyone watching. They walked purposefully, but without obvious haste. The bad news was that it was less than fifteen minutes until the meeting was supposed to take place. The good news was that only tourists were on time in Mexico, where punctuality was considered bad manners. That didn’t mean no one would be watching the church, but it improved their chances of getting into place unseen.
Seventy-five yards from the church, they left the main street and ducked down a tiny alley that brought them out on the near side of the cemetery.
“What’s the plan?” Brian whispered as he slipped one of the pistols into his pocket, then took out one of the night-vision scopes. “Do we get the jump on them, find out which one is Diaz, and take him away for questioning?”
“I doubt it’ll be that easy,” she said dryly. Because Brian was young and big and strong, and running over with testosterone, he had so far been able to handle everything that came his way. The crucial phrase was “so far.” She was much more aware of how quickly things could go horribly wrong. “We do exactly that if there are only two men, but if there are more, we don’t.”
“Not even if there are just three?”
“Not even.” If there were two men, she and Brian could catch them by surprise and keep both of them covered. Milla didn’t mind holding them at gunpoint while Diaz answered her questions. If there were more than two . . . she was neither stupid nor suicidal, and she certainly wouldn’t risk Brian’s life. It might be two more years before she had another shot at talking to Diaz, but that was better than having to bury someone. “Can you work your way around to the other side of the cemetery?”
“Has a cat got a tail?” Brian was not only ex-military, having joined the army straight out of high school, but an east Texas farm boy who had grown up ghosting through the woods while deer hunting.
“Then pick a spot where you have a clear view of the entire back of the church, and I’ll do the same on this end. Remember, if there’re more than two, all we do is watch.”
“Got it. But if there are only two, what’s the signal for moving in on them?”
She hesitated. Normally they used radios, but they’d been caught without much of their equipment. “Exactly three minutes after they both show up and begin talking, we move. If the meeting is shorter than that, we move when they do.” If the men meeting here were on the alert, the three minutes would give them time to settle down—she hoped. This wasn’t the best method of synchronization, but it was the best she could come up with under the circumstances. God only knows how long they would have to wait.
Brian faded away into the darkness, and Milla edged in the opposite direction, first away from the cemetery, then around it to the back. Taking cover behind a tall tombstone, she used the night-vision scope to look all around her, searching for someone—other than Brian—who was doing the same thing she was doing. There was no one lurking around the church that she could spot, nor was there anyone hiding behind another tombstone.
Still, she waited a few minutes and scanned the area again. Still nothing. She cautiously moved up to another tombstone. This part of Chihuahua State was desert, with cactus and brush, so there was no grass to muffle any sound she made. She went down on one knee and a rock dug into her leg, making her wince, but she controlled her reaction and didn’t make any sudden movements, just carefully shifted her position.
Something crawled across her hand. It felt tiny, like an ant or a fly. Again she controlled her flinch, but her skin crawled, and she had to fight the urge to shriek and jump up and down to fling the bug away from her. She hated insects. She hated being dirty. She hated lying on the ground, in close proximity to both dirt and insects. She did it anyway, and had trained herself to ignore the dirt and bugs. What she was doing was dangerous and she knew it; her heart was already pounding with sickening force, but that, too, she had learned to ignore. She might cringe inside, but no timidity at all showed on the outside.
She picked up the rock that had been digging into her knee, her fingers sliding over the smooth, triangular shape, kind of like a small pyramid. Hmm, that was interesting. Automatically she slipped it into her front jeans pocket. After a moment she realized what she’d done and started to dig the rock out of her jeans, to toss it aside, but she couldn’t make herself do it.
She had been picking up rocks for years now, always on the lookout for smooth ones or ones with unusual shapes. She had quite a collection of them at home. Little boys liked rocks, didn’t they?
After once again surveilling the cemetery and surrounding area, she moved in a crouch up and to the right, then again to the next tombstone, slowly working her way into position. Cupping her hand over her wristwatch, she pressed the button that illuminated the face: ten thirty-nine. Either the caller’s information was bogus, or the people were in no hurry to get here. She hoped it was the latter, and she and Brian hadn’t gone to all this trouble for nothing.